Libby
I’ve hurt him. I know this. I knew it when I asked Killian to keep our relationship quiet, and when I asked him to continue doing it. I hate hurting him. But I see what he either can’t or refuses to acknowledge. The world isn’t black and white. And the band isn’t all right. They’re walking wounded right now. The love between them is clear. They’re brothers. But Jax leveled a blow they’re still reeling from. And the idea of adding more drama, more uncertainty makes me feel ill.
At first, it was pride that had motivated me to keep my relationship with Killian a secret. But now it’s something more. I care about these guys, as individuals and as a group. I don’t want to get between them when they’re obviously still fragile.
I tell myself all of this. But it doesn’t help when we climb into a limo and head out for the night. The guys want to relax, let off some steam by going to clubs. I should have stayed in, but when Whip called to ask, the look on Killian’s face—as if he expected I’d keep away from him—hurt too.
So here I am, crammed in between Whip and Rye, who are trading jokes over my head: most of them about Killian’s supposed intestinal distress. Putting the pieces together, it sounds as if Killian made an excuse to return to me at the expense of his pride. I feel even lower.
Not that Killian appears bothered by their teasing. He sits across the way, his long body lounging against the seat, his thighs spread wide as if he means to take up as much space as possible. As we drive along, the lights of the city slip in and out of the darkened car, illuminating his face, then throwing it into shadow.
He doesn’t say much, only stares out of the window and occasionally snorts at a shit joke. But then, as if he feels my stare, he glances my way. Our gazes clash, and it’s as if someone’s pulled a rug from under my feet. My insides swoop, heat prickles over my skin. And on the heels of that comes a rush of emotion, squeezing at my heart, catching me by the throat.
It’s always this way. He looks at me, I fall. I have an awful feeling it will be this way my entire life. Killian James wakes me up, makes me whole.
I want to tell him this, to put my hand in his and ask that he never let go. But he glances off, leaning over to say something to Jax. I can’t hear what—my heart is thundering in my ears.
The car halts, the door opens. I’m ushered out to follow the flow of the guys into a club. We head up to a VIP section at the top of a massive circular steel staircase. People watch as we go.
Gazes crawl over my skin. For years the guys have lived this way. I don’t know how they manage. Perhaps they love it. They’re all smiling, clasping hands with people they know, pausing to hear someone whisper in their ears.
Killian is ahead of me, walking with Jax. They’re practically mobbed by women, until just their heads are visible above the swarm. I set my jaw and follow. This is part of Killian’s life. There isn’t a thing I can say here because, in the world’s eyes, I’m just his friend. This hasn’t bothered me before now. It felt more like a secret we shared between us. Women could hover, but they’d never go home with him.
Now it just hurts. Because it suddenly seems as though I’m glimpsing a future where I’m not there. I can’t even pinpoint why I feel this way. Only that Killian and I have been moving along at full-tilt and the slightest knock might push us off course. Or maybe it’s because I know that Killian doesn’t need me as much as I need him. Why would he? He has the world. And I am completely out of my element when it comes to this life.
“I need a pity party cocktail,” I say in Brenna’s ear as she comes alongside me.
Her gold eye shadow glints in the light. “Extra strength?”
“And fruity,” I add. “Pity cocktails should always be fruity.”
She grabs my elbow and leads me to a somewhat quiet little booth in the far corner of the room before she goes off to get us drinks. There are times when the band requests a small room just for them. This is not one of those nights. People flow in and out—mostly in—like cattle through a gate. The music isn’t as loud in here, but it’s enough that conversation isn’t going to be on the agenda. Whip is already standing on one of the tables, dancing with a brunette in a tiny silver dress.
I regret not putting on a little dress as well. In a sea of itty-bitty dresses, I’m the conservative one in black skinny jeans, heeled boots, and a green silk camisole. I’m comfortable, but I don’t feel sexy. There are times when a girl needs sexy. That’s the thing no one ever tells you. Sexy can be both a weapon and a wall of defense.
