The ride into Los Angeles was a quiet one. The Greek Theater was on the edge of the city, but the traffic was brutal as she followed her GPS. Deacon stared out the window, obviously deep in thought.

The scene backstage had left everyone buzzing. The crew, both catering and road, were chewing on gossip like it was a juicy steak after a hunger strike. They’d all come at her for details, and for the first time, her loyalty had been to someone other than the staff.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. It had always been an us versus them situation. The bands had been people to cater to, not get involved with intimately. And that wasn’t even the sex part. She’d sat with Jazz and Deacon for movie nights, she’d taught Jazz how to make spaghetti and meatballs, she and Jazz had giggled through giving Simon lessons in the fine art of eyeliner. How many hands of gin rummy had she played with Gray and Jazz to get through the night as Deacon stretched out on the couch to read?

Hell, she even got a kick out of Nick’s sarcasm laden diatribes about the meet and greets he had to endure. Especially since she knew he truly loved interacting with the fans, just didn’t like the crazy that came along with it.

They were more than clients. They’d become her friends. It was almost as scary as how she felt about Deacon.

As she made the turn onto Wilshire Boulevard, she took a deep breath. Manicured trees were boxed into the cement sidewalks and framed the mix of skyscrapers and businesses that made up the swanky part of Los Angeles. She understood Sunset and the pier. But this?

She peered up at the endless mirror-like finishes of the buildings, the bright bank signs, and coffee shops that catered to the moneyed and famous. Part of her wanted to drop Deacon off at whatever swanky penthouse he lived in. Because there was no way he lived modestly on Wilshire.

She could go back to her small life, her food, and her tiny bunk in the Food Riot crew bus. When the GPS told her to make a left, she jerked the car to a stop.

Deacon finally looked her way. “There it is, home sweet home.”

The windows were an inky black sheet until the top floors, where they were broken with wrap-around balconies that shouted money and status.

“This is your place?”

Deacon leaned forward and brushed a kiss over her mouth. “For now.”

Suddenly, her little Honda Civic felt wildly out of place. Just like her. In the midst of the tour and life on the bus, she’d conveniently forgotten just how different his life was from hers. The nomadic life of a tour suited her. Everything she cared about could be packed into the battered army duffle she’d found in a thrift store when she was sixteen.

She followed the circular drive to the signs for parking. Expecting to take a ticket, she simply stared at the man that came to her door. Starched white dress shirt, a tie, and a snappy navy uniform gave her a clue, but still she stared.

Deacon climbed out from his side of the car. “Hi, Mike.”

“Mr. McCoy.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Deacon admonished.

“And you know I have a deep and abiding fear of Abigail,” Mike answered. He opened the door for Harper. “I’ll take care of that for you.”

“I—” she gulped and had no choice but to take his hand and let the valet help her out of the car. She’d lived in New York City for three months and hadn’t seen more than a bellhop open a door for the rich.

This was so out of her league.

“Uh, thanks.”

Without a word, or even a sneer at her dusty blue car, he climbed in and nodded at Deacon, then disappeared into the parking structure.

“You live here,” she said numbly. Hadn’t she already said that? But still, it needed to be repeated. He wasn’t even a headliner yet. What in the hell?

“I stay here,” Deacon corrected. “The record label owns it. We’re just bunking here.” He came up beside her. “Wait until you see the lobby.”

With his hand at her back, he opened the door for her. She went through the wide, spotless wall of glass that was a front door, and her jaw dropped open. The waiting area made the Beverly Wilshire look like a dated movie set. A geometric pattern flooded the floor in black and gray leading to a huge seating area of leather and chrome with more glass for the end tables. A huge glass sheet bisected the seating area full of magazines and mini-laptops.

The crazy patterned floor led up to a winding staircase in blood red carpeting that showcased a chandelier that had to be made of moonbeams. The translucent light sparkled along the crystal edges making it look like perpetual rain.

They passed a bank of empty terminals to the elevators. The doors were as opulent as the rest. Acid-etched metal in a rich paisley design that didn’t dare have a fingerprint on it.

Deacon drew a card out of his wallet and slid it into a reader. It hummed, flashed green, and the door opened. Inside was more of the vibrant red, this time in plush soundproofing.

The car was dead silent as the doors slid closed. Not a squeak or a clang of metal for this place. This was how the rich lived? In silence and perfection?

Deacon curled an arm around her, dragging her flush into his side. The kiss was startling. He’d been silent the entire ride in. She couldn’t blame him. From the little she’d heard, it wasn’t a simple band disagreement. There was a very real chance that life would be completely different for everyone by morning.

