Running with Scissors (4 page)

outside to the parking lot, and they climbed into a black Ford

Explorer.

“His flight is on time,” she said. “So we shouldn’t have to

wait long. I’m going to park, though, instead of waiting for

him on the curb. In case he needs a hand with his stuff.”

A.J. didn’t protest. Neither of them said much while

Kristy’s phone directed them from the motel to the interstate.

When the first sign for Eppley Airfield came into view, a

nervous feeling twisted in A.J.’s stomach. This was it. He

19

was going to meet the legendary Jude. And hopefully—

hopefully
!—he wouldn’t get replaced by the guy.

He drummed his nails on the armrest. “So, you really

think Jude’s going to be able to perform?” His cheeks burned

at the accidental double entendre. “I mean, he hasn’t played

in ages.”

“If it were anyone else, I’d be concerned. I’m not sure I’d

trust any other musician to get onstage after so little rehearsal time, but he’s . . .” She was quiet for a moment, and A.J.

marveled at how still her hands were on the wheel while she

seemed so lost in thought. “Jude was born to be a musician.

No two ways about it. He plays by ear, too. Once he hears

a song, he only needs to run through it a couple of times

before he nails it. He was one of those child prodigies, and if his parents’d had their way, he would’ve gone to Juilliard or

something. And if I have
my
way, he’ll be back in Running with Scissors
permanently
.”

A.J. gulped. “As . . . the bassist?”

“What else would—” She glanced at him. “Oh honey. I’m

not looking to replace you.”

“He’s a drummer, though.”

“Drumming is his passion, yes. But he’s a
musician
. In

every sense of the word. He could easily fill the shoes of

any member of that band except vocals, and even then, he

could pull it off in a pinch. The thing is, whether he’s on

the drums, the bass, the keyboard, or the damn cowbell, he’s

amazing. And personal drama aside, the band is better with

him than without him.” She sighed. “I just hope he’ll stay

with us this time.”

A.J. pressed his lips together. If he’d been nervous about

Jude before, he was a wreck now. He was good, and he knew

he was good, but he wasn’t child-prodigy good. It was just as

20

well the band was still pissed at Jude. Apparently he’d walked

out days before a major festival—one that had been teeming

with people from record labels—and they’d had to bail on the

performance. A.J. couldn’t say he blamed them for the grudge.

Kristy reached across the console and patted his arm.

“Listen, hon. You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”

She withdrew her hand and put it back on the wheel. “You’re

a rock-solid drummer, and quite honestly, you’re one of the

saner members of that band.”

He laughed halfheartedly. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. And that sanity, it helps the morale for the

whole band. Even Connor. Hell, especially Connor. When

he gets pissed off, almost everyone involved in this group just pours gas on the fire, but you’ve got a calming effect on all of them.” She glanced at him again. “I’ve seen you stop Shiloh

and Vanessa from getting into catfights, and Richie’s just

mellower all around when you’re there. Musicians are volatile

creatures, honey. Anyone who can keep them from killing

each other is worth his weight in gold.”

“I do my best.”

“In fact, with Jude in the band?” Kristy whistled. “That

calming effect of yours is going to be even more crucial than

ever. Trust me, A.J. You’re not going
anywhere
.”

Great. His life’s ambition—to be the second-best

drummer in a band, but to be kept around because someone

had to keep them all from killing each other.

But at least he wasn’t getting kicked out of Running with

Scissors anytime soon.

21

Inside the tiny airport, Kristy and A.J. loitered in baggage

claim by the escalator. She alternately scrolled through emails on her phone and looked up at the escalator. A.J. did the

same, though his nerves were holding his attention more than

Facebook or Twitter. A few fans had tweeted at the band,

and a handful had messaged him directly. He’d reply to those

when his brain was functional. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind

the wait.

Beside him, Kristy straightened. “There he is.”

A.J. turned around, and his heart went into double time.