The booth I’m sitting in wiggles as Rye plops down next to me. He drapes an arm along the back of my shoulders and leans in. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”
My lips pull in a reluctant smile. “Nothin’, stuffin’.”
He takes a sip of what appears to be a gin and tonic—because of course he’s already been served. There’s probably a waitress on standby for him. “You look like you’ve swallowed a goat.”
“A goat?” I laugh. “How the hell does that look?”
“Faintly ill and fighting a gag.”
“You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself, Rye.”
He sticks the tip of his tongue between his teeth in a lewd gesture, but then his expression turns gentle. “I’m serious, Buttercup. You all right?”
“Buttercup?”
“Yeah, you kind of look like Princess Buttercup.”
“That’s about as far a stretch as saying you look like the Dread Pirate Roberts.”
“I could totally rock a mask. It’d be kinky as fuck.” He takes another sip, his eyes roaming before coming back to me. “So, what’s going on? Someone being mean to you?”
“What? No. It’s nothing.”
“You sure? Because I don’t have these massive biceps just for show. I’ll gladly put on the hurt for you.”
“You’re sweet. But it’s really nothing. This is just not my scene.”
“It’s no one’s scene. You have to own it to make it yours.”
“Well, I’m not interested.”
A glance across the room and find Killian’s familiar form. He has two women clinging to his arms, though he doesn’t seem to notice them as he talks to John, one of our sound engineers. The blonde on his left clearly doesn’t like being ignored and begins to stroke his chest. My own chest tightens, and I look away.
“Right there,” Rye points to my face. “Goat look.”
“Argh, would you stop using goat? I’m going to develop a complex.” My laugh feels forced. “I’m fine.”
“Here we are,” Brenna announces brightly as she sets down two martini glasses, filled with lime green liquid. “One fruity, pity-party cocktail—industrial strength.”
Rye gives me a look. “You were saying?”
“What was she saying?” Brenna asks, sitting down and taking a sip of her drink.
At this point it’s a miracle she’s including Rye in the conversation, so even though I’d rather not talk about it, I answer. “That I do not look like I swallowed a goat.”
One finely plucked brow rises. “Of course you don’t, darling. It’s more like you sucked a lemon.”
I roll my eyes and grab my drink. It’s tart, sweet, and burns a little going down. Perfect.
“She’s in a mood,” Rye says. Without warning, he wraps a beefy arm around me and pulls me in for a hug, sloshing my drink all over the table. “There, there, Buttercup, tell me who put the frown on your face, and I’ll best them with my sword.”
A weak laugh breaks free, and I rest my head on his shoulder. I’m an only child, but I know Rye would have made an excellent big brother.
It’s almost strange how I can feel Killian when he comes near. One second, I’m grinning, feeling a bit heartsore but cared for. The next, my body tenses, my heart rate picking up. I know it’s because of him, and it’s not a surprise to look up and see him standing in front of our table.
The blonde is still on his arm. The woman hasn’t done anything remotely wrong, and I hate her.
Everything inside me plummets. I feel like I’ve swallowed a goat.
His gaze flicks to me, then settles on Rye. Tension lines his mouth as he bends forward to be heard. “Hey, man, Jenny here wanted to meet you.”
Rye instantly untangles himself from me and gestures for Jenny to scoot in on his opposite side. “By all means. Meet me, adore me, buy me a drink. I’m good with all the above.”
A barely veiled gagging noise comes from Brenna’s direction. Rye ignores it and tugs Jenny down on his lap.
While she giggles and snuggles close to Rye, Killian glances back at me. His eyes are hard, and I want to laugh. Does he really think I’m cozying up to Rye? The twitch at his jaw tells me he does. I glare back, annoyance plucking at my skin.
“I was going to ask if you two needed anything,” he says, overloud to compensate for the music. “But it looks like you’re taken care of.”
I’d like to tell him where he can take his snide tone. But Brenna cuts in. “Hang out with us.” She sounds almost desperate, her body stiff and her gaze resolutely not on Rye and his new friend.
