The Mighty Storm

“I can’t believe you came to pick me up!” I say still beaming a smile, releasing myself from him.



Jake lets me go, but keeps me close, taking hold of my hand.



And once again my skin simmers under his hand. I wonder if I’ll ever stop feeling like this from his touch.



A big part of me hopes not.



“Well, I’m glad I did now, if it meant getting a welcome like that,” he grins. He’s being all flirty again.



“I was just hanging around the hotel, so I thought I’d come … sorry I couldn’t come in the airport to meet you … you know,” he shrugs.



“I know.” He’d have probably been recognised and mobbed in ten seconds flat.



It must be pretty hard being a prisoner of your own success. Never able to go anywhere alone.



A simple thing like walking through an airport alone would probably mean the world to him if he was able to do it.



Dave gets in the driver’s seat, turns the engine on and the radio comes to life.



I pull my seat belt on, using one hand, as Jake doesn’t seem willing to let go of my hand.



“How was your flight?” Jake asks, as we start moving out of the airport.



“It was awesome thanks to you – did you know you get free champagne in first class … of course you know …” I peter off at his amused expression.



“You make me laugh.” He squeezes my hand, rubbing his thumb over my skin, continuously leaving a delicious trail wherever it goes.



“In a good way, I hope?”



“Always in a good way.” He turns his head to the side, directing a fixed look at me. I shiver inside, looking away.



We’re quiet for a moment, before Jake says anything more.



“So I spoke to your dad last week.”



“You did!” My face nearly cracks with the smile on it.



His lips quirk up at the corner. “Yeah, he called to thank me for the donation…” He lifts an eyebrow.



“What?!” I say innocently. “You never said it was a secret. You just said you didn’t want him thinking you were a flashy bastard – and he didn’t.” I push my lips out into a pout.



He shakes his head, laughing at my expression.



“So you talked?” I probe.



“We did, it was good to talk to him after all these years. He’s still just the same.”



“You talk music?”



“Of course.” He slides me an amused look. “So I brought something for you,” he says, changing tact.



He reaches into his jean pocket, pulling something back out. I recognise it instantly. It’s the friendship bracelet I made him all those years ago. It’s a little frayed, the white, black and blue fabric faded slightly.



“I can’t believe you actually kept it.” My words come out with my breath.



“You thought I was lying?” He screws his face up.



“No! I’m just surprised … hang-on.” I let go off his hand and reach forward into my bag in the foot-well, unzipping in the inside pocket to I get what I’m looking for.



My friendship bracelet.



I brought mine with me too. I put it in my carry on; I didn’t want it in my suitcase in case it got lost in transit. This bracelet is irreplaceable, so I wanted it safe.



I don’t know why I brought it, we hadn’t arranged to. I guess I just hoped he would have his with him too.



And he has … I can’t believe it.



“I brought mine too,” I say holding my hand out, showing it to him.



Mine is exactly the same as his – in my geekdom I made us matching ones.



He stares down at it, then lifting his eyes to mine, smiles and says, “Great minds.”



My heart is flopping around in my chest like a fish out of water.



“How old were we when you made these?”



“Ten.”



“So they’re like … sixteen years old.”



“Practically antiques,” I smile.



Jake takes hold of my hand and pushes the platinum chainmail bracelet that Will bought me, further up my arm.



He removes my friendship bracelet from my hand, placing it on his leg. Then I watch as he takes his own friendship bracelet and slips it on over my hand and tightens it to fit around my wrist.



Then he picks mine up, loosening it, he puts it his own arm.



I let out the breath I didn’t realise I was holding.



“Don’t ever take it off,” he says, voice deep with meaning.



“Not even to shower?” I swallow down.



“Not even to shower.”



“And you’ll keep yours on?”



“Always.” He takes hold of my hand again.



And my heart leaps out of my chest, then thuds its way back in.



I rest back in the seat. I’m going to have to be so careful. Jake is a naturally tactile person, incredibly sweet, and obviously happy to have me back in his life as his friend again.



I’m going to have to be very careful to not confuse this with him having any feelings for me, in that way. And also to make sure I don’t let my own feelings get confused too.



We talk all the way back to the hotel, and Jake points things out to me, important buildings and sites, as we drive through this amazing city.



Dave parks the car in the hotel lot; we’re staying at the Grand Hotel Stockholm. And grand is how it most certainly looks from the outside.



When we arrive there is a guy waiting for us in the parking lot, seemingly expecting our arrival.



Jake introduces me to him as Ben. He’s one of Jake’s other security guys. He works under Dave.



Security seems a little tighter for Jake here. Maybe it’s because of the hype of the tour, brings the crazies out.



