Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(32)

Jax shows me the latest viral videos on his phone, not-so-hilarious footage of guys our age doing stupid things. Gluing their mouths together with superglue is funny, why? I feign interest but keep checking the time on my phone. Every night we’re due on stage, I freak out for a few hours before. My mouth has a mind of its own and I’m best avoided altogether because when adrenaline courses through me, things never come out well. The guys tend to leave me alone or ignore any outbursts. They know what to expect, and I’m heading in that direction again.

I haven’t seen Jem since this morning when we left his house and weirdly went our separate ways to travel to the same place. I piled into the hired van with the guys and Jem said he had something to do before he started the trip to Manchester. I don’t think Jem’s sleeping again because recently the door bangs waking me in the early hours to indicate he’s going down to the gym, and then when he comes back I wake again. Some nights I hear him playing in the early hours. What concerns me is I worry about Jem.

We both hide but parts of us seep through.

Things cooled between us when I refused to go to the police on the day after Dan tried to get in touch with me again. Jem insisted but I was too hungover and not in the mood for him to interfere. I didn’t appreciate his comments about fixing me, or the weird look he gave me when he told me he wanted to help. That’s too reminiscent of Dan’s ‘help’: taking control.

Jem’s face is a pissed off red when he stomps into the stage area. I don’t miss the fact his look lingers on where Jax’s arm is around my shoulder, or how he avoids meeting my eyes. This is the other thing that concerns me. I can’t deny I’m attracted to him and I’m aware of something between us that was there but never mentioned in the time we spent alone in his house. Unless I’m imagining it. I don’t know.

“What’s up, man?” asks Jax, dropping his arm.

“I’m not used to dealing with this shit,” Jem says. “I usually just play and don’t have to deal with venue managers and crap.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“They’re screwing around over door sales percentages or something. I don’t understand this side of things.” Jem’s half-talking to himself. “And why the f-uck are you two sitting there?”

I stiffen. “What?”

“Will and Nate are sound-checking. You guys think you’re too good to join in?”

“We’re done, they had some sound issues they wanted to double-check,” I retort.

“You do this as a band!”

“We do this how we always do it!” I say and stand. “We have our way of doing this.”

Jem glares at me. “You have to do things my way when you’re on tour with me.”

I straighten. “What the f-uck? Since when?”

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

“And we don’t?” This isn’t helping the pre-show anxiety.

“You have a lot to learn, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? Since when did he call me such a condescending name? “f-uck this!” Relieved that my self-control manages to limit me to just those words, I stomp away to the Green Room. I need to get ready anyway, I’m still in my scruffy track pants and loose flannel shirt, and I’m not performing in those.

I’m midway through getting changed when Jax appears, walking through the door without knocking. He halts and stares, I only have panties and a thin black vest on.

“You could’ve knocked!” I snap.

Jax has seen it all before. In the early days, I changed in filthy toilet cubicles but soon swapped to half-stripping in front of the other guys when getting ready for gigs. I’m not shy, and they’re used to it now. I’m not exactly curvy and I doubt they find me attractive, as evidenced by the ‘semi-guy’ comment in the hotel room.

“You okay?” Jax asks.

“He’d better not be like that at every gig.”

“This manager gig is new to him, but we should listen to him. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like being spoken to like I’m a kid.” I dig around in my bag for my black dress.

“Well, we are to him and you kinda behave like one sometimes.”

I glare, choosing to ignore the dig. “He’s only five years older!”

“And wiser.”

I make a derisive sound. “Not really.”

Jax runs a hand through his thick blond hair and fixes his pale blue eyes on mine. “Don’t f-uck this up. Be nice.”

“Nice? You’re asking me to be nice? This is Ruby Butler you’re talking to here.”

“Very true.” Jax catches sight of something and points. “You got new ink. When was that?”

The short vest exposes my stomach, revealing the pattern of red roses and thorns stretching across my lower belly. “It’s not that long since you saw me almost naked! I got it a couple of months ago.”

The door opens and Jem walks in. Instantly I hold the short dress against myself, and Jax steps back tucking his hands under his arms. Jem’s eyes widen and in them, for a split second, is the reason why being semi-naked in front of Jem is different. I’m not imagining Jem’s attraction to me; the desire just flickered across his face.