Outsider (8 page)

“More
than anything,” Trey said.

Ethan
turned his head to seek the sincerity in Trey’s eyes—such a remarkable man, how
could Ethan not love him—and inexplicably found his lips against Trey’s. For
the briefest instant Ethan forgot they were in public. He not only accepted
Trey’s kiss, he deepened it. Then reality crashed into Ethan’s skull and he
pulled away, checking to see if anyone had noticed. His gaze met Dare’s, and the
man smiled slightly, offering a nod of approval. As far as Ethan could tell, no
one else had seen him kiss Trey. But how could they miss the adoration on his
face when he looked at the man? Ethan could explain that look away when it was
applied to Reagan; everyone knew they’d once been intimate, even if they didn’t
know they’d become entangled once more. So when he stared at her with love and longing,
outsiders would think he was pining away for her as she pursued Trey. But Ethan
had no way of explaining away his feelings for Trey. And Trey wasn’t very good
at hiding their mutual attraction. Hell, he seemed to enjoy playing with fire.

“Do
you really love me?” Trey whispered.

“Of
course I do,” Ethan said. “Why would you ask me that?”

“You
keep turning away from me.”

“Just
in public. Out of necessity.”

Trey
dropped his head forward and stared at his clasped hands resting in his lap.
After a moment, he shook his head. “I don’t feel it only when we’re in public.”
He lifted his chin, raw pain in his eyes. “I feel it when we’re alone together
too. The only time I don’t feel like you’re erecting walls between us is when
we’re fucking.”

“It
isn’t you, Trey,” Reagan said, her voice slightly slurred. “It’s him. He’s
always been like that.”

“Yeah,”
Ethan said, adding several layers of bricks to his so-called wall. “I’m a cold-hearted
son of a bitch. If you don’t like it, file a complaint.”

He
shoved his chair back and shot to his feet.

“Where
are you going?” Reagan asked, reaching for his hand, but missing when he stepped
backward.

“What
does it matter?” he said as he turned and strode away.

“Ethan,”
Trey called after him, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t want to discuss his closed
emotional state here. Not anywhere for that matter.

Ethan
met Dare’s gaze as he slammed both palms into the exit door and sent it flying
open. Dare pressed his lips together and shook his head. Ethan glared at him.
He didn’t need outside opinions. Apparently he didn’t need
inside
opinions either.

No
one seemed to care that he’d left. He was acutely aware that neither Trey nor
Reagan hurried after him when he stormed off hurt and confused. And they
thought
he
was callous.

Trey
knocked on the bathroom door of the dressing room in Albuquerque. Another
night. Another city. Another chance to give Brian a hard time. “Are you done
puking? We have to get onstage.”

“I’m
not puking,” Brian called. “Just working on my breathing.”

The
world-renowned guitarist had played before millions of people in his lifetime
and he still got stage fright. Once Master Sinclair was onstage, he was fine.
It was the hour or so before each show that he struggled to keep his head
together. Trey shrugged at Sed, who was the one who’d insisted he harass Brian
in the first place.

“You
can breathe later,” Sed called. “Get a move on.”

The
door opened, and a pale, waxy-skinned version of their lead guitarist emerged.

“You’d
probably feel better if you just puked,” Trey said.

“I’m
fine,” Brian assured them.

“Get
a guitar in his hands,” Eric said from where he waited near their shared dressing
room’s door. “He’ll forget all about the twenty thousand people here to witness
his every mistake.”

“You
aren’t helping,” Brian grumbled at him as he passed.

“I
wasn’t trying to help.” Still chattering away, Eric fell into step behind them
as they exited into a cool corridor. “You know, even if you fucked up every
note you played, broke forty guitar strings, fell flat on your ass
and
on
your face, they’d still cheer for you. You’re fucking Master Sinclair.”

“Still
not helping.” Brian tugged at the wrist of one fingerless glove as he flexed
his hand repeatedly.

