Killian

“You ever think about it?” I whisper. She sits before me, skin gilded in the evening light, eyes glazed, frosted jewels. So fucking beautiful it breaks my heart. “What it would be like? You and me?”

“Yeah.”

I breathe in her scent. Touch her skin. “You can have the world. Just reach for it.”

“I don’t need the world,” she whispers in my ear.

“What do you need?” I’ll give her anything. Everything.

Soft hands on my neck, gentle lips mapping my skin. “You.”

“Dude, we have to get out there.” Rye’s voice comes to me at a distance.

I stare down at my phone, rubbing my thumb over the screen.

“Dude?”

“Killian,” Jax says, sharper. “Snap out of it.”

I run a hand through my hair. It’s longer now, in need of a trim. “She isn’t answering me. I don’t know where she is. Brenna won’t tell me.” We’re back at the Bowery Ballroom where we started our tour. Memories of Libby flood in, and I swallow hard.

A hand lands on my shoulder. Jax’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. “As soon as the show is done, we’ll pile up on Scottie and make him cry uncle.”

“Yeah,” Whip agrees behind me. “That shithead definitely knows where she is.”

I’m pretty sure we could break Scottie’s legs, and the man still wouldn’t talk. He’s like ice that way. From outside the dressing room door comes a steady chant for Kill John. The air hums, but I don’t feel the familiar crackle of anticipation.

“Come on, man.” Rye slaps my other shoulder. “Get off your ass. Moping is a destructive and unattractive quality.”

This from the guy who stayed in bed for a week when John Entwistle died, crying that The Who would never be the same again. But he’s right. I pull myself together because my guys need me.

One more show and I’m free. Just get through this.

* * *

Libby

The last time I saw Kill John perform, I was in the wings, watching them from behind. Being in the audience is an entirely different experience. On stage, the crowd’s energy comes at you like a wave. In the audience, I feel the full force of Kill John’s power. And it is awe inspiring.

Killian’s deep, luscious vocals blend with Jax’s brutal melody. Together they are rage and yearning. Whip beats on his drums with perfect timing and rhythm, while Rye’s funky base supports it all. That is the technical aspect. But the real truth of their music cannot be defined. You have to feel it.

I’m swept up by it and find myself dancing with the crowd. Scottie assigned me protection in the form of a massive bodyguard named Joe. He’s at my side now, blocking people from crushing too close or stepping on my toes. It’s sweet, but not necessary. The club is small and not so overcrowded that I can’t move.

Kill John finishes up “Oceans,” and a sweaty Killian pulls off his damp shirt. Predictably, whistles of approval break out all over. His lips twist but he doesn’t acknowledge them as he gulps down some water.

Standing midway to the stage, I can see him clearly enough to note the shadows under his eyes and the lines of strain around his mouth. And though no one else would notice, I can tell the guys are concerned. It’s in the way they watch him, Rye and Jax’s bodies angled slightly toward him like shields.

While the crowd shouts requests, the guys make a few adjustments, Jax and Killian getting different guitars and Whip picking up a new set of sticks. Killian’s movements are unhurried, almost languid.

“Play ‘Oceans’ again,” a guy right behind me yells loud enough to blow my hair forward.

The request is ridiculous enough to grab Killian’s attention. He lifts his head, a smirk on his face as if he’s going to say something, but then our gazes clash. I know the second he realizes it’s me. Because everything freezes. His expression wipes totally blank, then shatters, his lips parting on a breath, his eyes going wide.

I feel that look down to my toes. It wrenches my heart. I know there and then that he’s hurting as much as I am. It’s all there in those coffee dark eyes. Everything that’s passed between us—every look, word, touch—is all there. Tears blur my vision, and I offer him a watery smile.

He twitches as if he’s fighting not to hop off the stage. But then a slow smile spreads. He barely nods. I wonder if he’s having as hard a time functioning as I am.

When he turns toward his guys, his movements are jerky. One by one, three sets of eyes focus on me. Whip’s expression is one of relief. Rye’s smile is wide and bright. Jax stares at me for a long moment and then gives me a small chin tip.

My heart thuds as Killian turns back to the mic. His gaze locks onto me. “I met my best friend on the lawn of a farmhouse. I’d lost my way, my music. She helped me find it again.” I choke back a sob, clutching my arms around my chest, as Killian keeps talking. “Back then, she asked me to sing one of my songs for her. I wouldn’t do it. Truth is, I wanted her to like me more than she liked my music.”

The crowd awws, and he gives them his cheeky smile. “I know. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

“I love you, Killian,” shouts a woman at the back. “Have my babies!”

“No,” cries a man near the stage, “have mine!”

Killian chuckles low in the mic. “Sorry, guys. I’m taken.” While the crowd moans, he grins and switches out his Telecaster for a big acoustic Gibson J-200, plucking a few chords. “Thing is, I still want her to like me. So I’m not gonna play a Kill John song right now. I’m gonna play an old favorite of mine. And maybe I’ll get the message right this time.”

There’s a wolf whistle in the crowd.

Jax leans close to his mic. “You’d better, or we’re benching you for the rest of the game.”

People laugh again, but I’m stuck on the happy grins Jax and Killian exchange. Gone is the underlying tension that’s seemed to ride them, replaced by an easy joy and appreciation for each other that brings a lump to my throat. The band is in perfect sync as they start to play “Trying To Break Your Heart” by Wilco.

