TROY

The flight to Japan is ridiculous. We hadn’t originally gone for business class, but with the media frenzy surrounding the video, China Eastern upgraded the band and wives with a quick call to management.

It takes the tourist lounge sixty-two minutes for the word to get out about Waris and Aishe being amongst them. Ten minutes after that, two frazzled flight attendants haul their bags up front and install them in seats a few rows ahead of Elias and me.

Aishe’s turmoil hovers around her like mist. She doesn’t acknowledge Elias and me as she passes us. Waris gives her man a slow wink.

“Welcome to the digs, babe,” Elias says on a chuckle. Waris only waves over her shoulder. All runway-model elegance, she follows the curvy, fiery female who became my obsession what feels like ages ago.

I exchange a glance with Elias. Dude’s simply entertained. Then again, why wouldn’t he be? Waris is used to this sort of fame. She chose sex as a profession. My girl—my future moixcha—did not.

More than once, I’ve wondered how Aishe could breach her routine months after she left Clown Irruption, to return and literally jump my bones on camera.

Five minutes in, Elias can’t take it anymore. He’s been shuffling in his seat, having a hard time getting comfy. He gets up, politely asks me to “get my stinkers,” aka my feet, out of the way so he can “get the fuck out and get some air,” aka check if Waris is okay.

Me, I’ve got an old Queen concert on my screen, but my thoughts are with Aishe. When a silky, red lock slides out between the seats up front, Freddie Mercury can’t keep my attention any longer.

I focus on Roger Taylor’s hi-hat work and the way it strengthens his backbeats. As always, he opens the cymbals in time with the snare, causing the sound to fucking blackmail your soul, but it doesn’t have its customary effect on me. Not when Aishe turns her head toward Elias, and the length of her hair dances down the faux leather of the backrest. In one wild, insane second, my chest is jealous of the person sitting behind her.

I lean into the aisle for a better look, and Nadia meets my gaze from across. With a small smile, she pulls it back, veiling her thoughts.

Elias is on his haunches, talking with Waris, a hand on her armrest. His gaze flicks past her to Aishe too, listening. He shakes his head, and momentarily, his entertainment fades into seriousness.

Yeah, fuck it.

I get up. Do my excuse-mes to people whose limbs I accidentally brush on my way past. Five rows up, and I’m at Elias’ side.

“Aishe, whaddaya say we let the lovers sit together?” I ask, keeping my heart-thunder under control. “I’d be happy to have you next to me instead of this stinker.”

She hesitates a second too long, and Waris jumps in. “Oh that’s so sweet of you, Troy, but no worries. I see our buddy, here, a lot already, so no sweat. We’re totally sick of each other.”

I nod on instinct, but I can’t rip my stare away from Aishe’s face, the delicate slope of her cheekbone into soft flesh, the mysterious dip of the corner of her mouth that promises but doesn’t give me a smile.

She withdrew her gaze from me too, but that she’s giving me back now. Holding you in my arms all night was like nothing I’ve ever had.

She gets up with me. Moves with me. I have her stuff in my hands, a familiar feeling because maybe it’s in our future. I don’t reach behind me for her like I want to, but once on our walk back to my seat, she tugs on my shirt when she stumbles. God.

“Get your dirty hands off my crap,” Elias play-barks as I start heaping his belongings into what’s about to become Aishe’s seat.

“Suit yourself, man,” I say, smirking now that she’s here and ready to sit with me. Ten hours, just Aishe and I. This trip doesn’t sound so ridiculous anymore. I scan the two-seater pod we’re in, halfway encapsulated against the window. It looks like a small paradise fit for a priestess and her worshipper.

My fingers tap out the rhythm of “The Mask” while I wait for Elias’ slow-ass cleanout. With tongue clicks, I fill in the hi-hats, and with the clack of my teeth, I’ve got the bass drum down.

In my head, Emil sings about Aishe and the mask she works so hard to keep in place. Bo didn’t think of her writing the song, but it’s her. By the time Elias waves goodbye, I’m at the drum solo.

