CHAPTER 21

 

 

London

 

 

 

I’m on edge for the rest of the day, just like everybody else. Relief took over when Baz arrived with the doctor, but the whole shitstorm isn’t over. We all know it.

That’s what Knox called it. A shitstorm. And he’s right. Not much we can do about it today, though, so we spend the rest of the day at the venue. We’re all here, except for Bree, who’s staying at the hotel with Zayne. Even Ajia couldn’t get her to leave.

The food poisoning excuse worked, and Ayden agreed to fill in tonight. He and Zayne have been playing each other’s stuff for weeks, but they still have a lot of rehearsing to do.

At least we have some peace of mind. The doctor did his thing, checked Zayne out, and gave him an injection of something to help him recover. I don’t know all the details, and as long as I don’t have to write a press release, I don’t need them. Even then, the less I know, the better, it seems sometimes.

No, Knox and Baz need to know what’s going on, but the rest of us only care about Zayne. About making sure he recovers enough to get some sort of control over his addiction. Whatever that takes.

Everybody’s suspected that Zayne’s been using for a while. Even me, joining the group so late, but I suppose that’s because of the way I came into things. The middle of another shitstorm created by Zayne being high.

I swallow, watch the guys shift around on stage as they get ready to rehearse another song, and shake my head. Staying true to the Knox I’m coming to know, he’s taking it personally. Pissed at himself for missing or ignoring the signs. Pretending it wasn’t serious.

Ajia’s taking it just as hard. He’s the driving force behind the no-drugs rule and thinks he should have seen something. Tried harder. Done something more.

That isn’t true. I don’t have a lot of personal experience with addiction, but I grew up in Hollywood, for God’s sake. I saw friends and friends of friends get bloody messed up. I saw what happened, and if I know one thing, it’s that this is totally on Zayne.

If I do anything, it’ll be to make sure these blokes know it, too. No one else is responsible, and Zayne has to be the one to pull himself together.

I hear Noah count off the beat and the band kicks into Tonight, a kind of heavy, melancholy song that’s been on heavy rotation for over a month now. Lost, the next release, is just starting to get some airplay, and the band and Bree fly out to L.A. to record the video in a couple of days. Will Zayne be up for it?

I hope so, because I know how this will go. Knox will assume responsibility himself, just like he does with everything else. Not only take responsibility, but take over. Take charge.

Take control.

This time it isn’t going to happen that way. Not while I’m around. I’ll do my best to make sure every one of us, Zayne included, does our part.

Knox doesn’t get to isolate himself over this.

I rest one hand over my abdomen. It’s a symbolic gesture more than anything, but I can’t resist. The life growing there is so tiny, I probably wouldn’t even know about it yet under normal circumstances.

But…nothing about my circumstances with Wycked Obsession has been normal, and it just bloody got abnormal to the extreme. I’ve now got one more reason to keep my mouth shut about the baby.

For the time being, anyway.

Bollocks! Bloody fucking hell! Dirty, rotten arsehole.

I swallow a litany of curses. I don’t care how early in the pregnancy it is; it’s killing me to keep it from Knox. But…how else can I handle it? He’s got so bloody much else on his mind.

The last thing I want is for the peanut and me to become an added burden.

Stop it! Stop thinking that way! There’s nothing you can do right now. Just wait a few more days…after the video is done. That will be a perfect time to tell him! He’ll be all high, satisfied and feeling in control, after that. It’ll still be early, just about the right time to tell him!

I listen to the advice from my hopefully wiser self and nod. It makes sense. It’ll be the best way to handle things, for Knox and for me and the peanut. The band has three or four shows in quick succession after the L.A. trip, then about three days off. I’ll tell him then.

I look around resolutely, searching for something—anything—to take my mind off my thoughts. A couple of Edge of Return merch guys are joking around, standing next to a pile of boxes, and I smile. I haven’t talked to either of them about the orgy rumors.

It isn’t a wasted effort, but neither of the guys give me anything to go on. They both seem to genuinely like Bree and the guys in Wycked Obsession, and promise to warn me about any other gossip.

Just like everyone else I’ve talked to.

I find a couple other guys, drivers for Edge of Return, but their stories are the same. Nobody knows anything.

“Hey, Steve!” I spot a familiar face.

He’s a roadie for Edge, young, fresh out of high school, I’d guess. He’s nice enough, I suppose, but shy, with lank, unwashed hair and a face scarred by acne.

“Hi.” He doesn’t meet my gaze, but I’m not surprised. He keeps to himself and doesn’t say much.

“You bring stools for Bree and me to sit on, don’t you? When we watch the shows.”

