by Anna Paige
Just because I couldn't get away with fucking her, didn't mean I couldn't fuck with her. I stood and refilled my coffee, pouring a cup for her and marching over to the open bathroom door. She pretended not to see me as I approached, a smug expression on her face as she continued slowly rubbing lotion on her neck. I reached in and placed the mug on the small counter, leaning so close I could have flicked her ear with my tongue. "You know, warden, if Ethan wasn't sleeping five feet away, I'd bend you over that sink and make you watch in the mirror while I fucked that smirk right off your pretty face." I took her earlobe between my teeth and nipped it roughly before turning and heading back to the table, smiling at the sound of her rough exhalation behind me.
Two could play this game.
•••
That night, we all gathered on one bus after the show, Aubrey going over some of the ground rules for the radio spot the next morning. She commanded respect and compliance, grinding into us that we were not to comment on recent scandals—looking at me all the while. She said she'd had a talk with the station manager, as well as the DJ, giving them a list of topics that were off limits. We were to plug the tour and talk about the upcoming album, mention some of the charitable and humanitarian activities she'd slated for us, and praise the label whenever possible. It felt like she was telling us to kiss ass, and that pissed me the hell off.
"You want us to be good little puppets and toe the company line, is that it? Publicly brag on a label that treats us like their favorite cash cow without giving a damn who we are as people?" It came out harsh as hell, and I couldn't be bothered to regret it, even when she flinched at my tone.
"I'm trying to do my job here," she countered. "You need to show your allegiance to the label loudly and as often as possible to keep them from doing something drastic. They are sick to death of their clients’ shenanigans making headlines instead of their music. You're on the chopping block here, along with a lot of others. There's talk of cleaning house at the label, and you've put yourselves at the top of the list. We have to show them that you're willing to walk a line to keep them happy."
"That's not who we are, Aubrey. We go on these shows, talk about the tour and the music, take a few pre-screened questions from the fans, sign a bunch of shit for them to give away, then comment on and congratulate the other bands on the countdown in a show of mutual respect. It's not a good idea to go in there with the kind of agenda you're suggesting. It'll sound false—staged—and the listeners, our fans, will pick up on it. Being troublemakers is something that the media eventually forgets but being a sellout is for-fucking-ever. You don't get forgiven for that, no matter who you are."
"You're gonna have to risk it," she shrugged. "I'm not asking you to gush over them like you're their biggest fans. Just remark on how well put together the tour has been, how they are supportive of and anxious for the next album. Nothing over the top, Kade, just subtle nods that let them know you're back on board."
"On board as in okay with sucking up and boosting their already overblown egos?" I spat sarcastically. "No thanks. If minding our manners and doing the charity thing isn't enough, fuck them. I refuse to kiss anyone's ass, especially theirs." I jumped from my spot on the couch and walked off the bus, catching Marcus grabbing a smoke as I made my way across the parking lot, telling him to take his time since the rest of the guys were still in a meeting with the PR priss. He just laughed and nodded, smoke enveloping him as I marched off. Okay, so she wasn't a priss, but he didn't know that. I was so angry I didn't want to see her as anything else right then, certainly not the woman I was falling for. God help me.
I made it to the edge of the parking lot and stopped. Where was I even going? I couldn't very well march up to the nearest bar and get my drink on. I would be swarmed by fans and media. Not that I'd even had the presence of mind to grab my wallet on the way out anyway. I was in too big a hurry to get away from it all— the drama, the bullshit, the anger. And her, I'd needed to get away from her most of all. The fact that she wanted us to do this—be something we weren't—it pissed me off beyond belief. Coming from anyone else, it probably wouldn't have been as bad, but when she asked me to be someone I just wasn't, I had to question if she even knew who I was. Or maybe she knew and she wanted me to be someone else. Maybe I wasn't enough.
Fuck, why did I care? Why did it matter whether she accepted me?
I knew the answer, but I refused to acknowledge it. Not then, anyway. Maybe not ever, if she really didn't think I was good enough just as I was.
Was I being too hard on her? Expecting too much? She wasn't particularly well-versed in the workings of the music industry, not from this side of things, at least. It was possible she didn't understand what she was asking of us. The worst thing that could happen to an artist, of any vocation—whether musicians, painters, writers—was to be considered a sellout, a phony, by your followers. I mean, there was a chance she didn't realize that, wasn't there? Maybe I was expecting her to be something she wasn't, the same way she was expecting me to be something I wasn't.
Then again, maybe I was looking for reasons to push her away because the idea of falling for her scared the fuck out of me.
I paced at the edge of the parking lot for a while, warring with myself. I was so fucking confused, so overwhelmed by it all.
"Hey, it's time to hit the road," Lennox called, strutting across the lot like he didn't have a care in the world. Lucky fucker.
I tilted my head back and laced my hands at the base of my neck, glaring at the sky. "Fuck."
He closed the distance between us, stopping a few feet away. "You good?"
"Aren't I always?" I didn't bother looking at him.
