Starstruck (Heartstrings Duet #1)

55. million reasons

[ 55 ]

MILLION REASONS

BAXTER

“WHATEVER IT TAKES” BY LIFEHOUSE

T he whisky burns my throat as I swig back a third shot. I’ve been craving a drink all day, but I made a promise to Lennon that I’d be sober for the concert, so that’s what I was.

The last thing I wanted was to make things worse than they already were between us, and yet everything I did today might have done it anyway.

I knew getting Lennon to perform with me would be a risk, but it was a risk I was willing to take if it meant there was a chance that she would forgive me. And when that didn’t work, I hoped singing “Trouble” would. As soon as she broke my eye contact and left the crowd, I hoped she would be waiting backstage for me when I was done.

She wasn’t.

I waited for over an hour, but the venue cleared out and she was nowhere in sight, so I gave up and came home.

Now it’s nearing one a.m., and I’m sitting in the same spot in my dark living room that I’ve been in since I got back, drinking by myself because I lost the only person in the world who I’ve loved since my mother.

And it’s my own damn fault.

I brush my fingers through my hair as I stand, making my way to the bathroom. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, noticing how the red rims around my eyes from the mix of exhaustion and alcohol make them appear a brighter blue than usual, which is ironic, really, since the grey cloud over me is darker than ever before.

I’m finishing washing my hands when there’s a knock on my front door.

My brows furrow. “One sec,” I shout at whoever’s on the other side as I make my way over to it. I have no idea who the hell would be at my door in the middle of the night, especially since everyone who knows me knows the last thing I want to do right now is talk to anyone.

Anyone other than Lennon.

Who just so happens to be the face that appears in front of me when I swing open the door.

My eyes widen, and I straighten. She stands in the doorway in the outfit she wore to the concert. Her hair falls in loose curls around her shoulders, and her makeup is dark, a deep-red colour coating her lips and her eyes framed in smudged black liner.

I can tell she’s been crying. I hate myself for being the cause of her tears.

“Hi,” she breathes, and just that one word falling from her lips has me wanting to pull her in to press them against mine.

But I don’t. Not yet.

“Hi,” I rasp, afraid to make any sudden movements. I don’t know what she’s doing here, and I’ve never felt more unsure of myself than I do at this very moment.

What the hell has this woman done to me?

“What are you doing here, Lennon?” I ask, my voice rough. I clear my throat, internally cursing myself for being so gruff when her showing up here is the absolute best thing that could’ve happened tonight.

She glances past me into my living room. “May I?”

I move aside wordlessly, giving her space to enter. I let the door slam shut behind her as she crosses the room, putting as much distance between us as possible.

“I was at home,” she begins, anger present in her tone. “I’ve been staring at my living room ceiling for the past few hours, thinking about nothing but the concert and those songs and you .”

It’s on that last word that she spins around to look at me, a look of pure betrayal crossing her face.

“Oh,” is all I’m able to say back.

We stand there for a moment, just staring at each other in the moonlit room, until I can’t stand it anymore and take a cautious step toward her.

She holds out her hands. “Don’t come any closer.”

Her voice is stern, and my shoulders drop, disappointment flooding me, but I freeze in place.

“Was this all just a game to you?” she asks, her voice cracking.

My brows pull together. “What? Lennon, no?—”

“Then when did you write it?”

I swallow. “A few days after our first night together.”

Her eyes widen slightly. I think she was expecting me to say I wrote it in the past few weeks, so the realization that she’s been my muse for the past eight months is a shock.

“It’s on the album,” I add, trying to reassure her that I’ve felt this way for a long time and it wasn’t just losing her that made me see that.

She nods, contemplating, and her eyes lock on mine as she asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrug. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

I was always planning on singing it tonight—I just wasn’t planning on us not being us when I did.

A laugh of indignation falls from her lips. “Not about the song, Baxter. About Logan .” She pauses, looking angrier than ever. “Why the fuck didn’t you just tell me?”

I open my mouth and close it, unsure of how to answer her. You’d think these past few weeks would’ve given me enough time to come up with an answer for her. But while she spent the time apart stewing in her anger for me, I spent it pitying myself.

So I have nothing.

She takes a few steps closer. “Did you know before his first appearance?”

I shake my head, my eyes widening. “No.”

Her shoulders relax slightly. “But you knew when you approached me in the bar.”

All I can do is nod, my throat working as I swallow.

She nods in return before she continues. “I get why you didn’t tell me that first day. If you had just found out, I’m sure it was a shock for you. Plus, I didn’t exactly give you an easy opening, and you just wanted a quick fuck. It was only supposed to be one night, so it’s not like I blame you for keeping it to yourself then. We were never supposed to see each other again.”

Her words fill me with anger. I know she’s not wrong about any of it—that night I did just want to fuck, and we were supposed to be just a one night thing. But it hasn’t been that for a long time, and her reminding me how we started makes it sound like she thinks that’s still all I want.

It’s not.

She moves so she’s standing directly in front of me. “But we did. In Jeremy’s office then again in mine when this whole arrangement started. We’ve seen each other pretty consistently since then, but not once did you even hint that you had any relation to the man who fucking killed my parents!” she shouts, her finger poking my chest.

My cheeks burn as my frustration, both with her and with myself, grows.

Because she’s right .

And I hate so goddamn much that she’s right.

“Who were your biggest fucking inspirations, might I add.”

Her brows furrow as she pulls her finger away, and she turns her back to me, walking back across the room and shaking her head.

“I really shouldn’t care. This was always going to end between us, right? We were just friends with benefits. Though fuck buddies might have been a better label, because I don’t know if we could be considered friends . I knew better than to open myself up to you, yet I did it anyway. It’s my fault for believing your pretty words. That’s on me.”

She spins to face me again. “But keeping this secret is on you. And now it’s eating me up knowing that all these months, while I was letting you in, you were keeping this from me. You had so many fucking chances to tell me. You held my hand at Logan’s hearing, for fuck’s sake, and you never once thought to share that he’s your brother ?”

“I thought about it every fucking day,” I grit out. My control is wearing thin. She knows exactly what she’s doing, riling me up, and I’m sure she knows I’m going to break any minute.

Her head snaps back, shock filling her features. “Then why ?!” She runs a hand through her hair, a mix of pure anger and absolute devastation crossing her face. “Why the hell didn’t you just tell me, Baxter?” Her voice cracks as she says my name, and so does my heart.

I can’t take this anymore.

This isn’t the place I wanted to tell her, and it’s definitely not the way, but it’s all I’ve got going for me right now.

I throw my arms down in exasperation and the words come pouring out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Because I fell in love with you, Lennon!”