He colors and nods.

“Well, thanks. I know we usually say that, but I want you to know how much we appreciate it. Bree said she used to have to stand before you gave her something to sit on.”

“Yeah. She…” He lifts a shoulder. “She’s nice.”

“She is.” I smile softly, thinking of Bree back at the hotel, caring for Zayne. Nice doesn’t begin to cover it.

Still, something about Steve’s tone bothers me. A slight harshness, almost an underscored bitterness when he says nice.

“It’s too bad she’s had that trouble lately.”

He steps back and swallows. “Trouble?”

“Yes. Somebody started some rumors about her. Pretty bad ones about her and the band.”

“That’s…too bad.” He looks anywhere but at me.

“It is. They were some pretty nasty rumors, especially considering they’re all just friends.”

Steve shifts from one leg to the other. “Rumors.”

He doesn’t sound as surprised as some of the others. Most don’t have the time or interest in following paparazzi reports and Internet gossip about the people they see every day. But Steve is different, and I swear his voice cracks on a squeak.

My shoulders stiffen, and I look closer. It’s clear he’s painfully shy, awkward and skittish at his best. He’s not the only one around here with a personality quirk; maybe all musicians, roadies, and their road crew are a little weird. But Steve’s the only one who’s acted this uncomfortable when I asked my questions.

Every single one of them said they like Bree and hate the gossip about her.

“Steve?” He won’t look at me and keeps sort of sliding backward. “Do you know anything about it?”

“A-about…what?”

“About the rumors.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you sure?” I work hard to keep the accusation from my voice. “Somebody took a picture of her with the guys in Wycked Obsession. They sent it to the tabloids and made up some pretty awful stuff about her.”

He shakes his head and takes a real step back. “That’s—” he pauses, swallows “—bad.”

I move forward. “It really hurt her feelings. The story was a lie. Those guys are like brothers to her.”

“Not Ajia,” he snaps, the first real emotion I’ve seen from him.

“No,” I agree carefully. “Not Ajia. She loves him. She has for years. Long before this tour.”

“He…” Steve pauses, and his gaze shoots past my shoulder. “He’s not good enough for her. No way. He fu—sleeps around. With all the chicks.”

I nod with either agreement or understanding. He can choose whatever makes him comfortable enough to keep talking.

“He’d agree with you that he’s not good enough for her,” I add. “But he doesn’t sleep around anymore. He’s with her now. He loves her.”

“Does he?” Some emotion I can’t quite place flares in his eyes. “Then why does he let them call her their wife?”

“It’s a joke,” I say gently. I never suspected Steve until we started this conversation, but now I know. Faced with direct questions, he isn’t shrewd enough to lie.

“Some joke.”

“She takes care of them,” I remind him. “Like a sister. Because she loves them.”

He frowns but doesn’t say anything.

“Bree’s really nice. Isn’t she?”

“Yeah.” It’s a grudging admission as he keeps looking anywhere but at me.

“She made you cookies the other day, didn’t she?”

He nods slowly. “Peanut butter.”

“Your favorite.” It isn’t a question. Bree told me. She wanted them to be a thank you because he always found her a seat.

“But you weren’t so nice in return, were you?” I step closer, and now he looks at me. “You took that picture and started the rumors. Didn’t you?”

He swallows and his face screws up for a minute. Then his thin shoulders drop. “She…hurt my feelings. She didn’t even see me when he was around. It was only him.”

I slip up next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. He’s barely taller than I am. “You know we have to tell the others.”

“Who?” He looks at me, panicked. “I-I’ll get fired!”

“Well…” He’s right. He probably will. No famous rock band is going to want a snitch around them. If he gets pissed off at somebody else, what other gossip could he start?

“That’s true,” I finally admit. “You could get fired. But we don’t know anything yet.”

As long as I keep him away from Knox and Ajia. I sure as hell don’t want to bring them into this. Either of them would probably want to beat Steve into a bloody pulp, and that’s the last thing we need right now.

“Come on.” I sigh and spot Maddox Spencer, Edge of Return’s version of a cocky rock god, disappear into their dressing room. “Let’s go talk to Mad. He’ll…” I pause. I don’t know what the hell he’ll do, but I pretend, anyway.

“He’ll help us.”

 



 

The show goes better than expected. Ayden picked up what he needed to know quick, and the friendly rivalry between Zayne and him helped a lot, according to Ayden. They’d played each other’s stuff, talked about developing bass lines, and whatever else musicians shared.

It doesn’t matter now. Ayden pulled it off, and the band’s regained a bit of euphoria.

Maybe everything will be all right.