"Are you ever?" he countered. "You idle at surly, but lately, you've been a total dick. What gives? Is it her? Are you trying to scare her away? Because I don't think that's gonna happen. She's here to do a job, and you're fighting her at every turn."
"Back off Lenn," I growled through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the stars.
"No, fuck you, Kade. You don't get to decide what's best for all of us. If she says we have to do this to keep making music, then we need to sac up and do it. Put your fucking pride on the back burner for once."
"You do what you want. Leave me out of it."
"Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you? For us to just let you walk away? To be the martyr who sacrifices himself to save the rest of us? Who fucking asked you, Kade? When were you appointed our keeper? Stop looking for ways to bail on your brothers and fight to keep us all together, you fucking dick." He stomped off in an angry huff.
What if he isn't seeing the big picture? What if the only way to save them is to walk away from the band forever?
Chapter Nine
Aubrey
After Kade's dramatic exit, the rest of the guys scattered, and I went to bed, refusing to wait for him to come back and light into me again for doing my damn job.
Arrogant prick.
God, why was he so bent on arguing with everything I said?
I laid there for hours, chasing sleep long after he re-boarded the bus, and we left for the last venue of the week. There didn't seem to be much conversation between him and Kane, though I did hear a few faint whispers before my eyes finally began to droop. Maybe he was being grouchy with everyone. I was never sure with him. The feeling usually left me pleasantly off balance, but tonight it gave me a feeling of foreboding that was anything but pleasant. Something was brewing with him, and whatever it was, it wouldn't end well.
•••
The next morning, he was eerily pleasant, or at least what passed for pleasant in his world. He didn't glare or make sniper comments in response to my last minute prompting, held the door for me when we reached the studio, and politely introduced me to the DJ when we arrived for their interview.
The whole thing had me scared shitless. The proverbial calm before the storm.
The five of them went through the list of names on the countdown, talking about the songs and the bands or artist
s who created them, recounting stories from the road where they had toured or played with some of them. The guys were outgoing and perfectly behaved, even Kade. My palms began to sweat as we neared the portion of the show where the focus turned to the band.
"So," the DJ looked around the room, his voice grating on my nerves for some unfathomable reason. "What's next for Thrill of the Chase?"
Ethan spoke first. "Well, we're on tour for the next several months—the last leg of it being overseas—then back in the studio after the first of the year to record our next album. Our label is keeping us super busy, and we wouldn't have it any other way."
Jared chimed in with his slow, steady drawl. "We're living the dream; getting to perform all over the world while cutting tracks we believe in, music we each put our heart and soul into. Doesn't get much better than that."
I watched Kade roll his eyes, and my pulse quickened. The DJ noticed too, because he spoke up, addressing Kade specifically with his next question. "So, Kade, what's your response to those who say your music has changed in the last few years? There are some that say they preferred your original sound, citing albums one and two as your best work, while others are praising your new work as your best. What’s your take?"
A slow smile played at his lips and my heart sank.
Oh shit. Here we go.
He sat forward and locked eyes with the DJ—John? Jake? I couldn't remember just then but I felt sorry for him whatever his name turned out to be. "You want to know what I say? I say you can't win in this business. If you don't change and grow in this ever-evolving industry, you become irrelevant. Outdated. Stagnant. But if you put out an album that's too removed from your original niche, you're a sellout. Well—for us at least—” He pointed around at his wide-eyed bandmates. “We don't give a shit about trends, whether following or setting them. Our music evolves as we do. Naturally, slowly, and irrevocably. So, we're gonna write what the fuck we want, play how the fuck we want, and be exactly who we fucking are. Period. Follow or don't. That's the only choice you get to make." He locked eyes with me, expression full of venom. "No one makes us bend."
There was a moment of stunned silence before the DJ—dear, God, what the hell was his name?—cleared his throat and spoke into the mic. "Well, folks, I guess you heard that." He nodded to Kade, offering a shockingly supportive smile. "I for one, intend to follow, come what may."
"Thanks, Jim." Kade smiled.
Jim! His name was Jim! I didn't know why it mattered so much just then but I suspected it was my mind's way of focusing on something trivial so I wouldn't do something stupid like lose my shit in front of half a dozen microphones. I was going to kill him!
The interview wrapped a few minutes later, and the guys spent a little while signing CDs and T-shirts for future giveaways, laughing and joking with the staff like Kade hadn't just acted like a first class dick.
After stony silence in the elevator, we made it back down to the limos, and Kane smartly decided to ride back to the buses with Jared, Lennox, and Ethan, leaving Kade and I alone to hash things out.
The smug bastard held my door with a half-smile, daring to trail his eyes down my body like he was ready to devour me. "After you, warden," he drawled pleasantly, only further infuriating me.
As soon as we were both inside and the limo pulled from the curb, I hit the button to raise the partition between us and the driver, not wanting any witnesses in case I killed his stupid ass. When it finished sealing us off, I spun on the seat to glare at him. "What in the holy hell were you thinking back there? Are you insane?"
He just smiled and shrugged, completely unrepentant.
"Are you trying to make things worse?" I accused, wringing my hands together to keep from throttling him.
