Managed: A VIP Novel Part 30

"You tug at those cuffs any harder and they're going to fall off."

I don't bother turning to acknowledge Killian at my side. It will only encourage him. And I don't have it in me to pretend I'm impenetrable right now. I hurt Sophie last night. I ruined her fun and then made her think she was a problem to be solved.

I didn't realize how badly I was mucking things up until she stormed out. I'd only thought to protect my private life as I've always done, by putting up a wall and sniping at anyone who tried to look over it.

The method still works; she left. Cut me off at the f.u.c.king knees. I'm stuck walking on stumps and trying to pretend it isn't agony.

Around us, stagehands, lighting engineers, and sound techs scurry to and fro, getting ready for the concert. On the other side of the ma.s.sive screen we're standing behind, the crowd fills up the stadium. Their murmurs and laughs create a constant hum.

"Shouldn't you be in the dressing room getting your hair artfully disheveled?" I ask him.

"Libby does that for me in her own special way," he answers easily.

Of course she does. Every d.a.m.n person on the tour has been treated to the sounds Killian and Libby preparing for concerts. And celebrating the conclusion of each show. I don't know how they ever thought they were being secretive.

"Then go find your wife," I say. "I'm fairly certain she's waiting for you in the lavatory."

"Man, don't let on that you know about the bathroom hookups or she'll never give it to me there again."

"It would do well for you not to provide me with ammunition at this moment."

He falls silent, standing at my side and watching the well-ch.o.r.eographed art of the stagehands' work. I know what he's doing. Babysitting. Killian knows me too well. Just as I am able to tell if he's hurting with one look, so is he. Granted, it's been over ten years since he's seen me hurting. Thinking about that time adds another stone to the gravel pit that's formed in my gut.

Sophie didn't come home last night. Home. I have not thought of any place as home for so long I'm surprised I even remember the concept. My houses are dwellings in which I rest when not working. Given that I'm always working, I rarely spend time in any of them. Yet from the first night Sophie settled her things alongside mine and filled those quiet, orderly s.p.a.ces with her effusive nature, wherever she is feels like home.

Last night, alone in my bed, it was more like h.e.l.l. I wasn't able to lower my pride enough to ask any of my crew if they knew where she was. But it was a close thing. I'd been tempted to beg. That chafes too.

Eventually the tour will end. Sophie will move on to other projects, and my life will return to normal. Why that thought makes my gut clench isn't something I want to dwell on.

Knowing Killian as I do, it isn't a surprise that he can't keep quiet for long.

He huffs out an impatient sound. "Seriously, dude, what's got your d.i.c.k in a knot?" From the corner of my eye, I can see him grinning, wide and smug. "I thought for sure your coach would be rocking for a few hours."

"Don't be disgusting," I snap, leaving my d.a.m.n cuffs alone.

"Hot lovin' is never disgusting." He nudges me.

"I might be emotionally scarred for life after hearing you say hot lovin'. And mind your business."

"Oh, please. It's not like you're hiding anything."

I finally glare at him, and he keeps that smug grin in place.

"You are so gone on Sophie," he says happily. "You have been since you got off that plane."

Sophie had been so happy, dancing like an erotic weapon and rapping-the lyrics falling from her lips in syncopated rhythm without falter or embarra.s.sment. It was unexpected and lovely. I'd wanted to laugh just for the joy of it. I'd wanted to haul her over my shoulder, take her to my bed, and have her sway and thrust those hips of hers right over my mouth. My c.o.c.k stirs at the thought, and I remember Killian is standing there, looking at me as if he's never seen me before.

"Why are you grinning like a fool? You don't even like her."

"Eh," he shrugs. "I was p.i.s.sed about old s.h.i.+t. She's cool. Just took me a bit to let myself see it."

Despite the fact that I want to tear my skin off and throw myself into traffic for putting that hurt on her pretty face, I'm mollified by Killian's acceptance. The fact that it means so much to me also irks.

"Everyone likes her," he adds as if he's trying to rea.s.sure me.

"It's impossible not to," I mutter. A mistake. It gives Killian an opening.

"So..." he prompts with a wave of his hand. "Why aren't you knocking boots with Sophie right now? You two are clearly dying to f.u.c.k like h.o.r.n.y bunnies-"

"One well-placed punch, Killian. That's all it would take to have you silenced for the rest of the night."

"Touchy. Touchy."

He's loving this. Throwing myself into traffic sounds more appealing by the second.

"I'm just saying," he goes on, "I've never seen anyone more in need of a good, hard f.u.c.k than-"

"Shut your f.u.c.king gob."

"You," he finishes broadly, dancing out of striking range. "But it's good to know you're protective of Sophie's rep. Means you care."

My hand curls into a fist. Killian dances back a few feet more, flas.h.i.+ng me a cheeky smile. "I'm done. No more poking the bear. I'm going now."

"Your timing has been off during 'Distractify' lately. You're late on the opening riff by two seconds."

Killian laughs. "Low blow, man. But correct. Don't know why I'm off, but I'll work on it." He pauses, his heel poised to turn. "Whatever you did to make Sophie storm into Brenna's coach, just tell her you're sorry."

Regret is a fist through my heart. It's a struggle to get in a breath. But at least I know where she is now. Safe with Brenna.

"Women need us to acknowledge their hurts," Killian says, digging the knife in farther.

"You think I don't know as much?"

