Sad, sad eyes, but I can’t bring myself to care anymore. If she didn’t complain herself, I can guess who did on her behalf. The guy who steps beside her, looking down at her, then up at me.

“Holy shit, you’re Adams North,” he says. “You have no idea how stoked I am to meet you. I’m Xander Salvatore.” He sticks out his hand for me to shake, and I stare at him until he withdraws it. “I, uh … The fact I get to work on this project with you and the band is insane. I really lucked out.”

I huff a disbelieving laugh, returning my eyes to Remi as she shifts uncomfortably. “The luckiest man, I’m sure.”

“Especially getting to work side by side with Rem again.” He edges closer to her, her arm overlapping his now. Another clear message from the wannabe. And she doesn’t move away.

On a slow inhale, I tick through all the reasons not to break his face. But it might happen if I don’t get the fuck away from them.

“Speaking of work, Rem.” He glances down with a smile. “We decided to grab dinner while you all catch me up.”

His skin brushes hers, and I bite out, “Is there anything else, Sinner?” I cock my head at her, and after a few seconds of studying me, searching my eyes for something she won’t find, she shakes hers.

I board the bus without another word to either of them. Without another look. Because it doesn’t matter who he is or what she says he is to her. It doesn’t matter how many times she casts her sad eyes up at me or drags unwanted memories out of me.

The lies stay lies. Our past remains.

What broke is still broken.

I won’t let myself forget again.

Because the truth is, I fell in love with Remi Saint and emerged loathing Remi Sinner. She can’t be both, and I should thank her for reminding me which one’s on my tour. It’s not the one who ended up being an illusion. Now I wait it out until she disappears from my life again. Only I’m not going after her this time. I learned my lessons the hard way.

25

FOSTER

Before…

“If we miss our flight, I will push you into traffic.”

Chase chuckles and winks. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

I sigh, forehead meeting my arm on top of the airport bar while he orders a final round. We took up residence on the stools, waiting for our connecting flight to London.

Which started boarding five minutes ago.

The bartender stops in front of us, and I raise my head as she pours four shots. I nod a thanks and hand over my card. Chase splits the glasses, sliding two over for me, and he lifts one, elbows on the bar.