There was no mistaking who this man was, coming down the

escalator with the guitar case on his back and the elaborate

sleeve of ink covering his right arm, but he looked a hell of

a lot different than he had in the photos and videos A.J. had

seen. Either those images hadn’t done Jude a bit of justice, or a year and a half had been enough for him to quantum leap

from good-looking to
holy shit
.

As the escalator brought Jude closer, A.J. stared. Jude’s

nearly black hair was cut short now. Instead of hanging in

sweaty strings over his face and fal ing over his shoulders, it was cropped like he’d walked into a barbershop with a copy of

GQ
and said, “
That’s
what I want.” A hint of five-o’clock shadow dusted his sharp jaw, and though they looked

exhausted as all hell, those dark eyes were just spectacular.

Jude must’ve seen Kristy right then, because a tired smile

spread across his lips. A moment later he stepped off the

escalator, oblivious to the effect he was having on A.J.’s blood pressure, and embraced Kristy.

The manager hugged him tight. “It’s good to see you,

baby.”

“You too.”

22

As they separated, Kristy gestured at A.J. “Jude, this is A.J.

Palmer. He’s—”

“My replacement.” Jude studied A.J. His comment hadn’t

been laced with any malice. Just an observation, it seemed.

“Jude Colburn.”

“I know.” A.J. extended his hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Jude started to return the gesture, but

hesitated. “I, uh . . .” He glanced down, and A.J. followed his gaze. At first, A.J.’s attention went to the elaborate tattoos

going from beneath Jude’s T-shirt sleeve to just below the

heel of his hand, but then he realized what was making Jude

hesitate—his fingers were wrapped in white tape. They’d even

bled through in a few places.

“Oh. Shit.” A.J. withdrew the offer. “Don’t worry about

it. I understand.”

Jude smiled faintly. “Thanks. I’ve been, uh, practicing.

So . . .”

“Good.” Kristy’s lips quirked. “Are you going to be healed

enough to play?”

He shrugged. “I’ve played through worse.”

“Just don’t wear your fingers off, okay?”

“Promise.”

Behind them, the baggage claim belt groaned to life.

“I’d better get my bag.” Jude adjusted the bass on his

shoulders.

“Okay. Why don’t I go get the car?” Kristy gestured at the

door. “I’ll meet you two outside.”

“Perfect.”

She left, and suddenly A.J. was alone with the unexpectedly

hot incarnation of Jude Colburn. All six foot something

of him. He only had an inch or two on A.J., but it felt like

much more. Even standing there, tired as fuck and waiting for

23

his luggage to come down the belt, he had a larger-than-life

presence about him.

Or maybe A.J. just hadn’t been laid in way,
way
too long.

He cleared his throat and turned away before he made an

ass of himself.

A moment later, Jude hauled a drab green duffel bag off

the belt. “All right, that’s everything.”

“Just the one bag?”

“Well, and . . .” Jude tapped the bass still slung over his

shoulder. “I travel light.”

“So I see.” A.J. gestured at the duffel bag. “You want me

to carry that?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

“Cool.” Jude handed it over. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” A.J. returned the smile as he hoisted

Jude’s bag onto his shoulders.

Outside, as they waited on the curb, Jude turned to him,

his expression blank. “So how’s the tour been going?”

“It’s been awesome. Beats the hell out of playing in clubs.”

A barely perceptible wince flickered across Jude’s face.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Thanks, by the way.” A.J. shifted his weight. “For bailing

us out.”

Jude smiled. “Don’t mention it. Honestly, I’ve been

hoping something like this would come along.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. The corporate world is just . . .” He grimaced and

shook his head. “I was starting to wonder how much longer I

could handle it before I went on a stapling rampage or threw

a printer at one of the guys in my cubicle.”

A.J. laughed. “That bad?”

24

“Worse.” Jude sighed. “Okay, it’s not
that
bad. But it’s definitely not for me. This”—he adjusted the bass on his

shoulder—“is what I was born to do.”

