CHAPTER 26

 

 

Knox

 

 

 

Two days.

Takes me two fucking days to get over that goddamn hangover. Not that I let anybody else know I’m hurting. Last thing I’m gonna do. Doesn’t matter, anyway. Shit’s still way too screwed up to worry about ridiculous shit like how I feel.

The minute we pull into Salt Lake, we hit the ground running. Got a full day of auditions scheduled. Seems like Baz or the label sent every goddamn bass player on the West Coast to Utah. It’s just a temporary gig; Zayne might be on the shit list right now for putting us in this position, but he’s still Wycked Obsession’s bass player. Always will be, unless he wants out.

He says he doesn’t.

Noah’s still in Austin with Zayne, so only Ajia, Rye, and I are there for the auditions. Well, Bree’s there, too, mostly ‘cause she’s been with us so long. She has a feel for what works and what doesn’t. Yeah, and maybe to see if she learned anything in her two years at Butler College.

London stays back at the tour bus. She’s working with Baz and the label to put out the fires left from the shitstorm in Boise. Explaining the sperm donor without giving any details, and putting some kind of decent spin on Zayne’s bullshit. Whatever that means.

At least she doesn’t have to say anything about the baby.

God. My head’s finally catching up with my heart, and my gut clenches, my heart skips a beat. Shit. How does she feel, trying to write press releases about this shit? Must hurt like a son of a bitch.

I am such an asshole. Been fighting the image of pain, sorrow, the regret in English’s eyes. I saw it all. Yeah, she should have told me about the baby—it was my right to know—but she didn’t deserve what the sperm donor did, anymore than Bree or my mom or I did.

And she sure as hell didn’t deserve the way I acted.

Haven’t been ready to talk about it again, and she made it easy for me. She pretty much stayed in her bunk, no matter how hard Bree begged her to take the bedroom. Selfish asshole that I am, I stayed there instead.

Couldn’t quite bring myself to climb into the bunk above her.

Now we’re all kind of milling around in the lobby of this stop’s hotel. We got to Salt Lake ahead of schedule, so spent last night in the bus until reservations could be changed. Baz and Bree are checking us in, the others are huddled together, and I’m standing off to one side by myself. Wycked Obsession has circled the wagons, like the old-time Western movies. They’re protecting London, and I’m on the outside.

Like I deserve.

I lean my shoulder against the wall, cross one ankle over the other, and turn my thoughts off. Well, not off, exactly, but to something productive. Music swirls through my mind, a progression of notes that sound sad and…melancholy. It hurts to hear, but I can’t stop listening, hope it will continue.

“Here.” Bree interrupts the internal concert and hands me a key card. “From Baz.” Her tone’s still snippy. Won’t deny I deserve it.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll give London hers.”

“Hey, wait.” A thought occurs to me. “We’re in separate rooms, right?”

Bree steps closer, her green eyes sparkling with anger. “No, Knox, you’re in the same room. Don’t be an ass about it.”

“Jesus, Bree,” I snap back, scrambling to make sense of it. “That isn’t a…good idea.”

“Too fucking bad.” I hate when my sister swears. She does it whenever she gets good and pissed, and I seem to do that to her. “It’s the best damn idea there is, so don’t fuck this up, Knox. She needs you—and you need her.”

“Bree—” But she doesn’t let me finish.

“So she made a little mistake. Get over it.”

“A little mistake.”

I only mean to consider the idea. Sort the observation along with the other explanations English provided. Bree doesn’t hear it that way.

“A little mistake,” she repeats through gritted teeth. “Can’t you give up your damn idea of control long enough to see what all this cost her? Yeah, so you didn’t know about the baby. So what?”

She takes a breath and repeats, “So what? In the overall scheme of things, it means nothing.”

She steps back, turns, and then returns, her eyes narrow and cold. “If you don’t make this right with her, Knox, I will never forgive you. Just get over your fucking self!”

I watch my little sister as she stalks around the lobby, giving everyone else their key cards. She approaches London last. I turn away as they talk.

I’ve pissed Bree off a lot over the years, but never like that.

She made a little mistake. Get over it.

