by Eden Summers
She’d kept her ‘invested interest’ to herself. The way she was acting was no different from when Blake or Sean or even Mason himself had gone off the rails. It was her job to be invested. Her duty to care.
“Ahh…” Mitch took a step toward the stage. “I’m gonna go see what Ryan’s doing.”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” Blake followed.
Then Sean bailed, too.
She waited until she was alone with Mason, his smug grin increasing her fury to an apocalypse-inducing level. “Have you been spending time with Scott?” she asked. “Because he seems to be rubbing off on you.”
“That’s a low blow.”
“Well, you’d know what it takes to make one.” She rested on her hip and tap, tap, tapped the toe of her shoe on the stadium floor. The desire to kill him was clogging her arteries, no more than it usually did when he was an asshole, but the subject matter on this occasion was uncalled for. “Do you want to explain why you’re being such a cu—”
“Whoa. I can’t believe you were about to say the c-word.”
“And I can’t believe you would be so fucking rude.”
“I’m being rude?” He pointed a lazy thumb toward his chest. “Because here I was thinking you were the one disrespecting us by hiding out in your hotel room and communicating through fucking email. Then you come back and try to work us into a frenzy over Ryan when there’s nothing wrong with him.”
“Oh, my god.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Are you kidding me?” She didn’t know where to start. Didn’t know whether she should verbally chop him down at the knees or end this argumentative dance by punching him in the face. “I’ve got a whole new workload now that I have to babysit Slicker’s sales. And not only do I have to ensure the tour is perfect, I also have to put out my feelers—” she made quotation marks with her fingers, “—because you want to see what other labels have to offer before you consider starting one of your own.”
He opened his mouth but she shoved a finger at his sternum.
“And you think there’s nothing wrong with him turning up to sound check drunk? Are you insane?”
“He’s got a lot of shit on his plate. Don’t expect him to eat it with a smile on his face.”
“I don’t. I expect him to hold the same work ethic he’s had for years because any deviation is a sign there’s something wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong with him,” he grated. “But maybe you should start scrutinizing things closer to home.”
She balked, in complete shock that he’d be stupid enough to keep slinging fighting words at her.
“You’re the one everyone is worried about.” He glared. “You’re the one who fucked up, Leah. Not Ryan.”
He wasn’t joking… But he had to be, otherwise she was going to hurt him. Permanently. “Watch where you go with this, Mason. I’ve taken enough of your bullshit already.”
“Noted.” He inclined his head and turned to walk away.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Her voice rose. “We’re not done.”
He shook his head and glanced over his shoulder. “No, we’re not. But now’s not the time. Pull your shit together and we’ll talk about this another day.”
Pull her shit together? Her hands shook, her face heated. How dare he accuse her of not succeeding in something she’d worked too damn hard on, for too damn long?
Every day she pulled her shit together. Every fucking minute she had to gather strings and ribbons into a massive bundle to maintain the professional façade they all thought came naturally. They didn’t understand the difficulty in shoving down emotions that refused to be silenced. They didn’t know how badly she wanted to go back to a devastating kiss she should’ve forgotten the moment it ended. A devastating kiss that resembled bliss in hindsight. Because that kiss, no matter how disturbing and punishing, had been sublime perfection. Even if she couldn’t have it again.
Fuck. Mason was right.
She’d completely lost her shit.
“Hey,” Ryan shouted as he jumped off the stage.
She remained quiet with his approach while Mason stared her down, warning her to keep her mouth shut.
“What’s going on?” Ryan wiped his wrist over the sweat on his brow.
“Nothin’.” She held Mason’s gaze. “My friend here was merely playing his favored asshole role. You’d think he’d be sick of it by now.”
“And you’d think you’d be sick of standing in the wings after all this time, but clearly we enjoy what we’re good at.” Mason backtracked, giving her a checkmate smirk as he fled.
Asshole.
“Are you two fighting again?”
She closed her eyes briefly, the hit of his voice punching harder than normal. “Yes. Again.”
It seemed her years had been built on the foundation of battle. She was either fighting with Mason, Grander, her boss, the tabloids, the obsessed trolling fans, or her love for him. Always her love for him.
“What’s it about this time?”
You. She met his gaze and held her breath. We’re fighting over you. “Nothing important.”
“OK…” His brows narrowed, the slightest wrinkle forging its way between those beautiful eyes. “What’s been going on with you? I haven’t seen you in days.”
“I’ve been busy tracking your success. Your dates with Felicity are gaining favorable attention.” She wanted to fist pump for keeping her animosity in check. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” His frown deepened, his scrutiny keeping her pinned. “We’re trying to make sure we’re seen as much as possible.”
“You’re doing a great job.” The Internet was currently smothered with images of his puppy-dog eyes and needy hands. Even her Facebook sidebar taunted her with ads containing his bearded face.
“Not everyone would agree. Hannah still has a problem with the project. She’s not being openly aggressive, but her annoyance is there whenever we step into the spotlight.”
“Jealousy?” Leah sure knew how that felt.
He nodded. “Maybe. And I don’t blame her. Me and the guys know how it feels to be in Mason’s shadow. It’s part of the job.” He jerked his head toward one of the exits. “Do you want to chat about this at the hotel? I need to get out of here.”
