Page 90 of Layla

Layla

It feels strange to be back in LA.

Part of it is the weather. It’s jarring to go from cold and snow to perfect blue skies and sunshine right before Christmas. The peace and calm of Dee’s house feels about a million miles away from the seemingly endless lanes of bumper to bumper traffic on the 405 as I make my way to the rehearsal space to meet up with the band.

But the most unsettling thing, if I’m honest with myself, is the guy in the front seat of this car. He’s not John, and everything about that feels wrong.

I’m twenty minutes late for the meeting, which is honestly pretty good considering LA traffic. No one gives me a hard time when I get there, not even Louis, who just levels me with that concerned frown that I’m getting so fucking sick of. The rest of them are too caught up in Haylee’s story about her trip with the Ransomes to do more than wave vaguely at me. “They kept telling everyone they were going to wait until after the baby came, so we were totally shocked when they told us we were going to Vegas.”

That has my interest perking up. “Someone got married?”

Haylee is grinning. “Cash and Sam!”

“Oh, wow.” I shake my head. Once upon a time, the second oldest Ransom had been one of the biggest players in the entertainment world. “Cash Ransome is off the market.”

“It’s weird, right?” Haylee asks.

Lance nudges her. “Still salty you never got your chance with him?”

She makes a face at him. “No! I love Sam. That girl kicks ass.”

“And there’s that whole thing where you’re banging his brother,” James points out.

Haylee grins. “Right. That. Love of my life, blah blah blah.”

Dylan snorts. “Careful Hay, don’t go getting all romantic on us.”

Haylee turns her laughter to me, but when her eyes scan my face her expression shifts. “Hey, are you okay?”

I stiffen, immediately self-conscious. Defensive. “Of course I am.”

She narrows her eyes. “Are you sure? Because you look—”

“I’m fine, Haylee, Jesus,” I snap, and right away I know it was too much. Haylee looks hurt now, as well as suspicious, and the rest of them are staring at me in confusion. I close my eyes. “Sorry. I had a bad flight from Michigan and came straight here.”

“Is Dee okay?” Dylan asks, his voice soft. The tone has my hackles rising again. I fucking hate being talked to this way—like I’m some breakable thing that requires careful handling.

“Dee is fine,” I say, as evenly as I can manage. “We had a nice visit.”

And then John fucking Whitmore ripped my damn heart out. Asshole.

Haylee’s eyes narrow further, as if she can sense the swift downturn of my thoughts. Before she can say anything else, Louis stands. “Let’s get this meeting over. You all can catch up and gossip when I’m finished.” He walks around the room, handing out thick stacks of paper—our itinerary for the next few weeks in LA. When he gets to me, he pauses, gaze searching my face. “Your ride here okay?”

I’m sure he’s talking about more than traffic. I suddenly wonder what exactly John had told Louis when he left. Whatever he’d said, it would have been more of an explanation than I got. I had merely woken up that morning to an empty bed and no sign of John in the house. I hadn’t even finished my coffee when a knock at the door revealed Sean, one of our long-term security guards. And now, apparently, my new babysitter.

“It was fine,” I mumble, taking my packet of papers from him. He doesn’t look convinced, but he gives me a slight nod before turning away.

I have a hard time paying attention during the meeting. We have several LA shows scheduled plus a whole new round of rehearsals for the European leg in the new year. There’s also, I realize with a shot of unease, plenty of down time built in. Thisissupposed to be a break, after all. The problem with that is the very thought of taking a break sends me into a panic. What in the hell am I supposed to do with all this free time? I can’t go anywhere or do anything without security. I’m sure Haylee plans to spend as much time as possible with Lennon before we leave the country. Fuck, I don’t even have somewhere permanent to stay.

And the worst part, though I don’t want to admit it to myself, is that John won’t be here.

God, I can’t believe he left like that. I really can’t. Maybe it makes me a fool, that I came to trust him so fully. I know from hard won experience just how rare it is to find a person worth trusting. But I’d allowed myself to trust John, to believe that he might stick around. To believe that the strict commitment he showed in every other area of his life might extend to me, too.

But it hadn’t. One shitty night and he took off. I understand that it was scary for him, what happened. But to leave? The asshole didn’t even say goodbye. I had opened myself up to him, showed him parts of my life no one outside of this room ever gets to see. Hell, parts no one on earth gets to see. I was vulnerable with him. Honest.

But he couldn’t give me the same. He wouldn’t even talk to me about that damn nightmare. About any of his PTSD symptoms—which were obviously a hell of a lot more intense than he’d let on.

When it came down to it, John didn’t want to let me in.