“Eric’s
right,” Trey said with a chuckle. “You can do no wrong.”

Several
paces ahead of them, Sed reached into his pocket to silence his ringing phone.
“Forgot to turn it off,” he said.

“Why
don’t you just leave it on the bus?” Eric asked. “I’m sure Jessica can live
without hearing your voice for more than five minutes.”

Sed
scowled down at his phone’s screen. “I need to take this,” he said. “Kylie?” he
said into his phone. “Is something wrong?”

Sed’s
face went white, and he swayed, stumbling as his feet stopped before the rest
of his body decided to join them. If Eric hadn’t grabbed him and directed him
to the wall, he probably would have fallen over.

“How
is that possible?” Sed said, massaging his forehead with one hand. “I saw him a
few weeks ago. He was perfectly healthy.”

Trey
exchanged a concerned look with Brian. It took a lot to rattle their
overconfident leader, but Sed was obviously struggling to keep himself
together.

“I
have to perform right now, but I’ll be on my way home as soon as I finish
here.” He paused, listening. “No, no, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you didn’t
wait to call. How’s Mom holding up?”

Trey
stepped forward and clasped Sed’s shoulder. Trey knew Sed would never go home
midtour except for an emergency. What was going on?

“I’ll
take care of everything, sis,” he said. “Just hang tight for a few hours. I’ll
be there.” He listened for a moment. “I love you too.” He hung up and took a
deep ragged breath before shoving his phone into his pocket.

He
shrugged off Trey’s hand and pushed off the wall, walking stiffly toward the
backstage area.

“Sed?”
Trey called, hurrying to catch up with him. “What happened? Why do you need to
go home?”

“My
father,” he said, his voice tight. He shook his head and closed his eyes,
stopping to lean against the wall again.

“Is
he hurt? Sick? If you need to leave right away—”

Sed
shook his head. “I’ll go after . . .” He swallowed hard and a
tear leaked from beneath his mirrored sunglasses. “After . . .”

“You
can’t perform when you’re all freaked out,” Trey said. He knew a thing or two
about trying to perform when you couldn’t. “Go be with your dad. You’ll feel
better if you see him.”

“I
won’t.” Sed shook his head vigorously. His fingers disappeared behind his
sunglasses as he pressed them into his eyes, and he struggled to suck air into
his lungs. “It’s too late to see him. Too late to say goodbye. He’s . . .”

Trey’s
lips went numb as he stared at Sed in disbelief. The word he’d left unspoken.
It wasn’t . . . 

“You
should go home,” Brian said. “Your family needs you.”

“I
can’t just leave.” Sed pushed off the wall and started walking again. “We have
a show.”

Jace
dashed in front of him, forcing Sed to stop once again. Beneath his dark beard
stubble, Jace was as pale as the platinum tips of his spiked hair. He shook his
head, his brown-eyed gaze searching Sed’s face, and then he wrapped both arms
around Sed, latching his hands together behind Sed’s broad back as he hugged
him. Trey stumbled against Sed’s left side as he added the support of his own
embrace. The big guy probably would have been able to keep his emotions locked
inside himself if Brian and Eric hadn’t joined their huddle of misery.

Sed’s
trembling intensified until his entire body was quaking. Trey squeezed tighter,
hoping to lend him strength and peace, but he doubted anything he could do
would make Sed feel better.

After
several minutes, Sed’s trembling stilled, and he squirmed out of their group
hug. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice steady. He took a step forward, his legs
also steady.

Jace
and Eric hurried after him, but Brian grabbed Trey’s arm before he could
follow.

“We
can’t let him perform in the state he’s in,” Brian said.

“Maybe
it will help,” Trey said. “Make him feel like everything’s normal for that hour
he’s on stage.”

“I
don’t know how anything can feel normal for him right now,” Brian said. “He has
to be in shock. I’m in shock, and I didn’t even know Phil very well.” Brian
stared at Sed’s retreating back and scratched his jaw. “Someone should call
Jessica and let her know what’s going on.”