She cupped his face, trying to tell him with her lips and her breath that she was there for him. That she’d be anything he needed tonight. She blocked out the jarring luxury lobby that had freaked her out, the lavish elevator car, the moneyed scent of perfection, and focused on him.

On his cedar scent swirling with the ocean, on his unique taste that flooded her with need and confusion, on the feel of his bearded cheeks under her palms and the firm muscular wall of his body. Tonight, she’d let him lead.

His kiss turned urgent, driving her own needs up and out of the quagmire of worry. He lifted her, opening her until her legs had no choice but to wrap around his hips. The doors opened and he walked through with her in his arms.

She didn’t have time to look around to see where they were, or where they were going. There was only Deacon. His insistent tongue and gripping fingers. Distantly, she knew they were going up stairs, but only because he held her tighter, and each jostling step bounced her lightly against his straining cock.

The slam of a door closing and then a welcome silence. An empty space that was just them. No giggles from Jazz, no mockingly funny lyrics from Simon, no snide huffs from Nick. Just them.

His fingers dug into her jean clad bottom as he laid her across the bed. A soft duvet caressed her body as Deacon crushed her down, down, down. The press of his more than ready cock, his fingers tangled in her hair, and his mouth trying to swallow her whole ratcheted up the moment.

And suddenly, he stopped, looking down at her with eyes so wild and fierce that she knew it wasn’t just about the freedom to screw his brains out tonight. For the first time, it wouldn’t be about sneaking away from work or passing the time. Not that it ever really had been.

But she’d convinced herself that it would be easy to walk away from him. There would be an indelible mark on her, no matter what. A Deacon tattoo that branded her heart as his.

She drew her thumb across his cheek to his lips. He bit down on the pad, the pressure of his teeth on the nail gave a zing of appreciation to the moment. Careful Deacon would always be there, but the wilder part of him that she normally had to coax out was close to the surface tonight.

Her skin tingled as if the air was full of lightning. The width of his chest blocked out everything else in the room, dragging Deacon into a pinprick focus. When he pushed her shirt up, she couldn’t process the fire racing over her senses.

He broke the intense stare down and refocused on her flesh. Open-mouthed kisses on her belly and scraping teeth at her ribs had her arching off the sensual feast of a bed. He tore at her jeans, bra, and panties until the snap of material pushed her from passive girl to active participant.

Both of them fought to be the dominant aggressor. She wanted him naked and straining. She wanted her mouth on every inch of him, she wanted his sweat to mingle with hers.

Clothes went through the war of wills and she wasn’t sure any of it would be salvaged. She wasn’t sure she’d fare any better. And finally, there was just Deacon. She drew him down on top of her until every line and curve of him was pressed into her. And still, it wasn’t enough.

Her fingers dug into the powerful ridges of muscle at his back, and she opened herself up to him. Madness clawed inside her, singing every surface he touched. She felt the silky head of his cock at her entrance and gloried in it. This—yes, this is what she needed.

“Just you.” She reached between them and dragged the tip of him through her wetness. “Only you inside me.”

“Are you sure?” His brow furrowed, even as he rocked against her.

Dying to feel all of him, she nodded. “I’m on the pill.” She was drenched with the wanting of him and the captivating moment that was only theirs. Six weeks of sharing him with the world, his bandmates, her job, the bus.

This was just for her.

Just for him.

Just for them.

And only now did she realize how much she needed this. The thrill of the chase, the outdoors, even the muffled excitement of his bunk, paled in comparison to this simple bed and the quiet.

“Harper.”

His voice was thready with need and hope. She needed this as much as he did. Maybe even more. She lifted her hips until she sheathed him in her heat. The stretch of him inside her with no barriers fired up the blood between her ears until the room was nothing but white noise and Deacon.

He tried to pull back, his eyes widened in realization and in an awesome pleasure that reverberated inside of her. She dug her fingers into his flanks and moved under him.

“Deacon.” His name was a shuddering cry that didn’t seem like it could have been her voice. It was choked and rough with the wanting of him. But it was enough. He seemed to understand that she was giving herself to him as selflessly as she could.

He looked between them, at his cock driving into her, and then he looked up and into her eyes. The brutal beauty of his straining body over her shaved off any hope of holding back from this man. She folded herself around him and took every punishing thrust. He held onto her so tight, she knew there would be bruises over her shoulders and back. She knew the insides of her thighs would scream and still she took him.

