I canfeelTyler chuckling beside me, completely unbothered. Like he isn’t the least bit surprised about this. And Missy—Oh shit,Missy.
I step back, trying to glance around the groaning couple, because jeez, they’rereallygoing at it, but she’s just standing there. Watching them. Watching her ex make out with a guy likeit’s the most natural thing in the world. And there’s this look on her face. Not shock. Not jealousy. Just a small, secretive smile tugging at her mouth. Like she knows something the rest of us don’t.
Oh,hellno. She and I are gonna have words later, and she’s spilling the damn tea.
“Are you honored or horrified that you put him in the mood for some gay lovin’?” I mutter into Tyler’s ear when he throws an arm around my waist.
He snorts. “This was a long time coming, trust me.”
When they finally break apart, Tuck’s all wide-eyed and gaping, blinking at Lamar like a broken owl.
But Lam? Lam just smacks Tuck’s ass like it's no biggie, crosses his arms, and casually turns back to watch Six of Hearts’ set like he didn’t just tongue down a dude in public, and starts tapping his foot to the rhythm, completely unfazed.
Idocatch the wink he throws Tyler, though.
I’m still baffled by the time I have to get back on stage for the encore, and even our mashup flows like fuck yeah. It’s a damn party up there, euphoric, wild, how it shouldalwaysbe. It hits me then how heavy a stain Mick was on this tour. How much he didn’t just fuck withus, but with the whole vibe. Even Six of Hearts looks different on stage without him. Lighter.Freer.
Yeah, I hate his guts. I’m glad the label finally put a stop to things, started taking us seriously. I feel bad for the other guys, however. They’re still Six of Hearts. Still trying. Still standing.
Still... I can’t stop smiling when we finally walk back to the bus after being bombarded by rabid fans. We survived it. This concert. Thistour. And we decide to celebrate the only way we know how: drinks on the bus, one last time, crashing there for the night before we head home to LA.
It should be tight, but besides the two unoccupied cubicles where we usually store luggage, Missy will sleep at Bow’s, meand Ty will share a bunk, and shit, I think we can shove Tuck and Lam into one bunk with no issue.
When we veer around the back of the bus, joking and laughing, I come to a fucking halt.
Right between our bus and the one from the roadies’, leaning against ours like he owns the damn thing, is Mick. Smoking a damn cigarette. I sniff. Scratch that, I’d recognize that tangy scent anywhere. Grew up in Amsterdam, didn’t I?
He lifts his head when he hears us, and locks eyes with me. His eyes are dark, but his mood is damn near black. That usual cocky grin I’m used to seeing on his face is all wrong. It’s twisted. Resentful. Rotten. His gaze flicks past me, to Tyler, to the others closing in behind us, and then right back.
“Thank you,” he says, voice thick and bitter. “Thank you for fucking up my career.”
I feel the surrounding shift, my friends tightening, forming a wall behind me, ready to jump in. But I straighten my spine and square my shoulders.
I won’t cower. Not for him. “You did that all on your own.”
“After liftingyouup, you mean?” he spits as he pushes off the side of the bus, throwing the blunt away. “All I did for your pathetic little group of misfits, and this is the thanks I get?”
“Mick, don’t,” Bowie steps up, “Don’t start this shitagain.You’re in enough shit as it is. Just let it go, man.”
I try to stay calm. I really do. But my heart’s hammering like it wants to break out of my chest, and I step back to the ever-steady presence that’ll always have my back. Calm. Collected. Tyler.
“What?” Mick sneers, glancing at him when he puts a grounding hand on my shoulder. “Your little boyfriend not gonna defend your honor? He lose his tongue somewhere up your ass?”
“Mick,” Bowie warns again, voice sharper now.
“Oh, come on, really? You defending him?” Mick laughs, low and mean. “Jace’s not eventhattalented. But hey, I’m sure he’s great on his knees. Probably how he got the gig, right?”
Before I even comprehend what the fuck’s happening, Tyler’s got him by the throat and shoves him backward against the bus with so much force that I swear it’ll leave a dent.
My shock lasts all of a millisecond before I take a step forward, worried, hearing a sharp, “Dammit!” from Ev as he scrambles toward them.
But it’s no use, really. Tyler’s got him in a grip so solid Mick couldn’t move even if he tried. And oh, he’s trying alright.Hard.
Sometimes I forget how strong Ty is. Every inch of him is honed to perfection. He’s all muscle, sculpted to be at his peak, the top of his game. Which he is.And all that strength, all that raw, focused power, is now zeroed in on the piece of shit pinned against the side of the bus.
“Do it,” Mick grunts through Tyler’s straining grip, hands clawing at his arm, standing on his toes. “I fucking beg you. Try it. See what happens if you assaultme.”
Tyler’s other fist clenches, probably itching to just punch. His jaw ticks. His whole body vibrating with restraint. I don’t know if I should intervene, pull him out of it, or just let it happen.
