Sean

Shifting in the canvas chair, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. The harsh lights in the dressing room weren’t doing me any favors.

The makeup artist winced as she applied balm to my swollen lip. “Sorry.”

I shrugged, too tired to care. “No worries.”

Her cheeks warmed to a rosy pink as her fingertips grazed the angry contusion on my neck. “This looks painful.” She rushed to apply powder to the dark purple bruise. “I don’t think I can cover it completely.”

“It’s fine, sug—” I caught myself before the endearment tripped fully from my lips. All part of the new leaf I was turning over. “Do the best you can.”

Across the room, Logan sat with his back to me, another member of the team trying valiantly to cover his battle wounds.

When our gazes collided in the mirror, his lips tipped upward at the corners in his trademark smirk. Taking the olive branch, I gave him a small nod.

Neither of us was likely to proffer an apology. And that was fine for now.

A smartly dressed blonde swept through the door. “We’re going to need the room,” she barked without looking up from her iPad.

Relieved, I pushed out of my chair. In less than twenty-four hours my nicotine craving had returned with a vengeance.

I tipped my chin at Cameron. “I’m going to go grab a smoke.”

Blondie caught my arm as I made for the door. “Not you.” Her slate gray eyes shifted to Logan. “Or you.”

The four makeup artists scurried away like mice with their caddies in tow. Christian and Cameron weren’t so easily commanded. They joined Logan and me, standing awkwardly with our hands in our pockets.

“If you two would excuse us,” Blondie said to Cam and Christian.

Cameron shrugged. “Depends on who you are.”

She pursed her lips, obviously unaccustomed to being questioned. With a sharp exhale, she held out her hand for Cam to shake. “Olivia Block, Conner Public Relations Management Team, West Coast.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Christian muttered as he scrolled through his phone. “Do you have a card or something?”

Olivia cocked her head. “Excuse me, Cameron, is it?”

That caught his attention.

“You’re with the public relations team, and you can’t even tell us apart?” Glancing at Logan, Christian said blandly, “That inspires confidence.”

Any response was drowned out by the flurry of activity when Benny Conner strode in, jabbering into his Bluetooth.

Olivia straightened up like she was preparing for inspection.

Wrapping up the call, Benny tapped his earpiece. “How’s everyone doing today?”

“Hi, Benny,” Olivia interjected, an eager smile curving her lips. “I was about to go over the schedule.”

“Liv, if you wouldn’t mind showing Cameron and Christian to the dining room.” Sinking onto the leather sofa, Benny addressed my bandmates. “Our chef makes a mean ahi tuna steak. To die for.”

Benny looked down and brushed a hand over his tie. I got the feeling if Cameron and Christian declined, he had no problem telling them to wait in the bathroom.

Olivia blinked. “Benny . . . are you sure . . . ?

He lifted his gaze without moving his head, and Olivia swallowed. “Of course. This way, gentleman.”

Reluctantly, Cameron and Christian followed her out the door.

We were supposed to be on camera in thirty minutes with the host of Entertainment Tonight. Since Logan and I looked more prepared to shoot a promo for a Fight Club reboot, it was safe to assume that wasn’t going to happen.

Benny stretched his arm over the back of the couch, amused. “I heard all the rumors about you boys before I ever took a look at your band.” A thick New York accent etched his tone. “Lindsey Barger is a well-respected manager in this town, and she said you were trouble. But I don’t give a fuck about rumors. What I care about is dissension in the ranks. You want to tell me what the hell happened last night?”

Adopting a casual posture, Logan dropped into the canvas chair. “What makes you think there’s any dissension?”

Logan’s blue eyes shifted to mine, and noting the silent plea behind the bravado, I ambled to his side.

The promoter tipped forward, elbows on his knees. “For one, you made kindling out of the antique table in Logan’s bungalow. Add to that your beat-to-shit faces, and I put two and two together.”

Logan didn’t respond, setting his jaw and staring at his boots.

It was safer to pick up the slack than risk letting Benny ignite Logan’s short fuse, so I said casually, “That wasn’t a beef, Benny. That was Tuesday. I’ve known Logan all my life. Sometimes things get heated. Doesn’t mean shit.”

The tension ebbed from Benny’s face but didn’t recede entirely. “So, you’re telling me that this was all just a squabble between friends?”

“Best friends,” Logan said flatly, “Or else Sean over here wouldn’t be standing. Know what I mean?”

I barked out a laugh. “Your confidence is astounding, asshat, considering that shiner you’re sporting.”

Logan shrugged. “Lucky shot.”

Benny shoved to his feet, mollified. He didn’t notice the strain in our exchange, but then, why would he?

“Typical Sixth Street band,” the promoter said with a smile. “You guys are all the same. Work hard, play hard, fight hard. Conner Productions made Damaged a household name with their first tour. I’ve seen a couple of black eyes and trashed hotel rooms.”

Logan and I sat up straighter, waiting for Benny to elaborate. He didn’t.

Instead, he leveled a serious gaze and said, “I’m not likely to put up with that shit from you guys. Keep it off my tour. Are we clear?”

Logan accepted Benny’s outstretched hand. “Crystal.”

I nodded. “Absolutely.”

Benny sighed, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. “Since you two look like you met the business end of a billy club, I’m sending you home. Put some ice on your faces. I’ll see you back here in a week or so to discuss terms.”

And then he was gone, barking into his Bluetooth before the door clicked shut behind him.

Logan gave me a sidelong glance. “I guess that means we’re in.”

My stomach tightened, but I wasn’t sure it was from excitement. “Looks that way.”

After gathering our things, we headed for the dining room to pick up the guys.

In the elevator, Logan asked, “Are we good, bro?”

I liberated my lucky drumsticks from my pocket, stroking my thumb over the A carved into the base.

We weren’t good. Not even close.

“Yeah, man. We’re fine.”

Logan examined his reflection in the shiny doors. “Shit, I’m too pretty to be this banged up. I hope my face heals by next week.”

He shoved his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Me too.”

Staring at the floor, I hid my eyes. Or the lie behind them. The bruises were a reprieve. A stay of execution. And the longer the evidence stayed on my skin, the more time I’d have with Anna and Willow.