She surged under him as all of her muscles locked, and her brain winked out, leaving nothing but pleasure and scent behind. The ocean scent of him rolled her under, and what remained was a hollowed out woman. Surely, she had nothing else to give him.

And yet, when she managed to peel her eyes open, she saw him smiling above her.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Every nerve ending inside her begged to differ, but he simply pulled her leg from around his hip until he could stack it on the other. He lifted her knees higher on the bed until they both groaned at the deeper pressure.

She closed in on herself as he rocked inside her. He lowered his mouth to hers, muttering nonsensical things about how tight she felt in that growling timbre that he usually saved for the stage. But some nights, she got to hear a taste of it.

He scored his teeth down her exposed throat then to her shoulder. He bit the crest of her clavicle and then found her nipple, sucking strongly. He pounded into her faster until nothing mattered but where they met. The position was friction and power, and the glory of this man with a savagely beautiful body hurtled her into a wall of pleasure.

He arched his back, and his huge hand branded itself into her hip as he held on. Fascination burned through the red haze of lust as she watched his corded neck flex and his face turn to bliss. She’d never had a man inside of her without protection, so the actual feel of his release was like a wash of heat inside of her.

His hips undulated against her again and again as her body clasped him tighter, refusing to let go. And like an aftershock, the sprinkle of contentment blanketed her in shivers of awe.

Instead of pulling out of her, Deacon curled around her and lightly pulsed inside of her, his arms warm around her waist and his chin in her neck.

“Deacon, I…”

“Shh. I know.”

He knew what? She didn’t even know yet. Everything was jumbled inside of a ball of ecstasy and warmth. And as she slipped into sleep, she held onto him so very tight.

* * *

Dawn crept into his room on a whisper. They’d spent the night wrapped around each other. He’d woken to her soft touch in the cover of darkness, and again with an insistent hand that had ended in a shower during the dead of night.

Exhaustion dragged at him, willing him back to sleep, but he’d forgotten to close the curtains last night and he was too used to the coffin blackness of his bunk on the bus. Even the stillness of the bed felt a little weird to him. He was so used to the overnight travel and close quarters.

They had a king-sized bed to themselves and still, Harper was sprawled over him like a blanket, her cheek against his chest and her hand riding low on his hip. She shifted, and he hissed as her fingertips brushed his morning erection. Last night should have sated him, but he already hungered for her again.

Morning biology was only part of his discomfort. He didn’t want the night to end yet. Harper had been so open and free with her touches. Every time with her was exciting, but last night had been different. She’d held nothing back.

She’d been completely his. Body, heart, and mind.

He didn’t want to see her pull back again. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to push down the pain if she tried to make excuses or ignored the very real love that had surrounded them last night.

“Deacon?”

He stroked a hand down her back. “Hmm?”

“I don’t want today to be the last time I see you.”

His hand stilled and his heart slammed. “What are you saying?”

She levered herself up. “If you were serious, I think we can try and make the long distance thing wo—”

Deacon rolled her over onto her back and squeezed her tight.

She tapped his shoulder, laughing. “All right, Big Guy. Breathing isn’t an optional thing.”

He pressed their lower bodies into the mattress, propping himself up on his forearms. He couldn’t stop from threading his fingers in her hair. “We’ll make it work. I promise.”

She smiled up at him, her perfect sky blue eyes shining. “I think you’re insane, but I’m in. How am I supposed to give up all these awesome orgasms?”

He lowered his mouth to hers. “The sex is definitely in the stratosphere.”

She wiggled until she could get her legs around his hips and let her roll them over. Sunflowers and warmth curtained him with her golden hair. “It’s not only the sex.”

The little niggle of doubt cracked in his chest and he breathed in deep. “It’s a really good side benefit though.”

She laughed. “Damn skippy.” Her arms slid around his neck and she hugged him tight before propping herself on her hands over him. “This is new territory for me, Big Guy.”

“For me, too.”

“Good. We can blunder through it together.”

He lifted her up and fit himself along her warmth, sighing when he found her so very receptive to him. Her eyes fluttered shut as he lowered her on his cock. “Show me just how good we are together.”

She moved against him with a soft sigh, her body opening for him instinctively. Her hips moved in time with his easy strokes, and when her eyes slitted open, she let out a soft cry that ended in his name. When she rose above him, he barely managed to swallow down words of wonder.

