Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(61)

I crave her more than anything in my life before, her presence a blinding light pouring into the shadows I’m surrounded by. I need her to stay, to never take her radiance away or leave me lost in the dark again.

But I can’t fall in love with Ruby.

I don’t love.

We return to everyday life, back to the studio and moving Ruby’s life in the direction she spoke about: forward. The first time I slid an arm around Ruby’s waist and kissed her cheek, the horror on Jax’s face was unmistakable. I don’t care what he says; Jax wants Ruby. They share a bond through the band and the music they create together. Ruby’s adamant she’s never seen Jax in a romantic way, but I know he does. Jax spoke to her about us the first day, throwing glances at me as he had a heated conversation with her in the sound booth.

From the look of her hand gestures, Ruby gave him a mouthful of unpleasant words.

The Ruby who lives in my house, who exists in my space, is a milder version of her public persona. I get that; I’ve done the same for years. As soon as you show people the slightest hint of vulnerability they poke until a hole opens up that lets out more than you want, and in turn lets in too much. Only because Ruby has vulnerabilities of her own can I let my guard down a little. Our unspoken agreement not to push each other into revealing any more of our hidden thoughts works. For now.

Inevitably, I f-uck this up.

Since returning from the States, I lost myself in Ruby Riot and then Ruby. I forgot loose arrangements made. I missed a meeting with a pissed-off Liam and didn’t notice today’s date until it arrived. And until Kristie arrived.

I’m in bed and Ruby answers the front door. A few minutes later, Ruby comes into the room with pink cheeks. She’s dressed in my t-shirt, always pulls one off the floor the morning after a night in my bed, and walks around in the shirt and her panties for half the day, which is bloody distracting.

“You have a visitor,” she says coolly.

“Bryn?”

“Kristie.”

I sit and pull back hair from my face. “Crap. Okay. I’d forgotten she was coming.”

Ruby stares wide-eyed for a moment, then her face straightens into her neutral, closed-down expression. “I told her you would be down in a minute.”

“‘kay.”

Shit.

Kristie Dawson is a friend from years back. She’s older than me, widow of Sam Rayne, the front man of Easy Ride, who was as big as Phoenix in the ‘90s. Kristie has her own band, proving she had talent after accusations she only got a recording contract because she was riding the coat tails of her husband. When I was in LA last month, we hooked up as we always do. I completely forgot I arranged to meet Kristie when she came to London. She’s over for a media tour promoting an art house movie she’s in, playing someone who’s basically herself. We share a drug-filled past and were f-uck buddies before the phrase even existed.

Kristie is in the kitchen, sitting on the counter, when I get downstairs. Her platinum blonde hair is bobbed but styled to look like she just got out of bed. She favours the same style of make-up as Ruby and still wears the ‘90s bohemian mix of skirts and tatty jackets she always has. Although Kristie is ten years older than me (I suspect more) she’s smoothed some of her drug-damage with plastic surgery.

“I’m sorry, Kristie,” I say from the doorway. “I forgot we were meeting up.”

“Hey, no problem!” She walks over and places a hand on my cheek, her strong perfume reminding me of sex with this woman. “I’m good for a few hours. We can go for lunch? Is that little cafe still open? Loved the fries there!”

“Yeah, I guess.” I rub my tired eyes. “You should’ve called.”

Kristie laughs and pokes my ribs. “Because of the chick? She’ll know the score if she’s f-ucking Jem Jones.”

I cringe at Ruby being seen in that light. “She’s cool.” I hope.

“Shame, I was hoping you’d be alone,” says Kristie and runs a finger along the skin above my open shirt. “We always catch up when we’re in the same city, huh?”

As she moves to press herself against me, I turn to pull out coffee beans. “Make some coffee while I shower,” I tell her.

“Me?”

“You do know how to make coffee?”

“Yeah, babe, but I don’t normally make it for other people.”

“Fine.”

Kristie slides a hand in mine. “But, I guess you’re not other people.”

With a small smile, I tug my hand away and head back upstairs. Here’s a new emotion I haven’t had for a while. Guilt. But why guilt? I hooked up with Kristie last month but I hadn’t kissed Ruby at that point, she was just a girl in my daydreams. But in my experience, chicks don’t react well to other girls turning up at my house. Especially, when they’ve both been in my bed.

When I return to the bedroom, Ruby’s cross-legged on my bed and engrossed in my iPad. She glances at me as I come into the room then returns to what she’s doing.

“I know her,” she says. “I should’ve guessed you guys would be friends.”

“Yeah.”

Why isn’t she mad? I attempt to read her expression but we both know how good each other are at hiding.

“She said you’d arranged to meet up with her. You going out today then?” asks Ruby.