Killian doesn’t look at me as he shakes his head. “Jax has been giving me shit about being a hermit,” he emphasizes the word like a whip in my direction. “Hiding away in a booth isn’t going to help.”
Ass. I’m not a hermit. Not since he dragged me into this life and made me see what I was missing. And I don’t hide. Okay, right now I have the urge to crawl back into my shell. But I’ve grown out of it. I’d be miserable there too.
A lump rises in my throat, loneliness washing over me like a wave. But then Killian turns to me, leaning in a little. Even in the cold, musty air of the club, I catch his scent, spicy and warm. His coffee eyes soften. “You good?”
The lump in my throat grows. He’s giving me what I asked for. Anonymity. If I don’t want our relationship public, this is how it has to be. But he’s still mine. I can see it now in the way his eyes suddenly look pained.
“I’m good,” I croak.
He peers at me for another second, then nods. “See you.”
As soon as he’s gone, I deflate in my seat.
“Trouble in paradise?” Brenna murmurs in my ear.
I down the rest of my cocktail before answering. “He doesn’t like hiding.”
I don’t worry about Rye overhearing. He already has his tongue down Jenny’s throat, and they’re slowly listing to the right.
Brenna ignores them, her expression so smoothed out, I know it’s costing her. She takes a sip of her cocktail. “My cousin is surprisingly forthright.”
“You think I’m a jerk, don’t you?” I need another drink.
“God, no.” She leans against my shoulder in a show of support. “You’re protecting yourself in a shit world. Doesn’t mean he’ll like it.”
“I thought I was protecting myself,” I tell her, misery swamping me faster than the alcohol can numb it. “But thinking back on how I felt when that reporter questioned me, I think I’d rather tell the world to fuck themselves than cower.”
Brenna knows all about my run in with Ms. Zelda Smith. “Yeah, well, Zelda didn’t seem to have a problem fucking a band member, so she can’t exactly throw stones.”
“Honestly, I don’t want the public in my business. Ever. But that’s more about being a private person in general.”
“They don’t have to be. Famous people hide their relationships all the time. Well…” She gives me an apologetic smile. “For as long as they can, anyway.”
Famous. I want to laugh. I’m not famous. But Killian is. And his life is just coming back into focus.
“If it were just me and him? I might not mind so much. But the guys are getting back together. Jax clearly didn’t want me joining them.”
“You’re protecting them.” She sounds genuinely surprised.
“Is that so wrong?”
A frown works over her face, and she turns her attention toward the part of the room where the guys are now laughing in a group—well, except for Rye, who is making noises so lewd I really don’t want to look.
Brenna’s expression softens as she watches Killian and Whip do some weird sort of hip bump, as if they’re demonstrating a dance move to a bunch of starry-eyed women. “You should have seen them before Jax… They were like a bunch of puppies.” She laughs, takes a drink. “We all were, really. Even Scottie. It was this wild ride, never coming down, party, play, party.”
Emptiness fills me. I can’t be that girl. I don’t want to be.
Brenna glances at me. “It was all bullshit, though. Nothing real. When Jax tried to— It broke us all.”
“Killian said as much—about it shaking them up.”
“He’s right. Yanked us out of childhood.” She shakes her head, pursing her glossy red lips. “It’s not a bad thing, Libby. Living like that wasn’t healthy. These boys, they had nothing to ground them. Nothing that meant anything.”
The music changes to “Right Now” by Mary J. Blige, and a woman pulls Killian out to dance. He lets her. He’s not doing anything lewd. Just dancing. Doesn’t change the fact that another woman has her hands on him, swaying and grinding with the beat.
Brenna talks quietly in my ear. “Life moves forward, Libby. Trying to stop it or rewind is a waste of energy.”
Watching Killian dance cuts into my heart. I can’t breathe. I have never been a jealous person. I can safely say it’s the worst emotion on earth. And now it writhes inside me until I want to throw up just to get rid of the feeling.