Trey
pulled out his phone. “I’ll do it.”

She
didn’t answer, so he sent her a quick text.
Can you come to the backstage
area ASAP? Sed just got some bad news. His dad passed away.

That
was a terrible thing to break to someone through a text message, Trey thought
as he put his phone away and followed his bandmates into the darkened area
behind the stage. As soon as he lifted his guitar strap over his head and
settled the familiar weight of its body against his pelvis, a peaceful calm
settled over him. He hoped Brian was wrong. He hoped performing
would
put Sed at ease. At least for the hour they were onstage.

“You
okay?” Trey asked Sed as he stood with his microphone between his hands, his
head lowered.

Sed
swallowed and nodded.

“You
don’t have to do this,” Trey said around the lump in his throat.

“I
can’t disappoint the fans.”

A
blue glow lit the stage floor. Trey bit his lip at their cue to find their
places and looked again at Sed. He seemed okay, wearing the same amped-up
expression he always wore just before a performance. Trey couldn’t tell if Sed
was hiding his turmoil behind those mirrored sunglasses of his or if he wasn’t
processing the reality of his father’s unexpected death or if he really was
okay.

Trey
figured it was just a matter of time before reality fucked Sed over.

Reagan
usually watched Trey perform, but tonight she’d sent Ethan to keep an eye on
him while she hung out with her own band backstage. She’d broken routine
partially because Dare had advised her that it was the best way to feel
included and partially because she wanted to view the video footage Toni had
recorded a few nights ago. Each member of Exodus End, Reagan included, had worn
a camera strapped to their head because Toni had wanted scenes from their
points of view in her interactive biography. Goofy as they’d all looked wearing
those headcams that night, Reagan was eager to see what the cameras had
captured.

Toni
started with Logan’s recording—she
was
obsessed with the guy—and they
all got a laugh when they realized that the nicely rounded, shiny black object onscreen
was Max’s ass clad in his tight leather pants. Logan insisted his camera had
been crooked and he hadn’t been staring obsessively at their lead singer’s hind
end, but they had to torment him for it. Logan was always good for a laugh—often
at his own expense. Steve’s footage was a blur of flailing arms and drumsticks.
He was moving his head—and therefore, the camera—so much that Reagan’s stomach
churned. If she had to watch a moment more of that, she was going to be sick.
Toni was switching over to Reagan’s video when their head of security entered
the room. Butch’s lips were drawn into a tight line as his gaze flitted from
one person to the next and when that gaze landed on Toni, his eyes narrowed
into slits.

“Hey,
guys,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Reagan
considered chiding him about calling them all guys when there were two women in
the room, but something in the stiff way he held his large body made her think
that now was not the time for jokes. The rest of the band stopped goofing off
to focus on Butch. He ran their schedules like clockwork. Maybe the reason he
looked so out of sorts was because they’d missed an engagement or something.

“Can
I see you on the bus for a minute?” he said, dragging his focus from Toni to
the gazes of the band members.

“All
of us?” Dare asked.

“Uh.”
Butch’s gaze shifted to Toni again, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Just the
band.” When they rose from their spots on the furniture, he added. “And not
Logan.”

Logan
stopped midmotion and scrunched his brows at Butch.

“Not
Logan?” Max asked.

Why
not Logan? Reagan would have understood if she’d been left out of a band
meeting or important discussion, but Logan was a founding member of the band.
Why would he be excluded?

“It’ll
just take a few moments,” Butch said before he backed out of the room.

The
guys—except Logan—followed Butch out into the corridor, Reagan bringing up the
rear. She caught Dare’s arm as they made their way out to the tour bus, and he
slowed his stride to fall into step with her.

“What’s
going on?” she asked.

“I
have no idea.”

That
seemed to be the group consensus. “Why are we going to the bus?” Steve asked.
“We have to be onstage in less than an hour. Can’t this whimsy of yours wait?”