“I’ve meant to ask you,” Aishe murmurs as she gets comfortable in Elias’ old seat. “What does your dentist think about that nervous tic of yours?” She points at my mouth.

I do a drumroll with teeth and tongue only, using the acoustics of my nose and mouth for additional effect. Her eyes still hold turmoil, but when I widen mine with fake intensity, a smile curls off her lips anyway.

“He wants me to do ‘Bleed’ by Meshuggah in its entirety,” I lie, and that makes her laugh. “Free crowns for the rest of my life if I put it up on YouTube for him.”

Her laughter tapers off.

“So much on YouTube these days, huh?” I say.

“Fuck those people,” she replies, jerking her head toward the back of the plane.

“Marriage offers?”

She snorts. “You could say that. One involved handcuffs instead of rings.”

“He chatted up the wrong merch girl, then,” I joke, alluding to Hailey’s bangles. “And bed poles?”

“Definitely bed poles. By his description, he had it all figured out.” Her eyes go liquid. “You know what the tough part was?”

“Tell me what the tough part was, baby.” I need to feel her under my fingers, soothe that shame if I can. She doesn’t pull away from the armrest when I cover her hand with mine.

“It’s not always like this. But he’d watched the video so many times that he could describe the size of my”—she does a weak shift over her boobs— “and the color of my skin. My nipples. He knew what they looked like and wanted me to know what he’d do to them. So many freaking words!”

“I’m so sorry, Aishe. I’d turn that asshole into Ragu for you,” I say under my breath. I earn a quivering smile with that.

“You’d be the one handcuffed then, and not to a bed.”

“Either way, it’d be a terrible look for me,” I say. “Also, pulp is a better word. Ragu sort of indicates food.”

Her laughter comes out in a surprised squeak. God, it’s nice when Aishe laughs. “But there must be hungry dogs out there.”

“Hmm. Now we’re talking. I see it now. ‘Troy’s Dog Ragu. Limited Edition. All the vitamins. No MSG.’”

Now, she’s laughing in earnest. “‘Primary ingredient: pig. Warning: might contain bone fragments.’”

I pull her hand between mine, wedging it in my lap. Hers is a little cold—it often is—and I think that she might not know how much she needs me.

“Exactly. I’m a strong believer in detailed ingredient labels. It’s of utter importance,” I say.

“As am I!” She meets my stare for the first time since we left my hotel room. Her eyeliner is drying in a small tear below her left eye, so I let go to wipe it off. A jolt of tenderness for this woman sets off in my chest when she lifts her face toward me and shuts her eyes in trust.

AISHE

I’m jostled awake by a sudden air pocket. Snug under a blanket he must have spread over me, my hand is back in Troy’s. Beside me, he’s already awake, head swung toward a commotion in the aisle.

“Ma’am, we need you to sit down and put on your seatbelt again. Ma’am!”

“Oh but you don’t understand. I need to speak with Troy Armstrong, from the band, okay? I’m traveling with him, and he won’t be happy with the way I’m treated in the back, there.”

Troy sends me an incredulous side-glance. “What’s Hailey up to?”

“Ma’am, you can talk with your friend once we enter a calmer area, but for now, I will have to ask you to respect the policies of China Eastern. Please return to your seat.”

“My friend? Oh if that’s the problem, I’m more than a friend to Troy Armstrong—from the band—and now I’m having to pay for it. I’m, like, a victim because of it, and I need to see him!”

“Does she know we can hear her?” Troy mutters out of the side of his mouth.

“Good thing you’re more than a friend to her,” I chuckle. “You’ll deff need to help her now.”

“I’m not,” he says very quickly. I narrow my eyes at him, and he rolls his.

“Troy!” Hailey’s high-pitched yelp comes from a foot away, startling me upright. The cabin shakes through another air pocket. She holds on for dear life, eyes wide with maiden-in-distress fear. “Oh God, they’re crazy in the back—they almost followed me in here, thinking I’m Aishe.” As she says it, she realizes that I’m sitting next to Troy.

