Shattered by You (Tear Asunder 3)

It took another five minutes to reach the hot counter where I took a plate of the daily special sitting under the heat lamps and placed it on my tray. A large crowd of football guys barreled into the cafeteria jostling one another being loud and obnoxious.

My cool detachment wavered as the sounds leaked through my cracks and my nerves flickered and sparked. It was worsening. My body had been conditioned to ignore the sounds, to block out what I had to. I did it so well, that when I heard the noises, any nerves sparking numbed. It was like a cool blanket fell over me and nothing could penetrate it.

But with the freedom, came a small hole in the blanket and it was ripping. My life no longer depended on being unruffled and composed, and the triggers were fucking with me.

I took several deep breaths, eyes focused on one spot and concentrated on bringing my heart rate down.

“I’m so going to enjoy watching you eat that.”

My heart leapt and tore off like a horse darting out the gates. I didn’t have to look to know who towered over me, chest inches from my back. I recognized his low sexy drawl with that hint of laughter on the cusp of it. Even his scent I remembered and, to my annoyance, it caused a fluttering in my stomach.

My hands tightened on the edges of the tray. “Crisis?” There was nothing good about the roar of emotions spiralling. I hadn’t expected it. I hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught of . . . excitement. “What are you doing here?” I avoided looking at him because I was a little—okay, a lot—stunned. He was back and standing here¸ and looking at Crisis after all the texts, the teasing . . . I was afraid of what I’d see. And of what I’d not see. I just wasn’t going to look at him at all.

“Got back. Thought I’d see for myself that you weren’t skipping class.”

He knew damn well how important school was to me, since he gave me shit for not having any fun and doing homework all the time. But this was what I wanted. To do what I should’ve done years ago instead of being some object for men to play with. “You weren’t due back for a week.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw him shrug. “Yeah, shit changed.”

And that made me falter because I caught a glimpse of his face and that sent a new wave of something through me. “Why? What’s wrong?”

I was getting to know Crisis enough that if there was a plan to end the tour early, he would’ve mentioned it before. Something happened and I wondered if Luke had said anything about my extended run the other night. Maybe that was why he called me this morning.

He reached over me and snagged my apple. Juices sprayed in a fine mist as he took a big bite and my eyes flicked away. “Next venue was in Seattle.” I knew this as Ream had given me their schedule. “The publicist thought it better I make a getaway before it was announced that the Seattle show was cancelled.”

“It’s cancelled?”

He put the apple back on my tray on top of a napkin. “Yeah.”

“You had to make a getaway?”

“Figure of speech. But yeah.”

“Your publicist wanted you to leave?”

His brows rose and there was a slight twitch on the right side of his mouth. “For a chick who usually says fuck all, you’ve a lot of questions.”

“And getting no real answers.” It didn’t sound very good, whatever it was. “If your publicist thought you had to sneak away, she wouldn’t be happy to hear you’re at a university where probably half the population knows of Tear Asunder. Plus, you’re a chick magnet even without your rock star status.” And my anonymity was imperative. No one knew I was Ream’s sister. My brother even managed, so far, to keep it out of the media that he had a sister.

“Ah, thanks, Ice. I like it when you call me hot.”

I didn’t call him hot. “I didn’t call you hot . . . where the hell did you get that . . .” I stopped because his blue eyes twinkled with mischief and he was grinning broadly.

“Relax, I’m in disguise.” Some disguise, a baseball hat. “No one will notice me. Where’s Luke?”

“He doesn’t follow me around all day.” He still stayed at the farm at night and came running with me every morning. “I promised him I wouldn’t run into a burning building or jump off a roof.”

“Funny,” he said, not sounding amused.

“I was never trying to kill myself. If I wanted to do that, it would’ve been twelve years ago.” I reached for bottled water then shuffled down the line and he slid in beside me.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

I remained quiet, realizing that I’d said more to him than I had anyone.

He nudged me with his shoulder. “Babe, when are you going to look at me?”

I had been, just indirectly, and that had been hard to do because Crisis was like a piece of chocolate waiting to be devoured. I didn’t do devouring. “I know what you look like.”

“I’ve been gone for months. Spent countless hours texting you and not even a hug. I’m crushed.”

“Is that even possible?” I was still trying to get my emotions back into their little compartments before I met his eyes. Anyway, Crisis had an ego the size of the Pacific Ocean. And yeah, his God’s-gift-to-chicks attitude was warranted—infinitesimally.

“Ice?”

Fine. I tilted my head up and looked him in the eyes, my shield ready. But it wasn’t ready as my heart beat harder and faster. Then there were the little fairies dancing around in my stomach.

He was everything you’d imagine a rock star: hot, tatted skin—which bordered on an addiction to pain—muscled, and charismatic. He worked out obsessively; fucked obsessively. Played music obsessively and scrolled the internet for news about himself—obsessively.

And the entertainment gurus had a love affair with him.