Fall (VIP #3)(94)

Hank stares at his plate for a long moment before straightening and meeting John’s eyes. “Saw you at Madison Square Garden last summer. I could have done without the gyrating, but your voice has improved.”

A glint lights John’s eyes. “Oh, has it?”

“Mmm.” Hank cuts a piece of roast. “More soulful now, less showy.”

John blinks, and I can’t help it—I finally lose it and laugh.

“Sorry,” I say between snorts, “but Hank’s a fan. I’m dying.”

“Shut it, you,” Hank says without much heat. His lips twitch. “I like all sorts of music.”

John’s lips twitch as well. “I cannot lie. That was pretty much the shock of my year.”

After that, Hank drops his grumpy curmudgeon act and starts grilling John on music, which he happily rambles on about. We eat, and Corinne serves up pie, and John is the perfect guest. But I don’t miss the way he glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking. He’s upset and trying not to show it.





Chapter Twenty-Two





John



* * *



It’s three in the morning and the rain pelts the big picture window in Hank and Corinne’s den. I focus on this instead of the big-ass bar running under the mattress of the pullout couch that’s digging into my back. I’ve slept on couches before—wasted and passed out, and sometimes waking up with a woman or two draped over me. This experience is so far removed from any of that, my old self would have never believed it. Old me would have left Stella with Hank and Corinne, and driven back to Manhattan in the rain.

Old me was a prat. Old me would have missed out on Stella entirely. I know I wouldn’t have bothered to notice all that she is.

No. Don’t think about Stella right now.

Better to watch water run in rivulets down the glass than imagine Stella all soft and tucked up in her bed somewhere upstairs.

I’m horny as hell. Even though it’s uncomfortable, I can get past horny. Horny can be dealt with by Mr. Helping Hand. My hand hasn’t been taking care of business this much since my youth when it felt as though I walked around with a stiffy all day long.

What I can’t shake is this push to seek Stella out just to be near her. Even though the rain hasn’t let up since we got here, I’d wanted to go back to the city so we could be alone. But it soon became clear that wasn’t happing. Fucking motorcycle. I should have called a car service. Then there was Corinne and Hank, who asked us to stay over, concerned for their girl’s safety. What could I say to that? They obviously mean a lot to Stella. I’d be a total ass to say no.

Taking the long hallway to the den, in the opposite direction that Stella went tonight, physically hurt. My balls and lower abs actually hurt. I’m off-balance and this damn bed is growing less and less comfortable.

Cursing, I flop onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. The only sound reaching my ears is the patter of rain and my own heart beating. Hell, she’s thinking about moving out here? When Stella had mentioned moving away from Manhattan, it cut the legs out from under me. I’ve deliberately pushed aside the fact that she’s a temporary neighbor who will be gone as soon as Killian and Libby return.

I don’t even know why I’m shitting over this; I’m hardly in New York for more than a few months at a time. I move around a lot.

So where does that leave me and Stella? Why hadn’t I thought about this before?

You were too busy having fun and wanting her.

“What the hell am I doing?”

My irritated whisper drifts through the darkness, highlighting the fact that I’m alone and talking to myself when I could be in Stella’s bed, talking to her, touching her. Except I’m in Hank’s house. Hank, who will absolutely cut off my balls if I lay a hand on Stella here. Which I’m not going to do. No, I’m going to be a good boy and keep my dick in my pants, even if it kills me.

My hand is clammy when I run it over my face. I don’t recognize myself anymore. The guy I used to be would have been in Stella’s pants a week ago. Who am I kidding? Jax would have followed Stella right out of that store and seduced her on the spot. Why do I keep thinking about old me?

The fact that I even think of my old self as Jax and my current self as John is messed up. Somewhere along the way, I separated myself. I pushed Jax into the shadows with this mad idea that I could put all the blame on him and everything would be fine.

Yes, I was out of control and arrogant when I was Jax the rock star. Yes, I’d hit rock bottom when I was Jax. But there isn’t Jax and John. There’s just me. Stella is right, I’m both. She thinks both sides of me are worthy. Fact is I felt more like myself—whoever the fuck that may be—today than I have in too long a time. Because I’d been with Stella. She makes me feel alive.

Then what the hell are you doing alone in here, mate?

You promised to take things slow, remember?

Slow is one thing. You promised you’d give her proper attention. Bad form, Blackwood.

You absolutely can’t do anything tonight, so shut it.

“And now I’m arguing with myself.” With a snort, I run my hands through my hair. I’m so irritably tense that the second the den door creaks open, my heart skips a beat. Rising on my elbows, I peer into the shadows.