She pulls in a quick breath before she purses her mouth shut. Idly, I notice that her makeup has just been applied: cherry lipstick, rouge, much too much powder, which still hasn’t melted into the skin at her hairline. Good thing they gave her a minute to freshen up between making her life unbearable back there.

Sliding her gaze back to Troy, she changes the thin line of her mouth into a pleading pucker. “Please, Troy, you have to help me. I can’t take it any longer.”

Oh my God, she’s hilarious; we both watch as she drama-queen-presses the back of her hand toward her forehead.

“Ma’am. You do need to return to your seat.” The flight attendant puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Let me go!”

“Give us a minute,” Troy says, buzzing his chair up into a sitting position. “What’s up, Hailey.”

She sinks down so she’s eye level with him, grabbing onto his armrest as she leans forward. Her perfume is too heavy for this turbulence and as recently applied as her makeup. I swallow a bout of queasiness.

Hailey starts to whisper. Troy’s a guy, so of course he buys into her hoax and bends until her mouth is level with his ear. Me, I sit up taller and make a show of cocking my head toward them in blatant eavesdropping.

Her hands go to his arms, his golden arms that I suddenly realize I want no one else to touch. They can bulge with energy and emotion, over a drum set or over me on a mattress, but they shouldn’t be touched by her. Geez, he needs to notice what she’s doing and pull away.

“Two of them called me a whore for having slept with you,” she whispers, horrified. “And I had to sign autographs.”

“What?” I blurt out. There’s no way my face hides my disbelief.

“Yeah, you can ask— Well, Rob and Zap weren’t there. They were at the restroom, I guess, or something, but totally. It was so gross.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Troy murmurs in his warm amber voice, and I have to suppress a gasp. How does he believe this? “How many autographs did you have to sign?”

“A dozen, at least— I lost count! They were so mean.”

“Woah, that’s no way to treat a woman,” he says. “While calling you names?”

Oh. Okay. I bite my lip against my smirk. Guess I underestimated him.

“Yes!” Her eyes flicker, rethinking her strategy. “Well, maybe not that many, but a lot since Aishe and I are lookalikes, and such.”

“You mean that, right?” Troy lifts a finger, lazily indicating her newly dyed hair with extensions, feathers, and even a bodice. I should lend her a skirt, and she’d be me the way any Halloween partier can turn into Lady Gaga. Jesus Christ.

“I’m so scared,” she whispers, meant for Troy’s ears only by the way she leans into him again. “Please, please, help me. I don’t know what to do!” For good measure, the bitch actually shivers.

The fasten-seat-belt signs fade off, and I groan inwardly. Behind Hailey, the flight attendant returns to her duties, leaving Hailey in the hands of our knight in shining armor, goddammit.

I don’t know if I should laugh or cry when the knight puts a reassuring hand on her arm and says, “You’ll be okay. Just don’t fake any more autographs. Why don’t you go get some sleep now?”

“But that’s the thing, right? How can I sleep when I know people are watching me, waiting to assault me just for looking like someone else? It’s not fair!”

Hmm.

“Hailey, I’m one hundred percent sure that you’re safe on this plane. No one will assault you. Okay?” Troy says it with such empathy it’s like he believes this information is necessary. “There are people all around you. Your virtue is safe unless you decide to fake autographs one on one in the mile-high club. Sorry, I mean in the bathroom.”

I’m seconds from laughing out loud. Focusing on the clouds outside, I don’t face them again until I have my expression under control.

“No-o-o,” she whines sadly. It’s low and intimate. What the hell is she doing? “Please, please. I just can’t.” Her eyes are big when she arches them like this, as wide as she possibly can.

She starts in on a blink. Maybe it’s to bat her lashes at him, but I’m wondering if she changed her mind midway through, because now she’s turning her mouth down in a pout instead. My God, the girl is dry-crying!

“Shh, come on. It can’t be that bad?” Troy’s voice slinks upward with compassion, and he lifts the hand I just held to pat her hair—my hair. Oh wow, I think I’m getting a little bit upset, here.

“I can’t promise anything, but let me check what’s available of seats.” Troy lifts a finger, and our flight attendant appears quicker than a genie.

“Sir?”