“I know the feeling. I was doing retail before I joined the

band.”

Jude wrinkled his nose. “Sorry to hear it.”

“Eh, it was a paycheck. A small one, but a paycheck.”

“There is that. I’ll be fucking thrilled if I don’t have to go

back to a day job, though.”

“Yeah, same here.” An uncomfortable knot grew beneath

A.J.’s ribs. Jude had been itching for a change. Wanting to get back onstage. What if he liked being back in his old band and

stayed indefinitely? Beyond the next album and tour? How

long before he started eyebal ing the drum set?

No. No. Not going to think about that. I’m part of this band.

Jude is the bassist. The
temporary
bassist.

I’m not going anywhere.

Please, God . . .

Oblivious to A.J.’s worries, Jude reached into his pocket

and pulled out a wrinkled pack of cigarettes. He slipped one

between his lips, then patted the pockets of his jeans—front

first, then back, then front again—and cursed around the

cigarette. “You don’t have a lighter, do you?”

A.J. shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Damn it.” Jude shoved the pack into his pocket but kept

the single unlit cigarette in his mouth. “Fucking TSA took

mine.”

“Bastards.”

“Right?”

A.J. wasn’t a fan of smoking—it didn’t bother him but

didn’t do anything for him either. Still, there was something

weirdly hot about Jude with the cigarette. About this whole

25

picture of Jude—clean-cut with some scruff and a hell of a lot

of ink, standing beneath a No Smoking sign with a cigarette

hanging from the corner of his mouth and an elbow on his

bass—that did inexplicable things to A.J.’s pulse. It was a

damn good thing Jude wasn’t playing his bass just then, long

fingers on the strings and narrow hips cocked just so . . .

A.J. shook himself and tried not to pass out from thinking

about Jude with a bass across his lap.

Breathe, dude. Get a fucking grip.

A pair of headlights caught his eye, and he waved at the

approaching Explorer. “There’s Kristy.”

“Perfect,” Jude said around the cigarette. “Maybe she’s got

a lighter.”

A.J. had never seen Kristy smoke, but she’d pulled stranger

things from that giant handbag.

When their manager stepped out of the Explorer, though,

she took one look at Jude and gave him that bal -withering

scowl that kept most of the band in line. “Jude Colburn, when

did you take up smoking again?”

Jude smiled sheepishly, his cheeks coloring. “Uh . . .”

She sighed loudly. “Idiot. Well, no smoking in the car.

You’ll have to wait until we get to the motel.”

“Motel? They don’t even have a bus?”

“They do, Princess.” She opened the trunk. “But we’re

stuck in motels until it’s fixed.”

“Joy.” Jude hoisted his bag and bass into the trunk.

“Hey, you’ve got nothing to complain about.” She wagged

a finger at him. “The mechanics are working on the bus as we

speak, so
you
only have to spend
one
night in a shitty motel.

We’ve been staying in them since Little Rock.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Ouch. Okay, let’s rol .”

26

Everyone climbed into the Explorer. While Kristy

shifted gears, A.J. settled into the backseat. As it happened,

the seating arrangement gave him a perfect vantage point to

surreptitiously check out Jude.

So, heart pounding and palms sweating, he fixed his gaze

on the ridiculously hot bassist-slash-drummer.

And wondered just how screwed he was.

27

ude hadn’t expected the new drummer to show up at

jthe airport with Kristy. He hadn’t expected anyone,

really, but especially not the guy who’d taken his place.

Good thing he’d been on the escalator when he first saw

A.J., or he’d have tripped over his own feet, because he sure as hell hadn’t expected . . . that.

The kid definitely took the “I’m a fucking rock star” look

seriously. His bleached blond spikes with “I don’t give a fuck”

dark roots were eye-catching, as were the eyebrow piercings

and the nose ring. Jude was willing to bet money this kid

never went onstage without eyeliner, and that thought . . .

Shiver
.

The drummer behind him was the least of his concerns