“I
wish it was a whimsy,” Butch said. “But no, it can’t wait. We have to figure
out what to do about
her
.”

“Who,
me?” Reagan said, her heart producing an unpleasant thud. Was she about to be
fired? Her mind raced through all the mistakes she’d made while she’d been
touring with the band. She’d made plenty. Were any of them bad enough to cut
her loose, though? She had signed a contract. Could she fight this decision?
Would she want to fight it if the band didn’t want her on tour with them? She
didn’t want to be a burden.

“Not
you, Reagan. Toni,” Butch said.

“Toni?”
Reagan sputtered. That made even less sense than the band firing their
temporary guitarist.

Butch
didn’t elaborate. He practically ran to the tour bus. Reagan glanced up in
surprise when Dare’s hands covered her ears. He gave her a sad little smile
that made her heart twist. Why was he covering her ears? Then she noticed a
small crowd of the usual groupie-types pressed up against the barriers near the
bus. Whatever they were shouting—and they seemed to be shouting with great
agitation—she couldn’t make out clearly, thanks to big-brother-to-all and his
large hands. But the way they were glaring and stabbing angry fingers at her made
her glad she couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Once
she and Dare had climbed the bus steps, the door swung shut behind them and
Dare released his hold on her head.

“Sorry,”
Butch said. “I didn’t think it would spread so fast. I figured we’d have more
privacy on the bus.”

“What’s
going on?” Reagan asked.

“You
didn’t hear what they were calling you?” Steve asked.

“Dare
covered my ears.”

God,
what were they calling her and why?

Butch
pulled a stack of newspapers out from under his arm and separated the pages,
giving one or two to each band member. He gave seven to Reagan. Expecting to
see a bad review or something equally unimportant, Reagan’s world tilted as she
scanned the tabloid headlines.

“Exodus
End’s Newest Member Prefers Taking Members in Twos”

“. . . often
seen with both men . . .”

Oh
shit!

“How
Does a Mediocre Guitarist Get a Gig with a MegaBand?”

“. . . blatant
seduction. How else could such a mediocre guitarist grace Exodus End’s stage . . .”

Mediocre?

“Reagan
Elliot Rocks Her Bandmates All Night and Every Day”

“. . . her
involvement in orgies . . . ”

Orgies?

Reagan
was scarcely aware of the guys around her. She could hear what they were
saying, but wasn’t processing their words.

“It
was bound to come out sooner or later,” Max said, folding the paper he’d been
reading and handing it to Dare.

Dare
released a pained sigh and shook his head. “It didn’t have to come out at all.”

“What
a fucking bitch!” Steve yelled. “I can’t believe she’d do this to us.”

Reagan
turned to her third page and read “Bodyguard or Bootie Call? Reagan Elliot’s
Biggest Secret.”

“It
appears that having one sexy stud in her bed isn’t enough for Exodus End’s new
guitarist. When she isn’t partying with her supposed boyfriend, Trey Mills,
she’s taking her hunky bodyguard to her bed and . . . ”

Fucky
McFuckerson!

Reagan
read only the first few lines before the paper tumbled from her suddenly numb
fingers. “How did they find out? We were so careful.”

“How
did they find out
any
of this?” Steve said, shaking his section of the
paper at her. “Only one fucker knows all this information. A person we thought
we could trust.”

Reagan
was upset that she was labeled a slut and that her guitar playing had been
unfairly criticized, but to think that someone she trusted, a woman she’d
considered her friend was capable of publishing their secrets in a tabloid was
far harder to take.

Dare
picked up the paper Reagan had dropped and began reading. Her face went hot,
and she snatched it out of his hands. She didn’t want Dare to read the
articles. They contained personal information that was painted in a derogatory
light. And then she realized that
anyone
could read the articles, not
only Dare but perfect strangers, her friends in Los Angeles, her past loves,
and worst of all, her father.