“I think we have a seating issue. Do you have anything vacant up here?”

“In business class, sir?”

“Yeah, well, wherever except in coach.”

“I’ll have to check with my supervisor, sir.” The flight attendant gives Hailey a professional smile with absolutely no warmth before she turns to walk away.

“Miss,” Troy calls out before she can leave. “Just let the band’s tour manager know, in eleven B, and he’ll take care of it on our end.”

I’m feeling desperately ungenerous. She’s a spoiled kid—look what she got. Fifteen minutes into Hailey’s seating performance, she didn’t just get a business class seat—these pods are fantastic—but she was given one of six first class seats, and those things are freaking crazy. Sunk into the floor all the way at the front of the plane, her place is a small sanctuary. Troy and I can open our seats into twin beds, a totally comfortable sleeping arrangement, but what Hailey has reminds me of a miniature cruise-ship cabin. I mean, what the actual hell?

First, there was some discussion as to which band member should move from business class to first class. None of the couples wanted to move, Troy didn’t want it, and I definitely wasn’t going to let Hailey take my seat. Her sticky fingers wouldn’t be running all over Troy if I could help it. The only other person from the band up front was Troll, and his ethic is too strong to let him separate from Emil and Bo while doing pre-production work.

So yeah, that leaves my Halloween doppelganger in the situation she’s in right now. She actually called us from her luxury cabin and asked us over to visit. Because Troy is too nice, he accepted, and since he accepted, I sure as heck was going too.

Now, we’re standing on the bridge that led us to business class when we boarded the plane. I hadn’t thought much about it then. I definitely do now as Hailey slowly, dramatically, retracts her curtain so we can look down at her in her luxurious wannabe cockpit.

She holds up a remote, pointing it at me first, then at a lamp, and the light fades until it’s nice and dim. She finally uses the same remote on her twin-and-a-half-width armchair, and we watch it lean back into a bed.

“Cheers!” she says, all playful and holding up a glass of champagne.

“You good down there?” Troy says, chuckling.

“I feel so much safer, now,” she says, pride fading in favor of her former role, damsel in distress. “You saved me, Troy.”

“Cool,” I snap. “Guess we should get back to our seats?”

“Yeah. Get some rest,” he tells her, and that sort of makes me seethe. The smile is still lingering on his face when we get back to our seats, and I can’t stand it for a second longer.

“What’s so funny?”

His grin broadens, beautiful eyes gleaming with humor. “She’s just so transparent. What does she take me for?”

I let out a relieved breath. “Seriously. God, she getting on my nerves.”

“She’s just immature. Such a little attention-seeker.” He smiles again, thumping his head against the backrest and facing me. And it’s all good, except that one word: “little.”

“Do you think the way she acts is cute or something?” I ask.

“What? No. It’s harmless, though. It’s like with my nieces at home. They’ll do anything for my attention too. They’re younger, of course. Charming.” He draws his shoulders up in a shrug, disturbing all three colors of tresses. “No big deal.”

“Oh wow. You think crazy-town is charming.”

“Naw, but she’s definitely grown on me since she started looking like you.” He slow-winks, but then I’m not sure if he’s teasing me, and I’m not his girlfriend—will never be—I’m fighting this, remember? I’m only pulled to him like a fucking magnet at every damn turn, and I can’t get away and don’t want to!

I forge relaxed and lean into my own backrest, facing the screen in front of me. I hit buttons randomly, ending up with some Disney movie.

“Hey.”

“What?” I say too curtly. It’s almost like a bark, and that’s not how I meant it to come out.

He slides a thumb over the back of my hand. It’s warm and nice. I pull my hand into my lap, being obvious.

“You’re not jealous, are you?” The words roll off his tongue like melted chocolate and marshmallows, so smooth and sweet they make the hairs stand on my arms.

“What? Of course not!” I even add a pff in an idiotic attempt at convincing him. If he laughs, I swear I’ll backhand him. I can only take so much. Hell, I’ve already had my share, and you know what? Attack’s the best defense.