A half-laugh, half-sob breaks free. His choice is quintessential Killian; he’d never go for a straightforward, saccharine love song. But this song, with its twisted lyrics and gently teasing remorse, makes perfect sense to me. The music is lilting and bittersweet and full of possibility.

Tears blur my vision, and I’m laughing again. Laughing and crying.

He catches my gaze, and his eyes soften. Through the lyrics, he tells me how much it hurt to let me go. How much I hurt him. How much he wants me back.

My feet start moving. I weave through the swaying crowd, Joe helping to clear a path. Killian watches me come, his whole heart shining in his eyes. He’s calling to me, singing that he’s the man who loves me.

By the time I reach the stage, it’s apparent to the audience that something’s going on. People make room, their smiles wide. But not as wide as Killian’s.

Setting his guitar down, he strides over and holds out his arms. The second our hands clasp, something inside me relaxes. He hauls me up with ease, and then I’m in his arms. Holding tight, his long, lean body surrounds me, a shelter from all things.

He’s sweat-slicked and trembling. My nose is crushed against his pec. I don’t ever want to let go.

“Libby,” he breathes into my hair. “You’re here.”

If anything, he holds me tighter. It’s okay. I don’t need air. Just him.

I turn my head and find his jaw with my lips. “You asked me to come. In the song. You asked me to come back to you.”

He bursts out in a broken laugh that makes his chest hitch. “You got that? No one else did.”

I close my eyes, let him support me. “No one else matters.”

He shivers harder. “Only you, Libs.”

Suddenly I hear the crowd again, hooting and shouting. Killian must hear them too because he lifts his head, giving them a wave and a smile. I see the blur of stage lights, dozens of phones held overhead, and Jax’s wink. Then Killian hurries me off the stage, refusing to let me go.

He doesn’t stop until we’re alone in a small dressing room.

I don’t know who moves first, but the door closes, and I’m wrapped in him. I’ve missed the way he feels, his taste, the scent of him. His hands bracket my cheeks, his mouth moving over mine.

“I missed you,” he says between frantic kisses. “I missed you so fucking much. I shouldn’t have let you go.” He kisses my eyes, my cheeks, the corner of my ear. “I thought I was setting you free. But it killed me. I need you, Libs. So much.”

“I know.” I cup the back of his neck and squeeze as I meet his gaze. “It was the same for me. I was just…empty.”

Dark, pained eyes search mine. “And then that stupid song. You wouldn’t answer me. I thought—”

“I’m sorry,” I cut in. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just needed to think things through. And I wanted to talk in person.”

He nods before dipping down to rest his forehead against mine. “What are you thinking, baby doll? What do you want?”

“You.” When he jerks, I grip his hard biceps. “I just want to be with you.”

“Good. Because I don’t think I can function anymore unless you’re here.”

“I missed you,” I tell him. I don’t think I can express it enough.

For a long moment he just looks at me. “I made a career off writing songs. They’ve given me awards for my lyrics. And never can I get the message right with you.”

“I don’t need you to—”

“I love you.”

My breath catches in my throat as my heart stops. I exhale in a burst, and he kisses my lips softly. So softly. The tenderness in it breaks me. I nearly sob when he does it again.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say all this time.” He smiles, the barest curve of his lips. “I used to think those were just words. Something I could put in a song. They didn’t mean anything. I get it now. I get it.”

“Killian…”

The tip of his thumb caresses my cheek. “Love breaks your heart, fucks you up—perfect, all-consuming chaos. I didn’t know what to do with that. It felt safer to walk.” He wraps me up in his arms, his eyes on mine. “But it’s also this. Peace, and warmth, and so fucking beautiful, you’ll risk anything to keep it.”

“Killian…” I cup his cheek, run my fingers into his hair. Just hold him. “You do just fine getting your message across. I love you too, you know. So much.”

Oh, God, that smile—it’s pure happiness. “I need you to understand, Libby. You’re my reason, the answer to all questions.”

“And you, my sweet lawn bum, are my home. I’m just wandering unless I’m with you. And I’m so tired, Killian. I need to be home now.”

He takes a deep breath, pressing his lips against my forehead as if he has to ground himself. “I’m here. You’re here.” He ghosts a kiss over my cheek. “We’ll make it work. I’ll take time off and travel with you—”

“I’ve realized something,” I cut in. “I don’t want to be a star. Not at this level. It isn’t me.”

He frowns down at me. “Were you that miserable?”

“No, honey. It was an experience of a lifetime. I wouldn’t change the opportunities you gave me for the world. But these past few months?” I shrug. “Maybe I am my parents’ daughter. All I know is that it isn’t the stardom that lights me up. It’s playing, singing. It’s being with you. Those things matter to me. The rest is just…air.”

Killian’s soft laugh is wry, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “Funny thing, I realized that too.”

I still. “You want to quit?”

“No. But I do want to slow down. I want time with you. Time to enjoy life.” He shakes his head. “Kill John will always be part of me, but I’ve changed. We all have. I don’t know what will happen, but I’m not afraid of it anymore.”

I take a deep breath, press my cheek against his jaw. “You pulled me out of my shell. All that I am now is because of you.”

His fingers thread in my hair, giving the strands a gentle tug. “And you woke me up again. Let’s make a life together, Liberty. It’ll be good. So fucking good.”

I meet his eyes, those coffee dark eyes that always hold promise of sin and sweetness. Excitement tingles over my skin, pulls at my breath. “I can’t wait.”