Ben, I’d guess, is in his early thirties and attractive in a Jason Statham kind of way.



I follow along with the three men, Ben wheeling my suitcase for me.



We all ride in silence up in the lift, getting out on the top floor.



I follow Jake down the hall, Dave and Ben behind us.



Jake stops outside a door and produces a key card from his back pocket.



“This is your room for the next few days.”



He opens the door and I step through. I actually gasp.



This isn’t a room. It’s a bloody suite. And a huge one at that.



“Thanks,” Jake says to Ben and Dave. “I got it from here.”



Ben parks up my suitcase just inside the room and closes the door behind him.



I slowly turn around to face Jake.



“Jake this is awesome … but it’s too much.”



“All the suites on the floor are the same size,” he shrugs.



“But I’m just one person, I don’t need all this room.” I wave my arms around.



“So am I, and I’m staying in one exactly the same as this.” He seems a little irked by my statement.



“I just …” I can’t seem to find the right words. I run my fingers through my hair. “Are all your staff staying in suites like this?”



“Some.”



“Who?”



He meets my eyes. “Tom, Denny, Stuart, Smith and Dave.”



“And the rest?”



“On the floors below.”



“In normal sized rooms … rooms that are just that – one room and a bathroom.”



He nods, slowly, not moving his eyes from mine.



“I should be in one of those rooms, Jake.”



He looks little annoyed now, and also a little hurt.



“I’m not trying to sound ungrateful, Jake, but the first class at the airport, and now this … I don’t want you spending money on me like this.”



He folds his arms. “It’s my money; I can do what I want.”



“I know, but …” I’m at a loss to find a plausible and strong enough argument against him. “I just don’t want to piss your other staff off when they find out I’m staying in such a lovely suite.”



His face lightens. “Tru, you won’t piss anyone off, it’s not in you to be able to do so, and anyway you’re important. You’re writing my bio, so I have to keep you sweet so you write nice things about me.”



“Ahh, so that’s what all this niceness has been about.” I kink my eyebrow.



He grins. “Not at all, but if it gets you to stay in this room with no complaint, then I’m sticking with it.”



“Suite … not room,” I correct.



“Whatever,” he waves me off. “So you wanna unpack first or do you wanna meet the guys now?”



I glance at my suitcase.



Hmm, let me think unpack or meet rock stars…



“Meet the guys,” I beam.



“Don’t get too excited,” he frowns. “They’re uglier in real life than they look in their pictures.”



“Are you jealous, Jake Wethers?” I tease.



“Me – jealous? Never. Come on.” He opens the door. “I left those idiots in my room draining my mini-bar when I came to get you, knowing those greedy bastards they’ll still be there, saving their own for later.”



I can hear the male voices laughing and joking as we approach Jake’s door. I get a little ball of nervous energy in my tummy the closer we get.



I am, in a few seconds, about to be standing in a room with some of the best musicians the world currently has to offer.



I’m going to be in a room with The Mighty Storm!



I’d have to be crazy not to be a little excited.



Jake opens his door, allowing me through first, putting me immediately in the living room and I see the guys all sitting around the dining table, playing cards, drinking beer.



“Tru, this is Denny.” Jake stands behind me, he places his hand on my lower back and points over my shoulder at a dark haired guy, who is very cute, and who of course I instantly recognise.



Even distracted by Denny, I still tense under Jake’s touch.



“Denny – this is Tru, my old friend from Manchester, and biographer for the tour.”



“Hey Tru, it’s great to finally meet you,” Denny smiles at me, running his hand through his short haired.



Finally meet me? So Jake’s already told him about me?



Of course he has dopey, you are their biographer.



“Hi,” I smile nervously at him.



“And this is Smith, our session guitarist who is playing lead for us on the tour.” Jake points at the only person in the room I don’t recognise.



And sweet baby Jesus, he is gorgeous. Long, messy blonde hair and dark green eyes. He looks like a surfer.



“Hey,” Smith says in a Southern drawl giving me a nod.



“He’s married,” Jake whispers in my ear. I feel his fingers tense against my back.



What?



I look up at Jake, wanting to ask him what the hell he meant by that with a look, but he’s not looking at me.



“And not forgetting, Tom,” Jake says pulling my eyes away from him and back across the room.



Tom has his back to me, but of course I instantly recognise him the second he turns around in his seat to us.



Tom has light-brown hair, shaved close, and he is covered in tattoos, just like Jake. He is really good-looking, not my type, his face is a little to round for my liking; I like my men a little more chiselled, but I can certainly see the allure for the women who love him.