No. She didn’t want to be in a confined car smothered by his scent. She could barely look at him without being distracted by his beautiful lips, or the misery of knowing he’d paid homage to someone else with them.
Christ, she hated when Mason was right.
“I can’t. I need to speak to a few of the crew before I leave.”
“I can hang around—” The ring of his cell stopped him short. “Sorry.” He pulled the device from his jeans pocket. “I better check in case it’s my lawyer.”
“Don’t apologize.”
Ryan scanned his screen. “It’s Felicity. Do you mind if I take it?”
Another pang was squashed with Hulk precision. “Of course.” She side-stepped to give him privacy but he gripped her around the elbow, stopping her progression.
“Stay,” he mouthed, before greeting Felicity with a friendly, “Hey.”
There was a beat of silence, then, “What’s wrong?”
The pangs kept coming, the tiny stabs of envy peppering her internal organs. She smiled through the assault, the curve of lips turning into a snarl as she met Mason’s knowing gaze.
“I’ll be there in a minute.” Ryan disconnected the call and pocketed the cell.
“You’ve gotta go?”
“Yeah. Something’s up.” There he went with another one of those apology-riddled glances. “We’ll talk later?”
“Sure.”
He stepped into her, curving his arm around her waist while he placed an excruciating kiss at her temple. She should’ve backed away. Instead, she found herself melting into him, sucking him deep into her lungs. His aftershave was rich, still prominent over the scent of sweat. But there was also the taint of alcohol, the briefest hi
nt of scotch on his breath.
This was her fault. She hadn’t been there for him. Couldn’t be.
“Life has been tough on you lately.” She slid out of reach, freeing herself from his heavenly arms. “Are you coping?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” His smile was halfhearted. “I’m living the dream.”
“Don’t placate me. Are you OK or not?”
His puff of laughter was callous. “Are you asking as my long-lost best friend or my band manager?”
She didn’t know how to answer. He needed a friend and she needed distance. She no longer knew who to protect. “I can smell alcohol, Ryan. I’m worried about you.”
“Worried enough to stop hiding from me?”
She swallowed over the confidence in his heated stare. “I…”
He waited, the seconds ticking by as her words remained tightly locked in her chest. “Fine. You want an answer? I’ll give you two. First, to my band manager—I’ll be honest and say it was one drink over breakfast. The girls were having Bloody Marys so I joined them with a scotch. No big deal.” He shrugged. “The second response is for the friend I lost—you want to know how I’m coping with a divorce, a tour, and the bullshit of a morally crippling publicity stunt? Come find me tomorrow and we’ll talk this out.”
She clenched her jaw tight, caught between the role she wanted to play and the position she needed to maintain. It didn’t help that she was focusing on one sentence. One word—tomorrow. Because clearly today was dedicated to Felicity.
“What time?” She breathed through the nerves in her belly, willing them not to take hold.
His expression relaxed, his tight brows falling to frame softer eyes. “I’ll message you when I’m free.”
“OK.” She inclined her head, her heart in her throat, her ovaries somewhere in her chest cavity. “Tomorrow, then.”
Chapter Seven
Ryan kept looking over his shoulder, wishing he could drop everything to grasp the opportunity to speak to Leah. Tomorrow was a lifetime away, but obligation had his feet moving forward.
He was fading away from Reckless. All his friends had new relationships to focus on. They had calls and FaceTime and texts to deal with. They were immersed in their own lives and had no time for him.
Felicity and Hannah were growing to be his only companions. When they weren’t traveling from city to city on the sleeper bus, they were in his suite, keeping him up until the early hours with their giggling and mumbled words from his bed while he slept on the sofa or fold out. The two women had a friendship that reminded him of what he previously had with Leah. A connection riddled with private jokes and uncanny intuition.
He felt obliged to come running when they needed his help. Being needed at all was a bonus when his world seemed to be turning against him.
His cell rang again, Felicity’s name displaying on his screen.
“How far away are you?” Her voice was panicked, even more than it had been two minutes ago.
“I’m in the hall leading to your dressing room. Open the door and I’ll be there.”
The whoosh of air sounded up ahead, her head then peeking into the hall. She was pale, one hand gripping the door while the other latched onto the frame.
“Has something happened?”
“Nothing new, but we need to talk.”
She backed into the room, opening the door wide to let him in. He followed, jutting his chin in greeting at Hannah who sat on the make-up counter, her hands clutching the wood beneath her, her back to the mirror.
“Spill.” He eyed them both, back and forth as they stared at one another. They gave him nothing. No words. No expressions. Just overwhelming amounts of apprehension. “You’re not going to tell me you’re gay, are you?” he joked, even adding a chuckle to his voice to lighten the mood.
Neither of them laughed.
“Flick?” His pulse increased. The static in his head, too.
She met his gaze with a wince, then focused back on Hannah.
Oh, no. Hell, no.
He turned to Hannah, her fingers now holding the bench with a white-knuckled grip.
“You’re gay?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
Bam. That sucker punch hit him in the gut, almost buckling him. Gay wasn’t good. Not from his perspective. Not when they were trying to convince the world they were happily heterosexual.
