Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC 17)

I answer with a weak smile.

If it’s the right choice, why does it feel so dang wrong?

Chapter Fifty-Three

Rooster

Little Rock.

Tulsa

St. Louis.

I might be missing a few stops. Touring the country when it’s your job isn’t the same as riding the wind for fun. Half the time, there’s no room in the schedule to take Shelby anywhere fun.

After the fucked-up “cheating scandal” I had a call with Digger where I expressed my extreme displeasure about the photos taken in his parking lot after he insisted I walk one of his dancers out. He apologized profusely. Either he’s a good liar or he didn’t set me up and really has no fucking clue what’s going on.

He promises me he’ll look into the situation and get me some answers.

I’m not holding my breath.

I didn’t call Priest because that would feel too much like whining to dad. I’m sure he’s aware, though. Z had been outraged on my behalf, and I have a feeling he called Priest to air out his grievances.

Sippin’ on Secrets must be bored because they keep reposting different variations of the two non-stories. Gossip about Shelby must be bringing in more traffic than their pathetic site usually sees.

All that means is Shelby’s popularity is growing.

In my free time, I work on tracing who’s behind the celebrity blog. More and more, I suspect it’s some kid working out of his mom’s basement. Little shit’s in for a surprise soon.

I’m also building Shelby’s website and social media in a way that suppresses the gossipy stories as much as possible. I spend time scrubbing my own social media, so no one connects me to Anya, Stella, or any other porn girls associated with the club. I also pray like fuck none of the club girls I’ve been involved with in the past decide they’d like to sell a story.

Finished mapping out a plan for this afternoon, I close my laptop and glance over at Shelby. “You all right?”

She’s been quieter and quieter since the “scandal.” Never wants to go anywhere. Just from the RV to the venue and back. Can’t even talk her into a few nights at a hotel.

The guys have been hanging out with Dawson and his crew more and more. Which is fine. He’s paying for the privilege now. And it gives us more alone time.

That we spend not talking or doing much.

“Hey,” I call out when she doesn’t answer. I stand and approach the bed slowly.

She has her ear buds in and her notebook on her lap. She glances up as I approach and smiles.

Relief bursts in my chest. She hasn’t been smiling enough lately.

“What?” she tugs the ear buds out and sets her notebook to the side.

“You all right?”

Another faint smile. “Trying to work out a song.” She pats the bed next to her and I drop down, resting my hand on her leg.

“Have you tried going over it with Trent?” Supposedly they’ve always written their songs together, but other than sending each other files, and playing on stage together every night, they don’t hang out.

“That’s all I need,” she grumbles. “Someone taking a photo of Trent and me together and saying I’m sleepin’ with him too.”

Fuck. I knew that’s what was bothering her. “Hey, put that shit out of your head. You’re not going to live in fear of those assholes.”

“I’m not afraid. I’m tired of it.”

I’ve been questioning whether I made the right call by agreeing not to go to the awards show with her. At the time, it seemed reasonable. Now, I’m not so sure.

“You pick a dress for the small screen thing?”

She grabs her phone and flicks through a few screens, finally stopping to show me a puffy-looking baby blue ball gown. She taps the screen and another similar dress in bright yellow fills the screen.

“They’re both pretty.”

“I’m not sure blond and yellow go together too well.” She tugs on her ponytail. “They said they’ll hold both and I can pick the one I want after I try ’em on.”

“Good.”

She bites her lip. Hesitates. “I’m nervous as all get-out.”

“Don’t be. You’ll be great.”

The corner of her mouth turns down. “At least I’m not performing. Show up. Collect my award—or not. Then skedaddle back to my hotel.” She forces a smile. “Easy peasy.”

“Right. And I’ll be back the day after to take you to San Fran.”

She moves closer. “Logan, you’re not some chauffeur to me. You know that, right?”

I stroke my knuckles over her cheek. “I know.”

“Good.”

“Come here.” I hold out my arms and she crawls into my lap, wrapping herself around me.

“I love you,” she murmurs.

I run my hands over her back and hold her tight. “Love you too.”

We stay like that for a few minutes, our worlds shifting into alignment. “Hey, you wanna go for a ride with me? That always clears my head. Maybe you can throw some lyrics out on the wind and see what comes back to you.”