Devoured Book 2 - Page 54

So I do the only thing that makes sense.

I grab another drink.

For the first time during this tour, I’m not up at seven f**king AM. I stay in my compartment, in my bed, letting what’s left of Sienna’s sweet scent torture my dreams. She’s everywhere and nowhere, and I know how much I’ve messed up.

I should have just told her.

It would have made everything a h.e.l.l of a lot easier, and maybe—maybe I’d be able to move on.

My phone vibrating from beneath the pillow is what finally drags my a.s.s out of bed. I swing my legs over the side of the mattress and study the unfamiliar Nashville number on the screen for a few seconds before answering. I’ve heard the voice on the other line before—Sienna’s brother—and it’s not something I want to wake up to at 10AM. I’ve gotten into it with this little s.h.i.+t before, and I’m prepared to do it again, but then I stop and listen to what he’s saying.

That Sienna has been hurt. Badly.

Attacked.

Beaten in a parking lot.

And by one of my fans.

When the call ends, I’m numb. The feeling comes back a little at a time, and once it’s all there, I finally realize that the broken noise resonating through the bus belongs to me.

It takes twenty minutes to charter a helicopter, which Kylie steps in to handle because I’ve started to lash out at everyone. When she hands me my phone back, she gives me a determined look. “I’m coming with you to Nashville.”

I don’t refuse her. I can’t. My mind is in one place, and one place only, and until I get to Sienna, I won’t be able to think clearly.

But in the end, I’m grateful for my sister. It’s Kylie who thinks ahead and makes sure there’s a rental car waiting for us when we get to Nashville three hours later, and it’s my sister who drives to the hospital, ignoring me by turning up the radio to blast an Aranda song when I tell her to hurry the f**k up.

As we go inside of the hospital, I look up the room number that Sienna’s younger brother had texted me earlier. There’s an agonizing dullness in the center of my chest while Kylie and I take the elevator up to the third floor. When the doors spread, I follow my sister slowly as she rushes down the hallway. I was in such a hurry to get to Nashville, and now, standing here with the scent of bleach and medicine hitting me in the face, all I feel is dread.

So I wait outside of Sienna’s door, pulling my s.h.i.+t together, while Kylie goes inside. I hear my sister gasp and a moment later, she murmurs, “Oh G.o.d, babe.”

Taking a deep breath, I shove the door open and step through the doorway. Even though Sienna makes an attempt to s.h.i.+eld her face, I see everything. I go through a mix of emotions: fear, anger, rage, and guilt. For the time being, I settle on guilt. Guilt and rage. I walk over to the hospital bed, each step making the ringing in my ears grow louder. When I get to her, she opens her mouth to say something. At first, I convince myself that she’s talking, and I can’t hear anything because of the deafening blare in my ears, but then I realize that she’s speechless.

And that she’s sobbing. Shoulder-racking, chest-heaving sobs. From the corner of the room, my sister’s crying, too.

I feel like the worst f**king thing that’s ever lived.

And I want to kill the motherf.u.c.ker who did this to her.

I’m scared to touch her—scared to hurt her—but she reaches out to me. I slide her fingers through mine.

As soon as she’s calm enough to speak, she drags in a long breath. “My brother is friends with a girl who works for the police department.” Her gaze falls down to her lap, and she tightens her grip on my hand. “That . . . guy has been in and out of jail. Aggravated a.s.sault. Robbery. He told the cops he got my address from somebody he met on a YTS message board. Followed me out.”

I release a harsh sound, but she continues. “Your ex-wife sent me a message this morning. Wanted to know how I was feeling.”

Before I can say anything, my sister stalks across the room, her hair flying wildly behind her. “This is all you,” she hisses, jabbing me hard in the chest with her fingertips. “This is you. Fix it.”

I start to let go of Sienna’s hand, but she holds on to it like it’s impossible for her to let go as I sink down in the chair closest to the bed. “G.o.d, Sienna, I don’t know what to—”

“Tell me,” she implores. She grasps bunches of the starch white sheet in her other hand, twisting the fabric around anxiously. “G.o.d, Lucas, please tell me what all of this has been about.” The last word is a broken whisper, a plea. A silent warning:

Tell me or I’m gone. Tell me what you did, or we’re through.

If we were any other place, anywhere but in this G.o.dd.a.m.n hospital with her f**ked up because of me, I’d steer this conversation somewhere else. But I knew this was coming, and I feel like I’ve already been shoved into a pit and buried alive—the worst part of it all is that this is a grave I dug for myself.

Inhaling so deep my chest burns, I glance at my sister, at the blatant disappointment on her face, and then back to Sienna. Despite the pain she’s got to be in, she’s managed to sit upright. Even through the bruises and cuts, the dark circles beneath her wide blue eyes and the scowl on her face—even through it all, she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The best thing I’ve ever possessed.

And even if it means losing her—and maybe that’s what I deserve for what I did years ago—I owe her so much more than she’s been given so far.

“After everything went to s.h.i.+t between Sam and me, we didn’t stop seeing each other,” I begin. Sienna nods her head carefully, her curtain of red hair falling over her bruised face. “h.e.l.l, I saw her more after we separated than before.” Admitting that still makes me feel like the biggest f**king idiot.