“We’ve been together for almost a year.”
Ba-bam. This verbal swing landed lower, right between the thighs with emasculating effects.
“Why are you telling me this?” Why now, when he no longer had the ability to save himself from the social media backlash?
Felicity came up beside him, her gaze pleading. “Hannah’s been struggling to watch us from the sidelines. We’ve been fighting about it for weeks. We hoped telling you, and getting her involved, might make things easier.”
He stepped back, needing space as he scowled through the mess otherwise known as his life. “What does that even mean?” How had he missed all the signs? Christ. They’d shared his bed for the last week and he still hadn’t noticed. “Fuck me.”
He’d never been one to curse unnecessarily, but right now he wanted to shout expletives until he was diagnosed with Tourette’s. He was going to go on a fuck-a-thon, otherwise it would be a drink-a-thon and Leah was already on his back about liquor.
He couldn’t catch a break. He couldn’t even catch his breath through the ongoing carnage.
“Why are you angry?” Felicity went to Hannah’s side, the two of them huddling close.
“Why?” He started to pace, running his fingers through his hair and tugging on the strands in the hopes the pain would create clarity. “Have you looked at this from my perspective? Have you spared a thought on how brutal the media and public will be on a guy who couldn’t satisfy his wife, then hooked up with someone else months later, only to turn her gay?”
“You didn’t turn me.”
“Does anyone else know that?” He spread his arms wide. “Because Leah did a thorough check on you and certainly didn’t come up with the pussy preference.”
They balked and he couldn’t tell if it was from his word choice or his callous tone.
“I’ll be forever known as the guy who turns women gay.” If not publicly, he sure as shit wouldn’t come out unscathed once his friends found out. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
He glared at her, resenting the confusion in her voice.
“Scott swore me to secrecy—”
The world stopped, alarm bells rang, and guilt suddenly lessened the anger. “Scott?”
“Sex sells,” she blurted. “But apparently not when you’re gay. He’s the reason we’re in this mess. We went to him with the information at the start of the tour in the hopes of coming out with a big bang. It didn’t take long to realize he was homophobic.”
Mother. Fucker.
“This publicity stunt wasn’t purely about boosting your popularity, was it?” He dragged his feet to the counter and rested his ass against the cold wood. “He did this to hide your sexuality.”
They both nodded, remaining silent as he focused on the carpeted floor. He felt like a dick. An inadequate, non-functioning, STD-riddled dick. All their muttered arguments made sense now. All the glances that held hidden meaning and the times Hannah had demanded every last detail on the dates he had with Felicity.
“I’ve always been gay. Flick, on the other hand, is bi. She has more experience with men,” Hannah murmured. “And I know you thought I was being petty about her getting more media attention, but that was never the case. The attention that worried me was from you.”
He hung his head and wiped a hand over his face. “You were never anxious about being with me.” He tilted his head and focused on Felicity. “You were worried you’d upset Hannah.”
Felicity nodded. “Neither of us wanted this. We had no choice. Scott made it clear our next album wouldn’t see the light of day if we came out.”
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He scoffed. “And Scott always gets what he wants.” The bastard had a knack for manipulation.
“I’m sorry, Ryan.” Felicity walked toward him and nestled against his hip, wrapping her arms around him.
“Me, too.” Hannah scooted from the counter and came to his other side to do the same. “We didn’t spare much thought on how this would affect you.” Her head rested against his chest, four arms holding him tight, two bodies keeping him warm.
“How do we make this right?” He spoke into her hair and wished he had the ability to fix this. But how could he when he couldn’t even finalize his divorce or rectify his friendship with Leah?
“Don’t worry about it.” Hannah stepped back. “I’ll get over it.”
“No.” He shook his head, his frown now cemented in place. “You said you wanted to get involved. What did you have in mind?”
She sighed, her glazed eyes blinking away unshed tears. “I want to be with you guys when you go on dates. I don’t want to be constantly worried about Flick falling for yo—”
“She’s not going to fall for me.”
“Ryan, I don’t think you realize how perfect you are. You’ve been nothing but a gentleman. You always put yourself last, have never, ever acted sleazy, and you’re kinda gorgeous.” She gave him a half-hearted grin. “If you had a kitty, I’d be all up in that.”
He spat out a laugh and wished he could hold onto the humor as it fled his system. “I’m done with being the good guy. It’s starting to feel like an excuse instead of a moral compass. So let’s shake things up a bit.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?” Felicity straightened. “Nobody can find out I’m with Hannah.”
“They won’t.” If Scott could play dirty, they could, too. It was time to stop being nice. “Grander wants a scandal. Let’s give them a something they won’t forget in a hurry.”
Chapter Eight
Cincinnati, OH
“A threesome? On stage? Really?” Leah’s voice rose in the empty silence as she stared at her computer screen and contemplated the need to run to the bathroom to retch. The video before her was from last night’s performance. The crystal clear visual featured on the Rockin’ Gossip website. Ryan was front and center on the Reckless stage, while Felicity and Hannah rubbed up against him, dry humping his thighs, clawing his shirt.
