The Mighty Storm

Will my boyfriend. Who I love very much.



And even though my feet are killing me from my shoes; note to self, break expensive pretty shoes in before wearing for a night out, I still hear myself agreeing to go clubbing with the guys.



With Jake.



Deep down, I know I’m just not ready to be away from him yet. Dangerous, but also very true.



So now we’re in the car on our way to an exclusive club here in Copenhagen.



Ben is in the car behind driving Denny and Smith. And Dave is driving me, Tom and Jake.



Tom is in the front, and I’m in the back with Jake. I’m hyper aware of his nearness. Of every single move he makes. And even though this car has a roomy back seat, Jake is sitting close to me.



Close enough for me to feel his heat in this well air-conditioned car. I know he doesn’t realise or mean to, but he’s not helping my current attraction to him subside at all.



If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s doing it on purpose.



Dave pulls the car up outside the club. It looks fancy and expensive, and there is a queue of people waiting to go in.



Dave tells us to wait in the car, and I watch as he goes over to the three burly doormen and speaks to one of them who looks to be in charge. These guys are big but they have nothing on Dave, and he seems to have such an air of authority over these doormen as he speaks to them.



The head doorman looks over Dave’s shoulder in the direction of our car, then nods his head.



Dave hands the car keys to one of the other doormen, who then follows him toward our car.



Dave opens Jake’s door, then Tom’s, as the doorman climbs into the driver seat of our car.



Jake climbs out, and then waiting for me, takes my hand, helping me out of the car. He doesn’t let go when I’m out of the car and no longer needing his help, and my body flames under his touch.



The music is pumping out of the club, and the level of chatter from the people in the queue increases exponentially at the arrival of the TMS boys.



I feel proud in this moment to be here with them.



Denny and Smith join us, leaving Ben to park their car, and then we all walk toward the club entrance, Dave sticking close by Jake, who is keeping me close to him, and the doormen make a clear path for us into the club.



Once inside, a guy introducing himself as the manager of the club guides us straight up to the VIP section.



I know Jake hates VIP sections in clubs. He never has them at the after show parties. When I asked him why, he said, ‘What’s the point of throwing a party and then just sitting on the outside watching everyone else have all the fuckin’ fun.’



His words not mine.



But he also knows it’s not always viable for him to go to a club and sit in the cheap seats, so to say, well not unless he’s after a good groping and a night of signing autographs and posing for pictures. Actually knowing Jake, the groping probably wouldn’t bother him too much.



And I guess him and the guys being up in the VIP section makes Dave and Ben’s job a lot easier.



Me personally, as I’ve recently discovered, am also not a huge fan of the VIP sections either, well, except for maybe at airports – those are my new found love.



I just find VIP’s in clubs to be a little pretentious, and I’m taking about the people in them. Not Jake and the guys of course. We’re all kind pretty much cut from the same cloth in that respect.



Jake and me especially.



The fun is happening downstairs in the main part of the club, not in this stuffy area, but it’s not like I can just off and hop downstairs to mingle. It would be rude of me.



So I’m here in the VIP section, ensuring not to talk to Jake too much.



Right now I’m sitting in a booth talking to Denny.



I like Denny, and even more so, the more time I spend with him. He’s the kind of guy, if you were lucky enough to have a brother and got to pick who it would be, then Denny would be your first choice.



He’s funny, quick and laid back, really easy to talk to. And why the guy is single is beyond me. Or maybe it’s a choice, the way he wants his life to be at the moment. It’s known he was in a serious relationship for a long while and they split not long after Jonny died.



So I’ve been sat with Denny for the last hour drinking bottled beer, while he’s been regaling stories of all of their time together at college, before they left to focus on the band, and also when they first started out gigging, things they got up to, that kind of thing.



He’s kept the stories pretty clean – I’m guessing for my benefit. And one thing I have noticed is he’s staying light on the stories about Jake. I can imagine there are a lot of stories to be told about Jake in college and even more on the road with the band, so I wonder why Denny’s holding back on them.



We’ve also been having a real giggle over Tom and his prowling on the ladies.



The man is unstoppable.



Some of these girls just don’t stand a chance. But then I don’t think they want to – I think they are more than willing to be Tom’s girl for the night.



And it seems he’s picked his girl out for the night, seemingly settled on a pretty blonde girl.



Occasionally, I’ve cast a quick glance in Jake’s direction just to see what he’s up to; currently he’s leant up against the bar, elbows rested back on it, drinking beer and talking to Smith.



He’s giving off an air of unapproachable. And he’s showing absolutely no interest in any of the women who are trying to drown him in looks.