Suddenly
light-headed, she dropped onto the nearest stable location, which happened to
be the floor.

“Shit,”
she said. “People are going to read that and they’re going to think—” She choked
on a sob. “Going to think it’s all true.”

“It
is all true,” Steve said. “It’s just slanted in a way that shows us all in the
worst possible light.”

“I
didn’t sleep with you guys to win my spot on the tour!” she yelled. That was
obviously a lie.

“It
doesn’t say you did,” Dare said. “It says your playing is so mediocre that you
must have had to sleep with every member of the band to win your spot. It
doesn’t say you actually did.”

Tears
of hurt and anger collided in her eyes and began to drip down her hot cheeks.
“You think my playing is mediocre?”

Dare
squatted in front of her and scooped her off the floor so he could hug her and
pat her back. Like she was four years old and his comforting embrace would make
a fucking difference.

“Of
course I don’t think that, but these people tear celebrities apart for a living,
and they know how to make opinions sound like facts while never claiming lies
as truths because they’d get sued for slander.”

She
was too upset to accept the wisdom of his words. “I’ll fucking sue them all.
But first I’m going to beat the shit out of that lying, back-stabbing bitch.”

She
struggled out of Dare’s loose grasp and pulled the lever that opened the bus
door. Now that Dare wasn’t protecting her ears from the obscenities the groupies
were throwing at her, Reagan could hear their cruel taunts.

“You
slut. How could you cheat on Trey Mills? He’s an angel.”

“Did
you just finish blowing all your bandmates so they’ll keep you on tour?”

“You
suck! You don’t deserve to be on tour with them.”

“Whore!”

Unable
to take the abuse, she smashed her hands over her ears and dashed toward the
backstage entrance as if she could run faster than the speed of sound. Her
bandmates had enough mercy to allow her to get into the building before they
pulled her aside.

“You
can’t beat her up,” Dare said.

“Watch
me!” Reagan yelled, throwing off his hand and rushing down the corridor.

“You
can’t beat her up,” Butch yelled after her, “but we can fire her and kick her
off the bus.”

Reagan
rushed into the dressing room, where they’d left the traitorous cunt and her
clueless boyfriend only moments before. The room was empty. Reagan grabbed
Toni’s laptop off the coffee table and lifted it over her head, but just before
she could hurl it at the nearest wall, someone grabbed it out of her hands.

“Calm
down, Reagan,” Max said. “Don’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s hurt
you.”

“I’m
going to give her the satisfaction of my boot in her ass,” she bellowed.

“Do
you want me to find Ethan?” Dare asked.

“Yeah,”
Reagan shouted. “His feet are bigger than mine. See how she likes
his
boot in her ass.”

“Can
you get Ethan?” Dare said to Steve. “He’s probably in the wings watching
Sinners perform.”

“Do
I look like a fucking Labrador retriever?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,”
Dare said without pause as he pressed Reagan down into the sofa. He sat on the
coffee table in front of her and took her hands. “Breathe,” he said to her.

She
tried to still her gasping strangled breaths into something a bit less
traumatizing to her lungs, but it was no use. Oh God, her life was so fucked
up, she’d never be able to get herself back on track.

Dare
squeezed her hands. “Look at me.”

She
tilted her head, eventually settling her gaze on his piercing green eyes. They
reminded her so much of Trey’s that her heart twisted, and she squeezed her own
eyes shut. Would they be forced to break up over this? She loved him so much.
How would she survive without him?

“Reagan,
look at me,” Dare said, his soothing voice the calm in the churning waters
trying to drown her.

Reagan
forced her eyes open, and this time she was able to hold his gaze.

“Breathe,”
he insisted, taking deep breaths with her to remind her how to do what he
asked.

After
a moment of taking deep breaths in and releasing them slowly, she stopped
shaking.

“Better?”
Dare asked.

“No,”
she said truthfully. She could take a million deep and calming breaths, but she
doubted she’d ever be able to think rationally again.