Ava appears behind him, already grinning. “Is he back in the land of the living? Are we finally talking about last night’s grand performance? Because I want to know more. Missy’s review was very lacking.”
“Shut up,” I grumble, but I’m already laughing.
“I mean,” Asher says, wiggling his brows, “I thought you’dknowhow asswork works. If you need a refresher on the importance of lube… well, we know it wasn’t in that room—we took it with us.”
“You’re changing the damn sheets,” I mutter. “And deep-cleaning that fucking cubicle.”
“Already did,” Ava says cheerfully, hopping over the last step. “Andfuck you, our bed looked worse than your bunk.”
I wince.Right.I kinda forgot about that. I mumble a half-assed, “Sorry.”
Asher smirks. “Honestly, it has looked worse. At least this time, no one cried or bled.”
Missy snorts. “You two need Jesus.”
“We had a guy named Jesus once,” Ava says, completely deadpan. “But he safeworded.”
I grab the discarded banana and chuck it at them. They duck like they’ve trained for this moment their whole damn lives. The banana disappears through the still-open door.
“Christ, Jace, we came to bring you goodiesto make you feel better. Don’t assault us!” Ava exclaims, holding up a takeout bag before taking a seat on the table Jodie just vacated.
I open the bag and the smell isdivine. I swear I groan out athank youbefore tearing into it and straight-upmoanwhen I pull out greasy fries and a perfectly wrapped burger.
This tour’s a disaster sometimes. A chaotic, messy, exhausting shitshow.
But these people? These beautiful, loud, ridiculous people?
They’re my chaos. And I love them for it.
Thank fuck I survived our set.
Was it hard? Yeah. Did I fumble some of my notes? Also yeah. But we pulled through.Ipulled through. Now I’ve spent the last hour and a half trying not to throw up while waiting for the fucking duet, chugging one of those isotonic drinks I bought for Tyler when he was here, hugging Missy and Ava from where they’re plastered to my sides like my own fierce guardians.
So far, I’ve managed to steer clear of Mick. Just the thought of him grinding against me still makes my skin crawl. I only saw him once—right after our set, when we passed each other in the wings as his band went on. And of course, the fucker smirked at me.Smirked.
That’s what’s messing with my head. Because for a while, he was actually acting normal—calm, professional, almost chill enough to make me think he’d finally gotten his shit together.
But the second he saw an opening, he took his shot.
I just want him to stay the fuck away from me for the rest of this tour and thereafter. Because if he doesn’t… I honestly don’t know what I’ll do. Like I said, I don’t want to blow up our career or clash with the label.
For now, I just need to forget it all, forget the drugs, forget the duet, forget him. Just get through this tour, then figure out a way to make damn sure this never happens again.
“You sure you still want to go through with it?” Missy asks, raising her voice over the final chorus of Six of Hearts’ set. “Jodie said the label gave you the green light to skip tonight, remember?”
Usually, my band would’ve fucked off already and would be back on the bus or somewhere backstage. They do that sometimes, since I’m the only one needed on stage for the duet. But tonight? Tonight I’m so fucking glad they got my back, because my gut ischurning.
It always does when I have to go on stage with Mick, I just don’t like doing it, but this feels different. Worse. Sharper.
Like something’s coming.
I can still feel the outline of his cock against my ass from yesterday, when he pressed up behind me on that dance floor. It makes me shudder and feel so fucking vile. It’s fuckinggross. The only dick that’s allowed near my ass is Tyler’s. Including the Tyler-dildo or any other toy he blesses with his name. Period.
Even though I’m antsy, I nod to her anyway. It feels like if Iwon’tdo this, he’ll fucking win. And I’m not letting him win. I candothis.
A stage tech waves me forward, and I nod again, stiffly, anxious as I step out into the light, letting Missy’s hand go at the last possible second. The crowd roars, but it barely registers. All I can think about is getting through this tonight. One last song. One final performance with him. Then it’s done. Then I can go back to the bus andsleep.
And I do get through it. I’mdoingit. I survive every verse, every lyric, even though I want to hurl every time he looks at me, manages to touch me, since I hate him so fucking much.
