53. Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Three

Anna

A nother notification dings across the screen of my phone, and yet, it hangs in the limbo of my hand, my eyes trained on the other device in front of me.

I can't take my sight off of the headlines lighting up my laptop, my stomach jumping up to stick in my throat.

After all the long hours and months spent, the stories fed to the tabloids, and the payoff of one pesky person, I am staring at a leak of As Above's personal life, live on the screen for everyone to see.

I swallow thickly.

Twenty-five thousand dollars went to Toby's accuser, in exchange for her disappearance from the media. Enough cash to get her life started somewhere far away from them—him—and a promise of more if she kept her silence.

It didn't matter that the baby isn't his.

It didn't matter that the paperwork she possessed was forged.

It didn't matter that she never actually had any contact with Toby at all.

None of it mattered.

Leo and I both agreed that it was for his peace.

His protection.

And yet …

Conveniently, less than twenty-four hours after the transfer of funds, Tobias Jeffers is once again the top story of not just the vultures of media, but every news outlet I can think to check.

My phone pings, and I absentmindedly thumb my way through the screens until the voicemail plays in a low voice.

It's another one from Leo.

He's begging me to stay.

I can't.

Deleting the voicemail so I have the space for others, I remind myself that I'm down to one more week. Seven more days of carrying the burden of protecting the band at all cost, deceiving the world, and myself, in their honor. Seven more days of fake narratives, pushy reporters, and terrifying camerapersons.

Only seven more days until I can move on to the next chapter of my life.

I have a new place in a new town, a job far away from here, a new everything waiting for me.

Just one more week.

My phone spits out another notification and I hit the screen without looking to silence it.

I'm too tired to do much else.

So damn tired of all the calls, seeing the hateful words spewed across the internet.

The stress and loneliness left in its wake.

Letting the phone drop next to me to free my hands, I set up a blast email I've already had to utilize for these situations and send it out in hopes of overshadowing the negative headlines about Toby and his current stint in rehab.

Maybe the baby rumor would have been a better pill to swallow.

The man is so ingrained into my subconscious, I swear I hear him speaking. His words muffled as he tells me all about that same rehabilitation spell, just as he does in every voicemail he leaves me.

Every night he calls.

And every night, I listen.

Ever since the cabin, I've taken up torturing myself like it's become my new pastime. My new favorite hobby.

Especially when it involves the bassist of the band I have failed to keep pieced together.

It's exactly why I have to leave .

"Anyways..." Toby says as if dismissing my internal dilemma and preparing his defense of my self-deprecation, boosting me up in his own way while I tear myself down.

It's one of the things I miss. Hearing what he thinks about things.

"You clearly haven't blocked this number after last week's jerk-off message."

That is not what I was expecting from my subconscious.

"Did it make you hot, Mama?"

Realization has me shooting up off of my couch, tossing my laptop to the cushion in the process and wheeling around the room.

Am I losing my mind?

A faint groan interrupt the otherwise silent space and my wide eyes land on the spot I just vacated.

The spot between my laptop and my phone.

Oh, no .

"Did you touch yourself to the sound of my voice?"

I can barely hear his words over the rushing of blood pumping around my ears and the racing breaths escaping my lungs.

Crap, crap, crap!

"I don't wanna get cut off this time, but— uhhng —just the thought of you listening feels too good."

My thighs clench and my hands go to my hot face.

What the heck do I do?

Why am I sweating?

My mind, the smarter of the two organs controlling me, screams to run back to the couch and hang up the phone. Separate myself from him and never listen to another voicemail he leaves me. Maybe even block the number.

My heart, though, begs me not to cut off the real time connection with the man that it yearns after.

It's what has me sinking to my knees next to the couch and flipping the phone over.

The screen lights up with his name, confirming the connected lines.

I bite my lip.

He shutters out a breath.

I don't pick the phone. Instead, I run my finger along the edge of the cream-colored case that has golden sparkles imbedded in the back.

It's new.

The second I saw the flash of gold, it reminded me of the light in Toby's eyes.

I've never added something to my cart so fast.

And now … here he is … on the line for real. Tucked inside the case I bought because of him, and creating sparks inside my stomach from just his ragged breaths.

"I don't want you to miss it this time, Mama. So, I'm going to make it fast."

Would he rush if he knew I was listening?

" Fuck , it's like I can hear— ahh —your little breaths in my ear ... taste your— ahng —cunt on my tongue."

He exhales and it's like his body is begging me to say something. Acknowledge him.

Encourage him .

I don't. In fact, I pinch my lips between my teeth and shove my hand between my already clenched thighs. I wiggle my warm and eager fingers closer to my aching core.

My hand slides closer, pressing against myself over the material of my pants, wetness soaking through the thin fabric.

The pressure alone is enough to send my eyes skyward and my teeth biting down hard on my lips.

"Anna," Toby breathes. "Me stroking my dick … while thinking of you … wrapped around it." He lets loose a choked noise. "Buried inside that tight cunt of yours … It's gonna make me come." He grunts, and I have to work to hold back the sound bubbling up my throat. "Gonna make me paint my chest all over again."

Turning my head away from the phone, I shove my mouth against my bicep to hold back the gasps I can't control.

He hums. "There it is, Mama."

Toby's rugged gasp drowns out mine and ends with my name from his lips.

Chills flood my skin, and my body clenches in response, my teeth sinking into my arm to hide the noises.

"Two weeks," Toby reminds me in his deep voice. "Three days. Four hours."

Before he can say anything else …

I disconnect us.