All the things I’ve said to him, all the things he’s said to me, the things we’ve done—all of it—whirl around in my brain. I think about that day I first saw him sprawled on my lawn. If I had picked up the phone and called the police instead of engaging with him, I’d be blissfully ignorant right now. Safely hidden away from the world. From life. A life without Killian.
When the woman’s hand drifts to Killian’s butt, I stand, knocking into the table. Drinks slosh, the table screeches.
“Excuse me,” I mutter to Brenna, who wisely scrambles out of my way.
My exit from the table is far from graceful, more like a bulldozer pushing everything out of its way. And Killian’s head jerks up, his eyes finding mine. A worried look works across his face.
I can only stare back, drinking in the sight of him.
His dark hair, cropped close to his well-shaped skull, highlights the sharp curve of his cheek bones, the slashes of his brows, and the soft curl of his lips. He is a beautiful man. Dressed in a black button-down shirt and black slacks, he also looks nothing like the man I found drunk on my lawn. Here, he is the slick millionaire, the effortlessly cool rocker, an untouchable idol everyone wants a piece of.
People surround him, a wall of human flesh between him and me. I ignore it all. This isn’t what’s real.
His frown grows as I walk, my steps determined. Inside, my heart is pounding. I don’t know what he sees in my face, but his careful expression shatters. Dark eyes fill with purpose, his body standing taller. He excuses himself and moves, liquid grace, powerful strides.
I start to shake, deep within me. Desire I can handle. But the emotion in his face, as if he knows—he knows—I’m breaking apart, and he is too, blurs my vision. I blink twice and go to him, shouldering people aside.
He meets me halfway, stopping before me, his height blocking out everything around us. He gazes down at me, searching my face. “Elly May?”
My head tilts back to meet his gaze. “Lawn bum.” I reach up, cup his cheek, sandy with stubble, and tug him close. Our lips meet, his questioning, mine demanding. And then he lets out a low sound, like a sigh, but rougher, needy. His arms wrap around me, hauling my body against his as he angles his head and sinks into a kiss that takes the strength from my knees. But Killian has me secure.
There, on the dance floor, we kiss, and it’s messy, dirty, and filled with silent confessions: I’m sorry. I know. I need you. I need you more.
When we finally pull back,
his lips curve in a half smile, and his fingers lace with mine. “All right, then.”
I touch his cheek again. “I adore you, Killian James. Whatever may come of it, I’m no longer willing to hide you away like you’re something to be ashamed of. Everyone should know that.”
His smile grows, and he rests his forehead on mine. “Pretty sure everyone does now.”
I snuggle into his embrace. “Good. Then I won’t have to take out an ad.”
A half-laugh rumbles out of him. His hand slides up to my neck and gives me a squeeze. I close my eyes.
“Time to go,” he whispers. “Before I take you right here.”
I can’t stop grinning. “Move your things to my room. Or I’ll move to yours.”
“Baby doll.” He kisses me again, softly this time, then presses his cheek to mine. “I do, too, you know. So much it hurts.”
“Are you two done?”
Jax’s irritated tone erases our glow in an instant. Killian straightens to his full height and turns. Jax’s look of utter disgust actually hurts to see. I’m not sure I even like the guy, but he’s Killian’s closest friend and important to him.
“Yeah,” Killian says slowly, ice in his voice. “We’re done.”
Jax snorts. “I fucking knew it. Thinking with your dick.”
I twitch, and Killian’s grip on my hand firms as he pulls me closer to his side.
The room stirs, and I realize Brenna and Scottie are directing people out. Bouncers do a great job of helping them clear the room in what seems like seconds.
“Jax, man,” Killian says. “Don’t go there.”
“Why not? We’re all thinking it.”
Whip draws near. “We’re not all thinking that.”
“Definitely not what I’m thinking,” Rye adds. “About time, is more like it.” He gives me a happy smile. “No more swallowing goats.”
“No,” I say, giving him a small smile back.
The rest of the guys are clearly confused by that one.
But Jax snorts. “And yet you all know exactly what I’m thinking.”
Idol (VIP #1) Page 22
