Worlds Apart

Chapter Seventeen

In the morning I wasn’t awoken as usual by the knock on the door and a peace offering of coffee.

It wasn’t like it was a surprise – I knew there would be no chance Logan would be here in the morning, but a part of my continued hoping against reason. I’d stayed in bed, waiting for that knock to happen despite the repeated telling myself that I was an idiot for doing it – which I honestly was.

Even if nothing had happened the night before, there was no way he could have made it back to Belmont by now. He’d simply been too drunk.

The night before it hadn’t taken long for the car Mandy had ordered for me to find where I was. I’d managed it all without telling her a thing about what had happened, unable to talk about it quite yet – something she wasn’t pleased with. After an hour of seething in the back seat, thinking about every minute had passed since the second Josh had first touched my shoulders, I’d worn myself out with the alcohol and weed and potent emotions.

Within seconds of my shoulders slumping, I’d fallen asleep across the back seat, awkwardly tangled in the seat belt still stretched across my stomach. And by the time I’d drowsily stumbled up to my room, all I’d managed to do was strip out of everything bar my bra and tights before I’d fallen asleep on top of the covers.

It was amazing how many times I’d managed to sleep on top of the blankets during the nights I’d been here.

And I’d like to point out that every time it was Cam Harrison’s fault.

So instead of giving Logan that very last guitar lesson where I’d planned to teach him his song, I systematically carried on with my morning, pretending that it didn’t bother me in the least. It just gave me time to do all the things I would be rushing to do tomorrow morning before a car arrived to take Cash and I to LA.

All my guitars beside my trusted acoustic that Cash had dropped off in my room were back at the studio; Sarah had agreed to send them back to my band to get sorted at my apartment. Dropping on my bed after scrubbing every part of last night off me in the shower, I ran my hand over the guitar case thoughtfully. After a moment, I pulled out the handwritten version of Don’t Look Back Into The Sun, smoothing it over my bare leg.

I might not even get the chance to give it Logan after all.

With a sigh, I folded it up carefully once again before pushing it back into my guitar case.

Steeling myself, I decided it was time to get all my packing done and finished with. Pulling my bag from underneath my bed where I’d stored it away my first day here, I began dragging all my clothes from the drawers, packing it away. I even stored away all the albums I’d deemed too important to leave behind.

When I could find nothing else to do, I gave a sigh, standing by my bed. The motel room had become my little home, all my things thrown about carelessly like my own apartment, showing some personal touches. Now everything was put away, letting it go back to a generic motel room stuck quite firmly in the seventies.

Snagging the leather jacket I’d left out for myself, I quickly shut the door. It looked like the motel rooms we used to stay in for one night stands when we first could afford to stay somewhere that wasn’t our van.

Back then we all used to sleep in the same queen sized bed, though.

Since it was still early enough in the morning, I shrugged my jacket on, looking down in the motel to see no sign of The Bends’ car or motorcycles. At least that reassured me that they weren’t back here and were just choosing to avoid me at all costs. So – trying not to mope around – I shoved my sunglasses on and headed down to the coffee shop.