Actually now I think about it, since I’ve been on this tour Jake hasn’t been living up to the womanising ways he’s so famous for. Right now he’s talking to Smith. The only married guy here. He’s not with Tom, the one who is always on the lookout for a skirt or some pussy, as he puts it.



I wonder if it’s because I’m here. Not that I’m vain enough to think it’s because he wants me. I just mean, I wonder if he’s trying to keep things respectable for my sake.



I hope not. I’d hate for him to feel uncomfortable and not be able to be himself because of me. But I am also glad I don’t have to watch him mauling women.



Maybe I should talk to him about it. Hmm … I’m not sure how I would broach that subject though. One to file for later I think.



Jake glances over catching my eye. I smile at him then focus back onto what Denny is saying.



The next thing I know, Jake is stood over me. “Tru, come and dance with me.”



Picking my bottle of beer up, I glance up at him and shake my head. “No, I can’t be bothered, and my feet are killing me.”



These goddamn shoes, I really should have broken them in first.



“But I want to dance,” he says. There’s a real insistence to his tone. It surprises me.



“So go dance,” I say, giving him a look. “I’m talking to Denny right now.”



“But I don’t want to dance on my own,” he pouts and I know he’s trying a different line of attack. He reminds me of young Jake here in this moment.



I let out a laugh. “Jake there are plenty of willing victims for you to dance with.” I waft my hand around at the women, some who aren’t even pretending not to stare at him right now.



“But I don’t want to dance with them, I want to dance with you.” He sets his mouth into a hard line.



I’m getting the impression this is more because for some reason he doesn’t want me here talking to Denny anymore, and not that he actually does want to dance with me.



“Just dance with him and get it over with, Tru,” Denny chuckles. “He won’t let up until he gets his own way.”



Denny gives Jake an amused look as he takes a swig of his beer, and I feel like I’m missing out on the something that passes between them.



“Fine,” I sigh loudly, putting my beer down on the table. “But if I can’t walk later because these heels have shredded my feet, then you’re carrying me back to the hotel.”



“Deal,” he smiles a winning smile. It irks me some. Well quite a bit actually.



Denny shuffles out of the booth we’re sitting in, letting me out. The instant I stand up my feet start to hurt in these goddamn shoes.



Jake takes hold of my hand and starts to lead me off but it’s hurting to walk.



“Actually, hang on,” I say to Jake, stopping. Keeping steady on his hand, I pull my shoes off with the other.



I toss them onto the seat beside Denny. “Look after these for me.”



As I turn back, Jake’s looking at me like he doesn’t actually know what to do with me right now. Like he’s never seen a woman take her shoes off in a club before.



I bet women have taken off more than just their shoes in a club for him; actually maybe their shoes were the one thing that did stay on, maybe that’s what’s freaking him out.



And with that thought in mind, I walk past him, bare foot, and a smirk on my face. “You coming or what?”



“These floors are gross you know,” he says falling into step beside me. “Beer, gum, puke…”



“You want me to dance with you, this is how you’re getting me.”



“With puke covered feet?”



“Uh huh.” I glance up at him, a grin in my eyes.



“Whatever way I can get you, Tru,” he murmurs.



I don’t look at him … can’t look at him.



I’m not sure whether he meant me to hear that comment in the noise of the music or not, so for now I’m pretending I didn’t.



He takes hold of my hand again and veers off, leading me away from the tiny VIP dance floor, and down the stairs, leading us straight toward the main dance floor downstairs.



This is more like it.



I look over my shoulder and see Dave shaking his head, looking exasperated, following quickly in our wake. I’m guessing Jake pulls this stuff on a regular basis. It must frustrate Dave that Jake doesn’t count his personal safety as something high on his list. Makes his job a lot harder.



And in this moment he reminds me of the rebellious teenager he used to be. The rebellious teenagers we used to be together.



Before he left me behind.



I tread carefully down the stairs behind Jake, regretting leaving my shoes now, in case of broken glass or getting my toes trodden on. But as we move downwards, heading into the masses, Jake doesn’t have to push his way through the people crowding the stairs. They just seem to automatically move for him, like he’s commanding them to with his sheer presence alone.



It’s a lot weird, and also a little awesome.



And at least there is also no danger of anyone getting close enough to tread on my feet.



“You’re short without your heels on,” he says, turning to me, as he hits the bottom step, leaving us a little closer to eye level.



“Yeah and you’re a selfish prick.”



Whoa! Where the hell did that come from, Tru?



“What?” He looks taken aback and pissed off.



Can’t say I blame him really.



But if I’m being honest, I know where that came from. I’m a little angry with him. I’ve felt it simmering away under the surface all night. It started back at the show at the serenade.



The moment he started singing to me I felt a huge, heady mixture of lust and anger, and it lanced through me and straight in his direction.