Shining blonde hair haloed around her as she rode him with the sun kissing her skin. He reached up to cup her generous breasts, leaning forward to catch a tip in his mouth. She wound her arms around him, dragging his mouth to hers, and he swallowed her cries of surrender.

Clasped around him, she milked him into a mind-numbing orgasm that almost let him turn off his mind. With her warm and cuddly at his side, he drifted off.

It felt like only a few moments later his phone let out an irritating fog horn alarm. As much as he wanted to hide out in his room with Harper and make love to her until her eyes were crossed, he needed to go downstairs. Jackson Miller had called an early afternoon meeting with the band. He’d been insistent that they do it now, and not at the end of the tour.

Was that because they’d be out on their asses tomorrow?

It felt like the tour had been successful enough to warrant at least entertaining the idea of an album. So what did it matter if they waited until after the last show?

The entire car ride, he’d gone over every possible scenario, including the implosion of the band thanks to Snake’s arrival. Loyalty was very much a part of Nick’s make up when it came to the band, and it was one of the reasons Deacon was here with them.

They hadn’t given up, even when it had looked hopeless. Even before the song he’d written with Gray had gone viral, there had been a steady decline in hope. Just how long could they pretend that Snake hadn’t been dragging them down?

And now, with Jazz and Gray? There was no doubt their new drummer had infused the band with life again. Even Snake at his best couldn’t touch the talent and drive that they found in her. Add in Gray’s innate talent that blended seamlessly on stage with Nick, and they were unstoppable now.

But if Nick was stupid enough to try to put Snake back into the band, would they even get a contract? Wouldn’t that ruin every chance they had? Jazz was the reason they’d exploded on the scene.

Nick had to know that.

A hand came up and caged over his nose and mouth.

“Stop thinking so loud. You’re interrupting my REM sleep.”

“I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

She levered herself up and touched her nose to his. “Right. Like that’s going to happen. What’s up, big guy?”

“Just band stuff. Same as last night.”

She sighed then pressed her cheek to his. “Nick’s not dumb.” She crawled over him, stacking her hands on his chest so she could rest her chin on them and stare him in the eye. “He has dumb moments, like…oh, last night. But in the clear light of day, he’s going to realize that it’s not just about him anymore.”

“I want to believe that.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I have seen Nick do too many stupid things over the years to trust it.”

“Then why do you stay?”

He gently slid out from under her to sit on the edge of the bed. There were some days when he had to ask himself that very question. “Because I remember how it felt the first time I sat in with Simon and Nick on the boulevard just near Venice Beach. It was balls hot, and no one was paying attention to them.” He laughed. “Simon was singing his heart out to an old Led Zeppelin song and butchering the words.”

He eased back on the bed, and she curled onto her side to listen. “He was buzzed on cheap beer and high as a damn kite, but there was magic there. Nick was laughing at him and kept shouting out the correct words, but Simon didn’t care.”

She smiled at him, the delight obvious in her eyes.

“What?”

“Just you.” She leaned in and brushed a kiss over his jaw then up to his lips. “I can see the love there. And that’s why you stay.”

He sighed. “From that moment on, I was hooked. They had such amazing, raw talent. Neither one of them could stand music classes, so they were pretty much self-taught.”

She crawled up until she could curl into the pillows beside him. “And you took every class you could.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if there was no room for doubt.

“All right, smart ass.”

She poked him in the chest. “You seem like you were the class geek.”

“Do I look like a geek?”

Harper’s laugh was priceless. The same laugh from the tattoo studio when he’d first fallen under her spell. He didn’t get to hear that laugh too often, but when he did, it was pure magic. He grabbed her and pulled her under him, tickling her sides.

“Do I look like a geek?”

“No!” She twisted away from him, kicking out until he pinned her down, one hand braceleting both of her wrists over her head. “No, you’re not a geek!”

“That’s better.” He hovered over her. The worry twisting his gut easing with every puff of her breath and echoing giggle.

“What?” She wiggled, trying to get out from under him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason. Just glad that you’re here.”

She stopped struggling and lowered her lashes. Just when he was going to back off, and let her go, she met his gaze again. “I’m glad I’m here, too. But we’re not having sex again. I’m freaking hungry.”

He rolled his hips against her. “You sure?”

“Put that weapon of mass destruction away there, mister.”

“It’s never been called that before.”

She snickered. “Put that dimple away too. Lethal,” she muttered and wiggled out from under him. “I’m taking a shower.” She looked over her shoulder. “Alone. You can’t be trusted.”