Give up your damn idea of control long enough to see what all this cost her.

Is my pride, maybe my need for control, keeping me on edge? Holding London at arm’s length? Unwilling to forgive her? Staying pissed off when I know damned well it’s so much more complicated than that?

I am so sorry, Knox. Words will never be enough to make it up to you. But please know how deeply I regret everything. You were right. If I’d been honest about the baby, things might have been different all the way around. And I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.

Her apology was real. Very fucking real. I know her well enough to be sure. I saw the tears in her eyes, heard the break in her voice. Heard and saw, and when the pain from her injuries made her wince, I wanted to go to her. Hold her.

But I didn’t. The instant I started to soften toward her, I deliberately hardened my heart against it.

And why? Because of Farren and that years-old bullshit?

No. I shake my head with a tiny movement. Can’t say that bitch has anything to do with it. London is so different from Farren, and I rarely think about my old girlfriend. Not seriously. Not until Ajia brought her up.

So what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just accept her explanation, her reasons? No doubt she meant them, and they make sense.

But…fuck! I don’t need her to protect me. I do the protecting, and she—

My thoughts stumble to a sudden, choppy death. Is that it? Am I pissed because she wanted to help me? What the fuck? I’ve always liked that sense of helpfulness about her.

Oh, yeah. As long as she helps you on your terms, a snotty voice inside me insists. She did this all on her own, didn’t she? Took the hit for you—literally. What does it matter that she didn’t get your fucking permission for what she was doing?

Fuck.

My heart beats hard all of a sudden, pounding a rhythm that feels a lot like it’s saying, asshole, asshole, asshole.

No matter what London did or how she handled things, she lost a baby. My baby, yeah, but it was a child she was carrying inside her. Changing her body. Fucking with her hormones and changing her emotions.

The peanut.

Okay, so maybe I was pissed. It fucked with my head to find out I might’ve had a kid—a real kid and not a figment of some crazy bitch’s imagination—but I only knew when it was too late. Yeah, I’ll even admit it hurt. But London didn’t keep it secret specifically to hurt me…and she didn’t come through this shit whole.

Physically or emotionally. And I made it worse.

I’m standing here in the hotel lobby like a damned idiot, but I can’t seem to move. My brain’s too goddamn busy stumbling over my thoughts like a freaking lab puppy. Legs too long, feet too big, can’t find its footing.

I am so sorry, Knox.

Words will never be enough to make it up to you.

Please know how deeply I regret everything.

I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.

And she will, too. She’ll take every damn bit of it to heart.

Goddammit!

“Meeting in Noah’s room.” Rye strolls up to me, his face revealing nothing. Jesus, have we all become goddamn mimes?

“He’s here?”

“Checked in early this morning. Room 503. Concierge’s taking care of the luggage.”

I nod, join everyone else. London stands on the other side of Bree, away from me. Baz is still at the front desk, but the rest of us enter the elevator together. Everybody stays quiet, and even though I don’t mind, it pisses me off, too. There’s so much to say, at least between London and me…but not now. Not here.

Can’t get to her, anyway. The others surround her like a team of goddamn Navy seals, protecting her like I’m some sort of terrorist or something.

Fuck my life. I’d never hurt her.

But you have.

It’s true, and I know it. I’ll never forget the sight of her face, her eyes, when she explained herself to me. The memory makes my gut churn.

I’m almost relieved when we reach the fifth floor, and Rye leads the way to Noah’s room. The door’s propped open, and Noah looks like…well, shit. Rough. Really bad. His eyes are bloodshot, like he hasn’t slept in a couple of days.

Was it that hard to get Zayne settled in rehab?

“Jesus, you look like hell.”

Four pairs of eyes look at me with the same expression. Eat shit and die. Noah just shrugs.

“Been a rough couple of days.”

I snort without quite meaning to. “Rough couple of months.”

Everybody looks serious but not disagreeable. Fuck, I don’t have to remind them of everything. They lived it, too.

Noah wanders to lean against the dresser while the rest of us settle in. London takes the upholstered chair at Bree’s insistence, while she and Ajia take one of the beds. Rye straddles the desk chair, leaving the other bed for me.

