Hard as Rock (The Rock Star's Seduction 3)

4

I went back to the hotel and hurriedly threw my things in my suitcase. I was a sobbing wreck the entire time, barely able to see because of the tears streaming out of my eyes.

I didn’t want Derek to come back and find me here. I wanted to be gone.

Now.

For the same reason, I didn’t want to say my goodbyes to anyone else in the band. I felt bad about it – especially about not saying goodbye to Ryan – but any extra second that I spent in the hotel was another chance Derek had to find me here and start the whole nightmare over again. I couldn’t take that risk. As soon as my bags were packed, I called the front desk, took the elevator to the lobby, and jumped in the cab they had waiting.

I bawled all the way to the airport. It got to the point where the cab driver, an immigrant from some Eastern European country, looked at me in the rearview mirror like I was a dying puppy dog.

“Lady, lady – you okay?”

I assured him I would be as soon as I got out of Vegas.

That turned out not to be true. But at least he got me to the airport in one piece.

At the Delta counter, I bought the last seat available on the next non-stop to New York. It was expensive, but I had the cash, thanks to Derek’s generosity and Miles giving me a thousand dollars of spending money.

At least the cheating asshole bought me my plane ticket,

I thought bitterly.

I bawled the whole flight home, too. I was sitting between a guy who looked like a linebacker and an older man who might have been an accountant. They both acted intensely uncomfortable, and did their best to ignore me by putting on headphones and watching the little TV screens in the seats in front of them. I tried to keep it together, but I kept bursting into tears every few minutes or so. The stewardess came by like clockwork to give me more airline napkins to wipe my eyes and blow my nose.

I finally got into JFK just after midnight. By the time I got to baggage claim I thought I was numb. I thought I had gotten it all out.

Then I switched my phone off of airplane mode and saw that I had 50 texts and twenty missed phone calls. Ryan was a good third of them. However, the other two thirds were a number I didn’t recognize.

But I could guess who they were from: the Rock Star Without a Cell Phone. Probably borrowing somebody else’s.

I listened to the first one while I waited in line outside for the cabs.

“Kaitlyn, where did you go?! Look – please – I know I was a dick and an idiot – but please, babe, call me. PLEASE. Don’t leave me.”

I burst into tears as soon as I heard his voice.

The grizzled old New York cabbie wasn’t fazed at all to have a blubbering woman in his back seat. Didn’t say anything the entire time except “Where ya wanna go?” and “That’ll be 37 bucks,” which I paid him out of the remainder of my money from Derek.

New York City – where nobody looks anybody in the eye, and everybody minds their own goddamn business.

Home sweet home.