"I made things better, Aubrey. You just don't see that yet," he offered calmly.
"You're fucking delusional. How is swearing on air, getting shitty with the DJ, and basically telling your fans you don't care if they turn on you possibly helping anything?"
"People don't follow pussies. If you want loyalty—a real following—you have to act like a damn leader, not some scolded puppy begging for their forgiveness and attention. It wouldn't work in any situation, but it damn sure wouldn't fly coming from us. We can't let them see us as soft, not ever, or they'll bail. People admire strength, they crave it, and I just showed them that we still have it in spades."
"You could have at least clued me in before you decided to act in opposition to our plans," I groused. Asshole. I hated that he blindsided me, and I hated even more that he might be right.
"Would you have tried to stop me?" He looked at me in a way that suggested he knew the answer as well as I did.
"Yes."
"Well, there you go." He opened the mini fridge and grabbed two waters, offering me one before cracking open his own. "I wasn’t being impetuous, Aubrey. I know how to think before I act, even if it sometimes seems like I don't."
"So, you planned this?" I asked, not sure if I was referring to the interview or something more.
Clearly, he thought I meant more than the audio clip since he leaned close and said, "I planned every possible angle, every outcome, and every response. I prepared for it all… except you." His mouth closed over mine, and I was lost to him once again.
•••
Kade
"Well, that's it until Tuesday's show," I announced hoarsely, looking around the plush dressing room at my brothers. The radio spot that morning and the concert we'd just wrapped up were all we'd had to get through before our weekend away. "Denson, here we come!" I held up my beer and waited for the guys to follow suit. "We've earned this, boys. Time to get back to what really matters." We all drank to that as a confused Aubrey sat on one of the couches, sipping her beer along with us despite not knowing our plans.
We all hung back and let Aubrey make use of the massive shower room, laughing at how excited she was to have all that space. She practically skipped back there with her clothes and towel under one arm, toiletry bag under the other.
Once she was out of earshot, Lenn looked over at me, still laughing. "You ever gonna tell her about this weekend?"
"Yeah, I guess it's time. I just don't want to give her too much lead time in case she decides to announce it to the world."
They all shook their heads as Ethan spoke up. "I don't think she'd do that, bro. We can trust her."
"You know how Kade is. He doesn't trust anyone," Lennox interjected.
I shot him a look. "This is important. I don't want anything to sully it, especially media attention."
"She's on our side, dumbass." Kane shook his head. "Just tell her, make her understand why we need this kept off the radar. She'll get it; you know she will." He gave me a pointed look, a subtle reminder of just how well I did know her.
"I said I was telling her tonight. Back off, you bunch of nagging bitches. Shit." I reached for another beer, pulling out my phone. "It's getting late; I need to call Brant before I forget." I moved to the door.
"Tell him there better be a beer fridge at that cabin he promised us or I'm outta there," Lennox called jokingly. He wouldn't walk away from this if Brant had us sleeping in the damn woods with nothing but twigs and leaves to eat.
My call connected after two rings. "Hey, rock star! How they hanging?"
I laughed at Brant's wife Lauren, unable to stop the smile on my face. "Low and to the left, as always. How you doin', beautiful?"
"We're all good over here, ready to see you guys. I have a huge cabin waiting for you, and it's fully stocked, of course, including a huge box Brant says you asked to pick up here."
Good. I was wondering about that. "Perfect. Lennox said to tell you…"
"Beer as far as the eye can see, Kade. Tell him I said to never doubt me." She really was the greatest. I loved how far she'd come since she and Brant showed up at my house a couple years back; Lauren, hurt and scared, running for her life. My boy Brant had fixed all that though, and she fixed him right back.
&nbs
p; "I'll relay the message and give him a swift kick in the ass for good measure."
"Nah. I'll do it myself when you guys get here tomorrow. Or better yet, I’ll give him over to Gran. She’s been in geriatric fangirl mode for weeks now, and I just know she’d love to sink her false teeth into his pretty boy ass."
Gran was the community grandmother, and though she was biologically related to Brant’s business partner, Clay, she had taken the entire lot of them as her own. And she was the coolest, funniest grandmother ever, according to the rumors. Looked like we’d soon find out for ourselves. Lauren’s laughter tapered off and she sobered, sincerity filling her voice. "Thank you for doing this. I can't tell you how much it means…"
"Don't you get all emotional on me, girl. You know I can't handle that shit." My own voice was thick.
"That’s because men are emotionally constipated."
"You got that from Talia, didn't you?" Talia was married to Brant's other business partner—Spencer—and she was a spitfire.
"Maybe…" she hedged.
I decided to switch topics. "Where's your husband that he left you to answer his calls?"
"Busy," she said simply.
"Doing what?" I was hesitant to ask, because if it was something freaky, she wouldn't hesitate to tell me, God love her.
"It's a surprise. You'll have to wait and see when you get here. Now unless there's something pressing you need to talk to him about, get your ass on that bus and start burning up those miles."
I hesitated, not really needing anything else except to announce the new addition to our ranks.
