Blame it on the Tequila by Fiona Cole (reader novel txt) 📗

I didn’t sing in front of anyone anymore because I couldn’t do it without associating it with what happened.

“What are we doing?” I asked, laughing uncomfortably.

“Karaoke night, baby,” Oren exclaimed.

“You guys really want to sing in a karaoke bar the night before a show in the middle of a tour? Also, I don’t think we’re that far off the beaten path to keep your identity hidden if you go on stage.”

“Oh, yeah,” Brogan agreed. “We’re not singing. We wanted you to be able to sing.”

My smile dropped completely, and my heart thundered, pumping blood so hard it rushed through my ears, making it hard to hear. The lights swirled around me, and I took a step back, the scrape of my boots against the gravel too loud.

“We remember how much you loved to sing,” Ash explained, still smiling and completely oblivious to my turmoil.

“And yeah, asking you to come on stage was a bit much, so we figured a hole-in-the-wall bar would be cool,” Parker finished.

My heart beat too hard—too fast. My lungs weren’t getting enough oxygen despite how hard I was sucking in more and more air through my dry lips.

I didn’t know what brought on the panic more—the thought of being on stage and singing in front of anyone or the realization that they didn’t get it.

Moving from one face to the other, their smiles slowly dropped as the reality of the situation hit them.

They didn’t get how haunted I was. I couldn’t blame them completely because I’d never actually talked about it, but even an outsider would put two and two together. I more than made it clear I didn’t want to sing. I didn’t think I needed to go into the gory details of my recovery to make them understand.

Just because I didn’t say it, doesn’t mean it didn’t play a role in every decision I made. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a huge part of why I fought Aiken on remaining private. I shouldn’t have to. I never thought I would have to.

But they didn’t understand.

They didn’t understand how I’d cut myself off from everyone after they left and stayed there until Vera and Raelynn pulled me out.

They had no idea how much I suffered, struggled, and mourned while they flourished in their dreams.

“Nova?” Parker called my name, but it sounded like we were on opposite sides of a tunnel. He stepped forward, and I stepped back.

“You don’t get it,” I whispered more to myself than them.

“What do you mean?”

His voice was so soft and hesitant, like he didn’t want to startle the person on the verge of overreaction. Because he didn’t. Fucking. Get. It.

“I said,” snapping my head up to glare, enunciating each word. “You don’t. Fucking. Get it. None of you do. Bringing me here? To sing on a stage? Like I’d ever fucking want to? Like you don’t know better than anyone why I don’t ever want to put myself out there again.” I glared in disbelief, watching the confusion sink away to guilt. “You. Don’t. Fucking. Get. It.”

“Nova, we’re sorry,” Brogan said first.

“No.” My voice cracked, and I stepped back, needing to get away from them before the lump in my throat broke free.

I turned and stomped to the other black SUV, throwing the back door open and climbing in. Parker was almost to my door when I hit the locks. I locked eyes with the wide-eyed guard in the back seat with me. “Take me back to the bus.”

“Ms. Hearst, we can’t leave them,” he explained calmly.

“Then I’ll get a fucking Uber,” I growled, preparing to face the guys after I tried to run.

“No,” the female guard driving stopped me. “Graham and Vince, you two ride with the guys, and I’ll take Ms. Hearst back.”

I met her understanding eyes in the mirror, and she nodded. The two guards hopped out, and thankfully, Parker didn’t push in. We watched them talk in a circle with big hand gestures and scowling faces before piling back in the car.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“They’re great guys, but sometimes, you just need some space,” she said in understanding. Thankfully, she stayed quiet the rest of the drive and ignored any sniffles that slipped free from the back.

Taking deep breaths, I wiped at my damp cheeks and pulled myself together as we rounded the corner to the bus. I considered asking her to take me to a hotel for the night but knew we had to work on the music in the morning before they got ready for the show.

Fuck. I could only imagine how well that would go. Wincing at the thought of sitting with them to write some ballad, I fought to keep from banging my head on the window. What the hell was I thinking taking this job? I’d been naive, thinking we could just move on without anything from the past coming back to haunt us. I’d only been successful over the years at avoiding it because of therapy and my complete lack of surrounding myself with anyone who knew what had happened. But working with them was like jumping into the thick of it and keeping my eyes closed, trying not to bump into anything—and asking them to do the same.

Wanting to get on the bus before them, I considered my options. For now, I’d hide away in the back. It was the only place with something more than a curtain to separate me from them. Maybe tomorrow, I’d think more clearly. Maybe I could leave and just demand they work with me virtually, or I could send them songs to do with whatever they wanted. Anything sounded better than sitting around and trying to create magic.

I didn’t bother washing my face—just grabbed my bag and a change of clothes and darted to the back. I’d been in there all of five minutes before the slam of car doors announced their arrival. Their deep voices murmured, and I clung to one of the square pillows to release some of the adrenaline pulling my