I jerk toward him, sending him a glare I have to force into submission; I know this man’s sense of humor, and no way would I live down a death glare. I take a few seconds to even my voice so my attack comes out as measured as I need it to be.

“But: I’ve come to a realization,” I say.

“You have?”

“I have.” Okay, so I’m talking through gritted teeth.

“And what kind of realization is that?”

Discreetly, I unlock my jaw before replying, “That you’ve slept with Hailey.”

I don’t like how the humor slowly vanishes from his features.

It’s true, isn’t it?

Wow.

The times Hailey has called him darling. The times she’s acted too familiar with him. The insinuations she’s tossed out willy-nilly to fans. It all comes back to me. A tidal wave of jealousy rears in my chest, while a small part of me, the one not yet governed by the Drago Fuoc, knows I have no logical reason to feel this way.

“Well, yes. She came onto me when she first got on tour. It was nothing.”

I scoff. “Well, yes,” I mimic. “Clearly she thinks it was more than nothing. Not that it’s any of my business, but I’m guessing it was more than once too.” I keep his stare locked.

He sighs, the air deflating from his lungs. “Aishe, do you really want to talk about this?”

“Yeah, I do. She’s a nut job, and the more you know about the nut jobs in your midst, the better prepared you are.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“No? Really, Troy? That’s not what you said after the Boston thing. Have you forgotten that already, not to mention what she did at the merch stand?”

“Okay.” He holds his hands up to stop me. “You’re right. She’s a nut job, but she’s also young and immature. She just turned twenty-one, and this is her first gig out of her dad’s house. Gotta give her some slack.”

“Ha. Spoiled rich girl, I bet.” I manage to not spit the words out.

“Something like that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Daddy’s the president of ‘Far Out.’”

“The clothing brand?” I feel my mouth drop open.

“Yeah, surfwear and boards, I guess. Huge. So yeah, she’s only worked for Daddy until now, and she’s learning to fly on her own. Let’s just say she’s hitting some turbulence.” He grins.

“And you decided to sleep with her?” I can’t help the scorn in my voice.

He sighs. “No, I didn’t decide to sleep with her. It just happened, okay? I was feeling like shit at the time, and she was sweet. She made it easy, was there after the concerts and just kind of ended up in my hotel rooms.”

Troy’s eyebrows tic together in sudden confusion. They release again as his gaze returns to me. “Wait, why am I explaining myself? You weren’t with us at the time.”

I can’t even answer that. I’m way unleashed by now, and the urge to get up and stomp around is overwhelming. This plane is too small for an epic, irrational fit, and it’s pissing me off. But he totally just pluralled me, and he’s not getting out of this one.

“You just admitted that she was there for you after the concerts-s-s-s. As in plural. That sounds like a hell of a lot of times, Troy, and if that’s the case, it explains how she’s been with me this whole time. She thinks she has a claim to you.”

He lowers his seat until it’s flat. With all the patience I don’t have, he turns himself on the side and accommodates an elbow under his head. When his focus is back on me, it isn’t really there anyway. Because he’s looking past me against the black window, and his lips move like he’s counting!

“You’re kidding me?” I fold my arms tightly over my boobs. “You fucked her so many times you can’t even remember?”

“Three times.”

“Oh because that’s how hard it is for you to count to three,” I spit out, and wow what’s wrong with me?

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Aishe. To recall how many times I slept with her, I had to reconstruct where we were, and I went by the dinners we had, because what Hailey and I did meant nothing to me. She was just a fuck. I’m sorry to say that, but she was. So yeah, this all happened two weeks after the video shoot, and to be honest, I felt raw on the inside after the way you left. All I could do was wish you goodbye and have a good life. I. Watched. You. Leave. Okay?”

I have his eyes again. They’re soft with emotion, and my jealousy sifts off like black ashes on a gust of wind. “It hurt?”

“It hurt like a motherfucker. Try being in love with your biggest regret, and you’ll know what I mean.”

“I think I do,” I whisper.

From across the aisle, I see Nadia’s gaze. I see her barely-there smile. Until Troy descends, his dreadlocks framing an amber world made of soft lips and the scent of spices.