His dark eyes are suddenly solemn, and I know he's about to gut me. "She missed you when you weren't here. As much as you hide, Sophie sees right through it and still cares. Don't f.u.c.k that up, man. Trust me on this."

I don't nod. I don't have anything to say. I've already f.u.c.ked it all up.

Sophie

"You're taking the night off." Brenna's tone brooks no argument.

Doesn't mean I'm not going to try. "That's ridiculous," I say, dabbing a bit of her concealer beneath my eyes. No way in h.e.l.l am I allowing Gabriel to see me with puffy, bruised eyes.

I haven't cried over him, but I did spend a good chunk of last night drinking vodka tonics and cursing his name while a sympathetic Brenna and Jules agreed that the man can suck it. "I'm fine."

Brenna slicks on a deep plum lipstick before handing me a tube of rosy red. "I know. Doesn't mean you can't enjoy a night off."

We stare at each other's reflection in the mirror of Brenna's bathroom, both of us wearing stubborn expressions.

Jules pops her head in. "Yeah, read a book, watch cheesy movies."

Cheesy movies just makes me think of Gabriel and his threat to force a Star Trek marathon on me. Less than twenty-four hours, and I miss him like a lost limb.

"If I stay here," I tell them, "I'll go batty."

Brenna smoothes her hair into her trademark high ponytail. "So go to the concert and enjoy it as a fan."

The idea doesn't sit well with me; I've been hired to do a job, not wuss out because my feelings have been hurt.

Unfortunately, if I want to work, I have to go back to the bus and get my equipment. That's not happening. Maybe I am a wuss, because I need to lick my wounds a little longer.

"I don't have anything to wear."

Brenna is at least three sizes smaller than I am, and Jules is four inches shorter.

"Excuses, excuses," Jules says. "I'll find you something. Hold up."

Her bright head disappears, and then she comes back with a flowing green, stretchy jersey skirt and white tank top. "The skirt is mid-calf on me so it will probably be at your knees, but it's better than chocolate ice cream-stained clothes." She grins wide, showing her dimples.

"Don't remind me." Last night ended with a raid on their emergency ice cream stash. I'm still feeling a little queasy.

I put on the skirt and top and frown down at myself. "I look like I'm headed to the beach."

"You look hot," Jules says, giving my b.u.t.t a slap. "I'm off. A certain man who shall not be named just texted that he's at the stadium, and he gets p.i.s.sy if his employees aren't on time."

She shakes her head, but there's no real irritation in her expression. If I'm not mistaken, she looks eager to start her night as she hurries off. I envy her.

With a suppressed sigh, I run a hand through my hair. Still rose gold, it falls in waves to the tops of my shoulders. A small line of darker blond roots shows. I'll have to pick another color soon, but at the moment, I'm just tired.

"Fine, I'll go," I tell Brenna. "But I'm doing so under protest."

She smiles. "So noted. And look, about Scottie..."

"Don't worry," I cut in, not liking the pity in her eyes. "I'm over it."

"No, you aren't." She shakes her head, smiling softly. "But that's okay. He's...well, yes, he can be an a.s.s, but he's one of the best people I know. Behind all that starch is a marshmallow who any one of us would kill for."

I slump against the counter. "I know that. Too well, unfortunately. It's just the a.s.shole part is getting in the way at present. How do you let yourself care for someone who won't let you in?"

Brenna's pretty face closes up, and she makes a production of quickly putting her makeup back in her travel case. "I think we'd all be happier if we knew the answer to that question."

"h.e.l.l. Let's just go back to 'men can suck it' and leave it at that for now."

Brenna laughs. "Yeah, except part of the problem is that we love it when men suck it."

"True."

Laughing together, we head out for the venue. And I pretend the whole way that I'm not both dreading and antic.i.p.ating seeing Gabriel again.

Having worked multiple concerts at this point, I know the places he haunts backstage and how to avoid him. That doesn't stop me from catching glimpses of his sharp, stern profile now and then. And each time I do, my stomach cramps, and my heart gives an unruly thump.

I want to look longer, but I know he'll notice me if I do. I swear the man has a sixth sense that way. Even skulking in the shadows, I can tell he's scanning the area, a dark scowl on his face. Looking for me? Or just in his usual work mode? It's hard to tell without studying him for too long.

And I hate that my awareness is constantly on him. I barely notice the concert as I tuck myself behind a stack of crates on the far to the side of the stage. Leaning against a concrete wall, I close my eyes and let the music pour over me, the pulsing throb of it vibrating my bones.

I don't think I can stand it if Gabriel seeks me out, only to apologize and expect everything will go back to normal. I cannot go back to what we were.

Maybe it's because my eyes are closed and my other senses are more alert, or maybe it's because I'm just that attuned to him, but I feel it the second Gabriel comes to stand next to me.

I don't have to look to know it's him; even in the dank humidity of backstage, I catch his scent. And no one else but him makes my skin tighten and my heartbeat go into overdrive just by being near.

He stands so close, my shoulder blade brushes against the sleeve of his jacket.

Keeping my eyes closed, I swallow hard and try to remain pa.s.sive. My body betrays me, sending happy little zings of pleasure through my chest and along my skin.

I'm p.i.s.sed at him, yet it doesn't stop me from thinking, Finally, you're here. What took you so long?

We stand there, listening to "Apathy," neither of us moving, even though the crowd is going wild. The song ends, and Jax and Killian begin to talk about a new song they're going to play.