Consumed(27)

When he comes into the kitchen and finds me eating, Lucas immediately apologizes for Tyler, but I wave it off and force out a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t think you were celibate or anything while we were apart.”

He slides onto the bar stool beside of me at the center island, the fabric of his jeans brushing up against my bare knee in the process. “He was a dick. It won’t happen on the tour, and if it does, you come to me. I’m not going to let him play games with your head to cause problems. I won’t do that kind of shit just for the sake of record sales and media plugs.”

“Will that actually sell records?” I ask as he takes a drink of my orange juice. “You and I getting into it?”

He coughs on the juice, sits the glass down on the counter, and then takes my chin in his hand. “People always give a bigger f*ck about you when your life is in ruins; I thought you knew that all ready, Red.”

Oh, I do. I learned that first hand after my mother got arrested for drug trafficking when I was high school. I’d gone from just another face in the hall to the most talked about girl on campus. Still, it doesn’t mean that I have to accept how screwed up and vicious some people can be.

Lucas glances down at his watch. “It’s a little after 10, we need to get going.”

I chug the rest of my juice and take my soiled dishes to the dishwasher. “By the way, how’d things go? With your road manager, I mean.” For the first time since he came back into the house, I notice how drawn his expression is.

“Sinjin had a f*cking moment, but Tyler says it’s been worked out.” He slides off the barstool as I come around the counter and places his hand on the small of my back.

Though I’m not too sure what a moment for Sinjin entails, it’s a no-brainer that it’s bad news for Sin and something that could possibly be detrimental to the tour. Though he doesn’t mention Sinjin again while we take care of last minute details around the city, I know that whatever is going on with the drummer is bothering Lucas.

By the time 4:30 rolls around, and the band has their sound check at the venue in Pomona, even I’m worried like crazy over Sinjin, especially when it becomes clear that Sin likely forgot about the rehearsal this afternoon. Or as Cal puts it, “Just brushed the shit off.” As Lucas and the rest of the band speak to each other backstage in angry, hushed tones, I excuse myself to tour the venue.

This place is less than a quarter of the size of the Staples Center, which is where Your Toxic Sequel will perform the final show of the tour in September, 45 days from now, but Lucas had told me earlier that playing here was a given. It’s where the band played their first “big” show, so there’s a sentimental pull. Plus, with its intricate design and artsy atmosphere, this place is absolutely gorgeous.

I’m in the lobby looking at posters for upcoming shows when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Expecting to see Lucas, I put on my warmest smile before facing him.

“Did he show—” The words catch in my throat when I come face to face with Sinjin. Thank god I hadn’t turned and immediately groped his junk. “Sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be.” He looks better than he did the last time I saw him. Still skinny, but so much better. Dressed in dark jeans, a black shirt that says Stranger (With Benefits), and a plain black baseball cap, there’s no wild look in his green eyes. No disdain. Only amusement. “Guess they’re waiting for me?”

I hit the home key on my phone and check the time. “You’re 20 minutes late.”

He drags off his baseball cap, revealing a mess of short, jet-black hair, a complete turn from the blonde he sported the last time I saw him. “Not sure what those f*cks in there told you, but I’m always late. Can’t manage time to save my life.”

I wait for him to show any sign of what Lucas had alluded to in the car, but if he’s high, I can’t tell. And I’ve spent more than my fair share of time around screwed up people to be able to read the signs. “So I’m guessing Tyler getting you up at an ungodly hour won’t go over well on the tour.”

“Tell Tyler to eat a dick.”

I’m not surprised to hear him say this. “I’m sure you’ll be telling him yourself.”

“No doubt.” As he heads toward the grand hall’s double doors, he calls out to me, “Lucas wants me to apologize. Thing is, I don’t like sorry. It’s just a word, and it doesn’t mean shit. So, I’ll have to figure out a way to make it up to you.” He doesn’t look back at me, but I wish he would so I could at least read the expression on his face. “And I can’t sing, so this might take some time.”