Three Rockstars of Sin

“Hell no, she wouldn’t take us back,” Hudson grunted morosely. “We don’t have a choice. We gotta move on. We were assholes, leaving her like that, and there’s no way to undo the damage.”

“She’ll never forgive us,” I added savagely. “I mean, would you? Kate’s sweet but she’s not dumb. The girl’s human and we left her in the worst of ways.”

Hudson stalked from the back of the airplane, looking both miserable and pissed off at once. “Shit, I don’t forgive us. What were we thinking? Kill me now.”

He held his guitar like a weapon, strangling the neck of the instrument he was so proud to buy with his first real money from playing gigs as Hard Fought. And I could tell what he was going to say next. Sure enough, the words came.

“We’re never going to find another girl like her.”

The sentence rang like a death knell in the otherwise silent cabin. Unable to stomach the pain, I jumped in his face. “So? What are you saying? You want to hire a different flight attendant now?” the sarcasm dripped from my voice. “Ring up another girl like she’s a Big Mac at the closest Mickey D’s?”

“That’s not what I mean and you goddamn well know it,” Hudson snarled right back.

But Gunner wanted his say as well.

“This is your fucking fault!” he roared. “We could still have her if you didn’t give us the guilt trip!”

“And then what?” I demanded. “We treat her like some fuck toy and keep her trapped on this plane while we run all over the world living out rock star lives?”

Clearly, we were off the reservation now. The three of us were hopelessly lost, screaming at each other in the small confines of the plane, tearing out our hair and getting nothing productive done. For what? I fell back into my chair limply, the anger draining from me.

Hudson was right. This was over. Kate was gone.

We would suffer like we deserved to suffer. And then what? The answer was clear. There was no next step. The playbook hadn’t worked this time. Our usual MO of loving and leaving had backfired, and now we were the ones high and dry, angry and unhappy as hell.

So what next? All the money in the world couldn’t fix our problems because what’s done is done. We’d left Kate alone in the hotel room, cleared out like she meant nothing to us. No goodbye, no note, no nothing despite the months together, intimate and sensitive. We’d made the brunette feel like trash for sure. And what girl wouldn’t be angry after that?

So reality stared me in the face, glaring with an angry red eye. Yet I had no comeback. All I could do was slump lifelessly into the white leather seat … with no hope for the future.15KateSix months later …

I looked out the window of my tiny studio. It was no bigger than a postage stamp, but it was mine. And at least I was by myself, with the solitude to cry my eyes out whenever I wanted.

Because I haven’t been okay since that fateful day at the hotel. Waking up with the men gone had been a shock to my system, my feet dashing around the room, flinging open doors looking for the alphas.

But they were gone. And gone gone, like they’d never been there. Not a single item a clothing left, every trace obliterated. My heart had sunk even as I dropped limply to the mattress. How could they do this? What was the meaning of their actions?

And with trembling fingers, I dialed their cells. But predictably, the numbers went straight to voicemail like the men were already in the air. So I dialed the only resource I had left. Helena.

But the woman didn’t even pick up the phone the first time, like I wasn’t important enough. Finally, on my third or fourth try, she answered in a cold voice.

“Hello Kate. I’ve been expecting your call. What can I do for you?”

I gaped at her.

“Well, have you heard from Gunner, Brody and Hudson?” I gasped. “They disappeared without telling me anything. I have their itinerary, and there are things that need to get done. They need me –”* * *But the middle-aged woman cut me off right there.

“No, they don’t,” she said shortly. “Hard Fought has moved on and your services are no longer needed.”

I goggled again at the woman, my brain unable to process.

“I’m sorry?” came the gasp. “But how? I mean, they need me. They need fresh towels after every concert, they like that special soap from Italy –”

Helena laughed then, her red lipsticked mouth opening wide, showing off dangerous white teeth.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re so naïve,” she purred.

I stopped short.

“As in?” were my slow words.’

She waved her hand airily.

“They don’t need you,” she emphasized. “Hard Fought’s been touring for years now. These guys have been on the road for longer than you can say boo. You think that soaps and towels are what made you special? Please, there are dozens of girls who can do that sort of thing.”