None of us hangs around backstage after the show. We head straight back to the hotel and congregate in Zayne’s room.

He’s in bed, pale and bare-chested, tattoos on display. He’s got the same Wycked Obsession logo tatted on his right pec, but I don’t have time to look at any of the others.

Bree sits on the mattress next to him, cross-legged. She smiles with clear relief when we come in, and then scoots from the bed to throw herself into Ajia’s arms.

“Uh…how you feeling, man?” Noah is the first to speak, though the words are slow and careful, like he isn’t quite sure how to act.

“I’m…good.” Zayne’s gaze flickers around the room, darting near all of us but not really stopping anywhere. Definitely not making eye contact. “Better.”

Ajia has his arm around Bree, and she’s tucked close against his side. “You know we gotta talk about this shit.”

“Ajia—” she starts, but Zayne cuts her off with a wave of his hand. Sighs.

“I know. But can we do it…later? Tomorrow? I’m not still fucked up, but…” He pauses, shrugs. “I need a day.”

“You taking this shit serious?” asks Knox from behind me. I turn and realize I’ve never seen him more determined.

This thing with Zayne hit him harder than almost anything else.

“Yeah,” Zayne says softly. “I’m taking it serious. Just…give me tonight.”

The rest of the band and Bree share looks of uncertainty. I can almost read the exchange.

Is that the best thing for him?

For us?

Is he just avoiding talking about it?

Can we trust him?

I don’t have the answers, but a look at Zayne’s weary and almost fearful face, and I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I have something to tell you.”

Knox steps closer, tilts his head, his dark eyes searching mine. “About?”

“I found out who did it.”

“What?” asks Noah, but Bree gasps at the same time.

“The rumors?” she breathes, her eyes wide.

“The picture?” demands Ajia, his oddly golden eyes dark with sudden fury.

Knox grabs my hand, his fingers tight, and he pulls me around to face him. “Who?” he growls.

“A roadie for Edge. His name’s Steve.”

“Steve!” Bree’s eyes pop wide, and she sags against Ajia. “Steve?” she repeats. “I…I made him cookies. I thought he liked me!”

“Steve?” Ajia says the name carefully, like he’s trying to place it. Or maybe commit it to permanent memory, because his voice is like granite.

“The guy who brings me a stool so I can sit when you’re on stage.”

“Steve.” I’ve never seen Ajia’s expression so fierce.

“That motherfucker,” snarls Knox, his fingers squeezing mine even tighter. I don’t have to look at his face to know how perfectly his expression matches Ajia’s.

“What the hell?” demands Noah with a frown, and though Rye doesn’t actually speak, he looks as angry as the others.

“He has a crush on Bree,” I try to explain. “He’s…well, he’s young and shy and has acne, and he doesn’t know how to talk to girls. He was jealous when she and Ajia got together, and when he heard Zayne joking about her being the band wife, he…overreacted and did something stupid.”

“Stupid?” Knox bites off. “This is way past fucking stupid.”

“I know.” I sigh. I pull my hand from his and cup one hand over his cheek. As comfort? To calm him? I can’t say for sure, so I add, “I took him to Mad. Left them to work it out.”

“Work it out?” Knox and Ajia demand at the same time, sounding equally pissed.

I nod and pull my hand free. “But don’t worry. Mad took me aside later and said they let him go. Steve understands that the NDA he signed including everything and everyone on the tour, and lies are never acceptable.”

“Mad said all that?” Knox’s gaze flickers between rage and a certain dark humor.

“Well, not in those words, no.” I give him a crooked smile. He was a little more…colorful in his explanation, but that’s the gist of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bree says suddenly, and we all turn like in unison to look at her in surprise.

“Kitten, you don’t have anything to be sorry about,” says Ajia, kissing the top of her head.

“I feel like it’s my fault. I tried to be nice to him, but…he got the wrong idea, I guess. I didn’t know he had feelings for me. I—”

“If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine.” Zayne’s still stretched out on the bed, eyes closed, and he doesn’t move, but he’s still the one who spoke.

“Zayne—”

“You know it’s true, baby girl.” He cuts Bree off.

“Look, let’s not do this.” I work hard for a firm but understanding tone. “Nobody knew that Steve was going to react like that. Nobody did anything malicious—except Steve himself. It’s his own fault he turned into a bloody wanker, so let’s just let it go at that.”

“Bloody wanker,” shouts Noah with a laugh, and the rest join in.

No one notices when Knox comes up behind me and plants a lingering kiss just where my neck curves into my shoulder. “Thanks, English,” he whispers in my ear, his teeth strong over my earlobe before he swirls his tongue in apology. “I needed this today.”