He grinned and watched her perfect ass disappear into his bathroom. He stretched out and rolled off the bed. He dragged on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and went out into the hall. There was a central room on the top floor where all the wings converged, but that was empty.

Jazz’s door was shut, as was Gray’s. Surprisingly, Simon’s was ajar. Deacon patted his pockets, but he’d forgotten to grab his phone. He went back to his room and flicked his iPhone to life. It was barely eight in the morning. Either Simon was still partying, or he’d never made it to bed.

There was no way he was willingly awake. Deacon padded to Nick’s side of the penthouse and found his door open as well. He peeked in and saw the bed had been slept in.

He headed down the stairs to the kitchen. Beer bottles littered the counter as well as a melted tub of Rocky Road ice cream. He scanned the room, finding more bottles and a half empty decanter of scotch. A nest of blankets lay on the L-shaped couch, but no sleeping body.

Had Snake stayed the night? Or had Jazz curled up as she normally did but found her way to bed eventually? It didn’t seem likely that she would have stayed down there with the party, but stranger things had happened.

With a sigh, he began gathering the bottles. Ten minutes later, he had the brunt of the mess cleaned up and a garbage can full of chips and ice cream that had gone stale. He nearly stepped in a seven layer dip that looked more like dog chow. He didn’t want to know why that was on the floor.

“Deacon? Is that you down there?”

“Yeah,” he called up. He turned to find Jazz at the top of the stairs in fuzzy pink socks, an oversized Foo Fighters t-shirt, and pink cotton pants with cupcakes all over them, George in her arms. Her dark hair didn’t have any of the clips of color in it like usual. Instead, it flowed in an unrelieved inky black down her shoulders and back.

Her eyes were puffy from either a sleepless night or a crying jag. The way she cuddled George close, he figured a mixture of both. Deacon opened his arms, and she flew across the room to him, rocking him back a step as she burrowed into him.

“I don’t know what to do, Deak.”

“I know. We’ll figure it out.”

She looked up at him, lashes starred with tears and not a stitch of makeup on. Not even her contacts. She looked about twelve fucking years old. How could Nick be so heartless?

He sighed and pressed his cheek to her hair. “We’ll make him see reason.”

“We shouldn’t have to.” She stepped back. “Who is he to even try to say that Snake should be back in the band?”

“The guy that started the band.”

Jazz whirled around, but took a few steps back until she butted up against Deacon. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

Nick’s gaze was even and his chin lifted, but he quickly dipped his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. “Look, about last night…”

“Yeah?” Jazz stood as tall as her five-foot frame could get.

Simon came through the door after Nick. He had a pitch black pair of shades on his face and a large coffee in his hand. He lifted his cup. “Nick’s an asshole, and he’s sorry. Can we put it aside?” he said wearily.

“Just like that?” Deacon folded his arms over his chest.

Nick took a pack of smokes out of his pocket and flipped a cigarette between his fingers. Finally, he tucked it behind his ear. “I was stupid last night.”

“You think?”

“Aww, come on, Jazz, I was just happy to see Snake. I got a little too drunk, and the old days were too close. I started talking out of my ass.”

Deacon frowned. “That’s a quick turnaround.”

Nick scratched the back of his head. “Yeah well, after a few gallons of beer and a talk with Snake last night, we decided it was better if we go our separate ways.”

Simon slapped Nick on the back. “More like we saw the light, but Nicky isn’t going to own up to that.”

Nick wouldn’t meet Deacon’s gaze. Instead, he went into the kitchen and spun the K-cup holder until he found his preferred blend and snapped it into the Keurig. He shoved a mug under the spout and turned around. “I can’t go back to how it used to be. We can’t.”

“Really?” Jazz sniffed. She set George on one of the stools in the breakfast nook, and tucked her arms around her stomach. “Because Snake’s not up to playing?”

“No.” Nick came around the counter in front of Jazz. Nick dug his hand into her clamped down arms and shook her hands free. “No, because he’s not you. C’mon, you’re the Pink Power Ranger. You kick ass. We can’t replace you.”

Jazz wrapped her arms around Nick, and Simon came up beside them to hug the two of them.

“Such a beautiful moment,” Simon said with mock sniffles.

“Shut up.” Jazz pushed him away. “Get off me, Super Slut.”

“There we go, all is right with the world,” Simon said and set his coffee on the table. He uncapped the decanter and sloshed a hit into his coffee before putting the top on. “Now, I’m going upstairs to sleep and shower until our meeting. What time is Jackson coming again?”

“Nine,” Deacon said, massaging his biceps.