“You see the audition tapes?” Ajia asks, straight to business.

“Yeah.” Noah nods once. “Played ‘em half a dozen times. They all still here?”

Ajia snorts. “Yep. Like good little minions. Told ‘em we’d either make our choice or play with ‘em today.”

Noah nods again.

“Any reactions?” Rye doesn’t usually say much, but he’s taking an interest in this. Either it’s that important to him—them—or they don’t want my brand of control in this.

“Couple of good ones.” Noah shoves a hand in his hair, pushes it away from his face. “Sarge Harman’s the best. Hands down. Can we play with him, see if there’s any…chemistry?”

“Sure.” Ajia pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Baz. Have him set it up for this afternoon.”

Noah nods, and everybody seems satisfied. I lean back against the headboard, look around the room, pretending to observe while I straddle that fucked-up place between belonging and being on the outside. Not really used to this feeling, and I hate not knowing where I fit anymore.

But, Jesus! I wanna smack myself. I’m not an indecisive guy, letting anybody make decisions for me. So maybe it’s been kinda screwed up for a few days—partly my fault, I’ll admit—but it doesn’t have to stay that way.

“Get Zayne settled okay?” I ask briskly and lean forward.

“Yeah.” Noah takes a breath. “Nice place, but he doesn’t want to be there. Says he can do it on his own.”

“Yeah, uh…no.” Ajia’s not buying it. “He got worse. This business, this tour? Nope.”

Noah shrugs. “It’ll be a couple of weeks before he can have any outside contact. Baz has the details.”

“He in for ninety?” I ask.

“Yeah. He ought to be able to have visitors by the time we get back to Austin.”

I hear the words, but I’m more interested in Noah himself. Besides looking like death warmed over, something else is wrong. Paparazzi describes him as larger than life, and it’s true. Yeah, he’s a big guy, but he’s a joker. Never met a stranger. Life of the party. Now it’s like he’s all turned in on himself.

Fuck.

“What’s wrong with you man?” The question’s out before I can think better of it.

“Knox,” Bree snaps. “Jesus.”

“What?” That’s it! I’m sick of being their whipping boy. “Noah’s acting like his dog just died or some shit. I wanna know why. Was it that bad getting Zayne settled? Or is there something else we should know?”

Noah blows out a harsh breath. “It went okay with Zayne. Well enough, anyway. No, he didn’t like it, but he knew he didn’t have a choice.”

“Okay.” I’ll accept that. “Then what is it?”

Noah’s eyes close, and he looks fucking miserable. Like…well, like I’ve never seen him.

“Noah?” Bree sees it, too. “Sweetie?”

“Dude?” Ajia asks.

A knot fists in my gut. What else? Jesus Christ, what else do we have to go through this tour?

“C’mon, man,” I insist. “What?”

Noah straightens, looks at Bree for a couple of heartbeats. They’ve always been close. Shit, she’s always been close with all the guys, and they worry about her just like I do. Put her ahead of just about anything.

Is it that bad?

He glances towards London, me. “Fuck!” he shouts and smacks one fist on the dresser behind him.

“Noah?” London’s voice is soft but no denying she means to have him answer. “Tell us what’s wrong.”

“I…shit! Got another problem we’re gonna have to deal with. Fuck my life!”

“What is it?” London asks before I can.

“I…”

Noah’s voice dies away, and I stare at him. Never seen him at a loss for words like this.

“What, man? Just fucking tell us!” I demand.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He shoots a quick look in my direction but pretty much stares at London. “I’m so goddamn sorry, London.”

“It’s okay, sweetie.” She’s taken to using Bree’s band-wide endearment. “Just tell us so we can deal with it.”

“Fuck.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Don’t wanna do this now. Everything’s already a fucking mess and now…”

“Now what?” London prompts.

He closes his eyes for a second. “Now some chick’s come out of the woodwork. She got to Baz when I was in Austin. Says she’s going to the tabloids next.”

Fuck. Can’t even guess what this means. I let out a long, weary breath. “What does she want?”

“Whatever she can get.” Noah pins a heavy gaze on me. “She’s six months pregnant, and she says it’s mine.”