Free Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance by Lyrica Creed Page B

just… Well, you and Scarlette… I wish the best for you.”
    “Thanks.” What he himself wished was the best for Scar.
    They ended the call and Gage considered his and Scarlette’s relationship as it appeared to outsiders. Like Logan. They had kept things between them on the down-low. His priority at the time had been saving her from the ensuing circus if the tabloids decided to exploit their past step-sibling relationship. At least until she knew what she wanted. He hadn’t been positive she would be along for the full-on musician-with-plenty-of-baggage experience once her life changed. So why put her through the embarrassment if they ended up apart? Then the sex clip had outed them. Headlines had been as vicious as he’d feared and late night shows had their fun with roasts. For the most part, she’d laughed her way through it all. But she’d left him in the end—she hadn’t said as much yet, but he knew.
    Her ‘thinking time,’ as she had called it after their fight, had gone on for days before he’d finally texted her. And although she’d texted back, and they’d spoken on the phone and texted in the weeks afterward, he’d felt the chilly aura even miles away. She was waiting to break it off in person. He wasn’t stupid. He knew.
    And he didn’t blame her one bit.
    He’d done nothing except screw up his life and bring bad publicity onto himself, his band, and anyone unlucky enough to be associated with him.

Chapter 16

    I was building a sandwich when the call came. Without taking the time to wipe my hands, I snatched up my phone, drinking in Gage’s picture and number flashing onscreen. My throat constricted, and I fought a bout of hyperventilation while mentally prepping myself for the conversation.
    The rings stopped. For a moment, I gazed around my cozy kitchen in relief.
    Moving into my new place had happened quickly. Mike had suggested a duplex he knew of, and at first look, I had fallen in love with the upstairs one-bedroom apartment in the old Victorian house. I suspected the drill-sergeant-looking downstairs tenant who always seemed to be home was on Gage or his father’s payroll.
    Even though Rascal had an auto feeding station, rather than leave him alone with only housekeeping coming and going—and Mike if he continued staying in the garage apartment—I had delayed fully moving out until Gage’s last day in rehab.
    For almost a week, I had been on needles and pins. Sleeping was impossible. We hadn’t spoken or texted in a month, so wondering how he was going to handle us—our relationship or lack of one—had plagued me. Wondering how
I
was going to handle it had been another source of insomnia. When two days had gone by and my phone remained silent, I’d considered maybe he had gone straight to a vacation destination, but when checking with Logan, I’d discovered Gage was indeed home.
    The buzz in my hand drew my attention. A voice message. Now I did wash my hands. Anything to prolong the inevitable. After drying each finger, I retrieved the phone and punched in my voicemail code.
    “Call me. ASAP.”
    At one time, I’d thought ‘I love you’ were three scary words. But these three, clipped in the super sexy smoky voice I loved were a new contender.
    As my finger hovered over the call return icon, a rap on the door almost made me drop the phone. Fear buzzed every cell, and I eyed the keypad, my consideration now on nine-one-one rather than redial.
    Silly
. I tried to calm myself. There were plenty of white Honda’s. The one I’d seen on my street earlier today hadn’t been the same as the one outside Gage’s house. No way.
    Still. This house was a fortress protected by an outside security gate, as well as a secured courtyard, and a locked exterior door. I had buzzed no one through any of these layers.
    Another hum, and my phone blinked with a text from Gage. Bringing it up as I padded cautiously to the front room, I read:
     
    Gage
It’s me
7:22 PM
     
    A press of my eye