Nick shook his head. “Changed it to one.”

Deacon frowned. “Since when?”

“He called me this morning.”

Simon arched his back. “I might be human by then. Wake me up at noon if I’m not moving.”

“I’m not your fucking mother.”

Simon walked up to Deacon and tapped him on the cheek. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Deacon swung his head away and pushed Simon back. “Ass.”

Simon smirked at him. “Like I’m lying.” He climbed to the first landing and met Harper. “Well, hey there, Chef Girl.” He slid his sunglasses down. “Damn, but you do fill out a concert shirt.”

“Shut up, pig.”

His smirk was back. He lifted his cup. “Cheers and goodnight.”

Harper came down the rest of the stairs and stood beside Deacon. Her brows snapped down. “Is everything okay?”

Deacon sighed. “Looks like.”

Jazz moved around the counter to the kitchen and opened the fridge. She poured a large glass of juice. “Anyone want?”

“Yeah,” Harper looked toward Deacon then back to Jazz before moving toward her. “I’ll have some.”

Nick yawned and stretched. “I’m going to go do the same. Two hours of sleep wasn’t nearly enough.”

Deacon watched him head up the stairs. That was too fucking easy. There was no way that Nick would back off of Snake after the way he was talking last night. At least, not without a fight.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t you want your coffee, Nick?” Jazz called up the stairs.

“Oh, shit. I forgot. You drink it.”

“I don’t drink that sludge.”

“What is it?” Harper asked.

“Columbian Dark Roast.” Jazz stuck out her tongue. “Gross.”

“You drink ice cream in a cup,” Nick called down. “Just dump it if you don’t want it.”

Deacon heard Harper say she’d take it. Knowing the two women would be fine together, he took the stairs two at a time and caught up to Nick before he could shut his bedroom door. “Hey, wait a minute.”

Nick sighed. “Do we have to have a big discussion? I fucked up, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t say you’re sorry to Jazz and Gray.”

“And you say you’re not our fucking mother?”

“Fuck off, Nick. Last night, you were ready to throw the two of them to the wolves, and now everything is fine?” Deacon crossed the room. “You won’t even look at me.”

Nick lifted his gaze to his. “Because I’m fucking embarrassed, all right? I wanted Snake to be our guy again, the drummer that he’d always been. He looks so good, man. Just like the guy that I started playing with in high school.”

“But he’s not.”

“No, he’s not. You called it. We hung last night, and it was like old times.”

“So what made it different, then?”

“It was almost like old times,” Nick said quietly. “He was clean, and I think he’s really going to stay clean this time. But when we started talking about the tour and the studio, he got twitchy.”

“How so?”

“He kept saying he was excited about it, but his voice got different and he kept talking about old times at the club.” Nick shoved his hands in his hair. “We aren’t doing twenty minute sets anymore, man. I want to give him a chance. I want it so bad, but I don’t think he’s got it anymore. That fire…it’s not there like it is with Jazz.” Nick looked at the floor, then pulled his cigarette down from his ear to play with again.

Deacon let out a relieved breath. He’d known that for a long time. He just didn’t think that Nick would see it so quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You saw it way before the rest of us. I wish you’d told us how bad it got.”

“Did you really want to know?”

Nick shrugged. “Maybe not.” He put the cig between his lips then quickly behind his ear. “I need a shower and my bed for a while before I can deal with a room full of suits.”

“Yeah, sure.” Deacon began to turn, then stopped. “I thought it was just Jackson.”

“Right, it is.” Nick rolled his eyes and slapped the doorjamb. “But you know that Gordo will be there, too, and he’ll be up Jackson’s ass.”

“Yeah, too true.” Deacon headed for the stairs. “All right, see you in a few hours.”

“Hey, Deak?”

He turned back to Nick. “Yeah?”

“I shouldn’t have done that last night. When I took Snake home this morning, I knew it.”

“Jazz will bounce back, and if she’s happy, Gray’s happy.”

“Yeah.” Nick slapped the jamb again then closed the door quietly.

Deacon rubbed his hands over his face. When the laughter from downstairs drifted up, he followed it down. He found a laughing Harper flipping French toast and a giggling Jazz manning a sizzling pan of bacon.

“Smells awesome.”

Harper looked up, her smile wide and bright. “Get over here, big guy. I made enough for even your appetite.”

He pushed the last of his worries down and smiled back. Breakfast with two pretty girls didn’t suck at all. He’d worry about the meeting later. “We’ll see about that now, won’t we?”