He inclines his head toward the back compartment of the SUV where his Kramer guitar is safely stored. “I’m not Lucas, beautiful.” He grabs my waist firmly between his hands, and lifts me off the ground, placing me into the Suburban.

“I’m capable of lifting my leg high enough to use the step rail.”

“Trust me, I know exactly how high those legs will go.” Before he closes my door, he winks and says, “By the way, Ky, you couldn’t hurt that pretty blue Kramer even if you tried.”

Using the rearview mirror, I catch Cal and Heidi stifling laughter from their respective rows. “Stop encouraging his bull,” I say a little too sharply. But at least they’ve found common ground. It just blows that it’s in the form of the tension crackling between Wyatt and me.

Wyatt slams down into the driver’s seat, pops open the biggest Monster Energy drink I’ve ever seen, and starts the ignition. He glances over at me, wearing a grin that’s far too sexy. “Let’s do this shit.”

“Let’s,” I agree sarcastically.

I’m silent as he pulls out of the hotel parking lot. Because he hates GPS, he has to turn around at a gas station a quarter of a mile up the road.

“Babe, you do know that Garmin isn’t actually watching every move you make, don’t you? It doesn’t have a camera recording every messed-up thing you say. So, trust me, if you use the damn GPS, I swear everything will be alright.”

He rubs his tongue up and down the labret in his lower lip as if deep in thought before gesturing to the folded piece of paper lodged into one of the cup holders. “If you insist, Ky.”

My nose wrinkles up when he gives in so easily, but I say nothing as I unfold the paper, which turns out to be the location of the Houston hotel. I alternate between punching the address into the GPS and glancing at him. “Done.”

“If a close-up of my dick ends up on YouTube, your ass is mine, Kylie.”

“Didn’t you already claim it as yours anyway?” I challenge in a voice quiet enough for only him to hear, and he nods slowly. “Ugh, just drive.”

I sit back in my seat and press my forehead against the cold window, watching New Orleans fade away, as Wyatt speeds the Suburban onto I-10 toward Houston. I don’t know if he planned the road trip like this on purpose, but if he wanted me to remember everything, he’s succeeded.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse at him. His blue eyes are glued on the road, and one of his hands is gripping the steering wheel so tight that I swear I’ll hear the leather split apart at any moment. His expression is suddenly unreadable, and I wish like hell I knew why.

Silently, he reaches past the center console and creeps his hand across my lap, not stopping until his fingertips brush the inside of my left wrist. Gasping, I jerk away as if he’s scorched my skin with fire. I close my eyes, and I can practically feel the way his hand closed around my wrist when we left New Orleans all those years ago. It was before Your Toxic Sequel— at the time, Falling Anarchy—made it big, and I was huddled up against him in the backseat of Sinjin’s Ford Expedition. I can hear the words he whispered to me, just as clear and startling as ever.

“Does Lucas know?”

“God, no.”

He let go of my arm and moves his hand to my thigh, squeezing just a touch too hard. The pressure makes my heart race, but in a good way. This isn’t the first time Wyatt McCrae has touched me, but I know from this moment on, I’ll consider it the beginning. It’s not an accidental brush or an awkward hug from my brother’s best friend. This is something else entirely, and it’s both confusing and intoxicating.

“So why the fuck do you do it?” he demands, catching me off guard.

I stare at him, open-mouthed, for what seems like an eternity. His midnight blue eyes study me with care, and he waits impatiently for me to give him a response. Sliding a strand of my hair behind my ear, I flick my gaze to the front of the vehicle, where my brother is deep in conversation with Sinjin. When I face Wyatt directly, I’m as honest as I can be.

“Because I’m not good enough. Because my parents have Lucas, and I can barely manage to—”

“You’re everything. Don’t believe for one second he’s any better than you or that you don’t deserve just as much love.”

I start to speak, but he cuts me off. “Kylie, the cutting?” His voice is soft and dangerous, possessive and sexy, and I lean closer to him. “Don’t ever fucking do it again.”

I swallow hard. Fall hard. And I never look back.

“I promise. I won’t.”

I kept that promise, only wavering once since then.

Now, I open my eyes and make myself a new vow—to stay away from all these memories and make it back to L.A., without dredging up more of our history.

He rests his palm on my thigh, and I lower my brown eyes to it, relieved that I had the good sense to wear sunglasses. Dragging in a harsh breath of air, I cover his hand with mine.

***

Heidi absolutely refuses to stay with Cal another night, and because I’m virtually broke and without an ID until I return to L.A., I agree to share a room with her when we reach the Onyx Hotel in Houston five hours later. With an atrium lobby and floor-to-ceiling windows, the place is far more luxurious than the hotel we stayed at in New Orleans. The Onyx also comes at an extravagant price, and Heidi has no problem letting us know during check-in.

“Could you have picked anything more expensive?” she asks Wyatt as she slides the front desk clerk her MasterCard. “I mean, I realize you make a gazillion dollars a year, and I think that’s good for you and all, but some of us aren’t famous.”

Rolling his dark eyes, Cal grabs his bag and guitar from the floor. As he walks past us, he says in a voice loud enough for even the clerk to hear, “Guess you’ll be pulling a double shift on the phone-fuck line, huh?”

Heidi takes her card from the clerk’s outstretched hand, ignoring the look of mortification on the poor man’s face, and she gives Cal a tight smile. “You’ve got my number, asshole. Just make sure there’s enough money on your credit card.”

“Please just bone it out of your system already,” Wyatt growls under his breath, taking the words right out of my mouth. He works his way between them and grabs my bag and Heidi’s. When none of us race to follow him, he glances back. “You coming?” His blue eyes linger on me for far too long when he says coming, and I don’t miss the double entendre.

I fall back to walk beside Heidi. “I’ll pay you back when we get home, or I can get Lucas to Western Union you the money.” If I can even get in touch with him.

My brother has been missing in action ever since Wyatt showed up in New Orleans, and I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t want to talk about Sin or if he’s simply busy with Sienna. Sienna, on the other hand, has no problem answering my messages. She sent me multiple texts while we were on the way here. While I’ve left messages for Lucas about the crap that went down back in New Orleans, I haven’t mentioned it to Sienna because the last thing I want to do is bring her into my drama.

Heidi waves her hand in the air, dismissing my offer to pay her for the hotel. “I refuse to take money from you.”

“You just whined about the cost of the hotel.”

“I whine about a lot of shit. It doesn’t mean it actually bothers me.”

I should have expected her to say this, but I still make a mental note to pay her back. I won’t be able to sleep worth a damn at night, knowing I owe my closest friend.

Wyatt drops our bags in front of our door, which is thankfully on the first floor this time. He takes the key card from Heidi, pops open the door, and then scoots the luggage inside. Reaching out in her direction, he begins to place the card back into her hands, but then he pauses. He widens his stance and holds it over her head, earning a pissed-off glare from Heidi.