I should have taken that expression as a warning, but I was feeling too much satisfaction in the sound of his nose crunching on the wood.
The table shook, and our empties toppled and crashed to the floor.
Glass shattered as I gave in to the intent of shattering the bastard’s face. Fisting two hands in the back of his shirt, I flipped him over.
Blood spurted from his nose, streamed down around his mouth, and dripped from his chin.
“She’s no one. No one.” The harrowed words rasped from my throat as I threw another punch.
Fist after fist.
Each blow harder than the last.
I devolved into incoherency.
Fell into insanity.
Like I could pound Maggie’s face from his brain.
Spare her from the misery of who I was.
The fucker just grinned beneath the blows.
His white teeth smeared with blood.
I could almost feel the stakes of what I’d said impale her.
But I had to do it.
Couldn’t risk it.
Couldn’t afford it.
Hadn’t I already known what being around her was gonna do?
On a groan, the prick slumped to the ground. But he was still grinning, already sure of the result.
He’d achieved exactly what he’d set out to do.
I dropped to my knees, gasping for a breath that I couldn’t find. The music was dead, and every person in the place had gathered around to get a firsthand peek at the carnage of happy-go-lucky me.
Rhys-motherfucking-Manning.
Most of them were recording or snapping pictures.
Fuck. My eyes raced for the girl.
The girl who was twenty feet away where she’d been dragged back by a bouncer. He had his hands on her shoulders to keep her out of the fray. My wary gaze tangled with those charcoal eyes that were etched in hurt and confusion.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed.
Two more bouncers broke through.
“Don’t fuckin’ move.”
One of them grabbed me from behind and dragged me back.
I didn’t fight it.
Just let him push me facedown to the sticky floor with my arms pinned behind my back.
Didn’t know how long he held me there until sirens could be heard from outside. The sea parted when officers and paramedics descended on the scene.
They put me in cuffs and yanked me to my feet.
Maggie stared at me.
Hurt and helpless.
Regret lanced through my chest.
I wanted to go to her.
Tell her I was sorry.
That I didn’t mean what I’d said.
But it was for the best.
It was for the best.
I didn’t even know why I’d wondered it.
It was inevitable.
I destroyed the good.
Broke the beautiful.
I’d known it from the beginning, hadn’t I?
Except I was the road that shouldn’t be traveled. I was the dead end. I was the disaster waiting up ahead, and she was the one who didn’t have the first clue.
And I refused to be the downfall of Maggie Penelope.
One
Maggie
Six Months Later
Once a bad boy, always a bad boy?
It would seem so for Rhys Manning, the bassist of Carolina George, record giant Stone Industries’ latest musical lovechild. Manning is scheduled to be in court late next month on charges of assault and disorderly conduct against a patron at a local bar in his hometown of Dalton, South Carolina.
It seems Manning, known for his charismatic stage presence and his penchant for leaving behind a superhighway of dropped panties and broken hearts, also loves to leave behind a trail of brawls and barfights.
Celebrity Spread has learned the country-rocker has a record almost as long as the notches in his belt. After five arrests and two minor convictions, Manning now stands to serve up to six months in jail.
Earlier this year, Carolina George announced its first major-label album, backed by Stone Industries, will be released this winter, though sources close to the band have been tight-lipped about when they are scheduled to be in the studio.
When a storm of speculation about Manning leaving the band hit the social media airwaves after he disappeared from the spotlight, Carolina George offered this official statement: “Our band is family, blood or not, and that includes Rhys Manning. We can’t do what we do without him. We believe the fight occurred in self-defense, and we stand behind him one-hundred-percent.”
Yet at his arrest, Rhys Manning showed no signs of injuries.
The band stole millions of hearts during their stunning performance at last year’s ACB Awards, and now adoring fans are desperate for more.
But will this chronic bad behavior derail Carolina George’s skyrocketing rise to superstardom or will the turmoil only feed the band’s creative force? Only time will tell.
Throat thick, I reread the article that had been published last week as I sat in the backseat of the black SUV that sped toward our destination on Tybee Island.
Nerves fired through my body.
A chaos of excitement and dread that toiled and pled from the depths of me.
I guessed I finally understood why they called it a crush.
It might have been the first one I’d ever had, but I recognized the heaviness that sat like a ton of bricks at the center of my chest. Recognized the way my heart pinched and squeezed and made it feel like it was difficult to breathe.