Idol (VIP, #1)(42)

Jax glares at me while Whip and Rye sit quiet but tense. We all stare at each other for a long minute, the club pulsing and throbbing around us.

Then Jax sighs and runs a hand over his face. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” His head hits the back of the booth with a thud, and he blinks up at the ceiling. “I haven’t had some sort of musical epiphany.” His green eyes cut to us. “But I want to play. I need to.”

His urgency is palpable. It freaks me out that he wants to go on for the wrong reasons. But I’m not his dad. I can only support him and do what’s best for the band. “That’s why we’re here,” I say.

With the edge of his thumb, Jax picks at the soggy label on his beer bottle. “It means a lot.” He glances up, faces us. “I’m serious. I know I’ve been an *. But… Thanks for coming back.”

Thing is, Jax was never an * before. He was the happy one, the guy who got us motivated. I know Whip and Rye are thinking it too. The table goes silent again, and I wonder how we’re ever going to get back to that easy place we lived in for so long, whether it’s even possible.

“Aw, come on now,” Whip blurts out in a plaintive whine better suited to a seven year old. “We’ve done the heavy. Can we just get over ourselves and drink our f*cking beers?”

Jax laughs at that. “Yeah, man. We can do that.”

Rye raises his hand to get the attendant who is quietly standing far off in the corner of the room. He whispers something in the man’s ear while the rest of us drink “our f*cking beers” and look down at the action going on in the main room.

Not a minute passes before the door opens and a group of women enter.

Fuck.

“Thought we might like some company,” Rye says. Musical genius, Rye might be, but he’s also a total dog when it comes to sex. “You know, before all the bonding occurs.”

The women are beautiful, well dressed, and very interested. A few months ago, I’d have been all over that. Now I’m annoyed that I can’t hang out with my best friends for more than ten minutes without being interrupted. I don’t even think about my dick. He’s taken.

What I don’t expect is Whip and Jax to be less than enthusiastic as well. Whip looks pained, his gaze darting down toward the dance floor and then to his hands fisted on the table. Jax just looks blank. But when he catches my eye, the look disappears and he sits back, parting his thighs to make room for the girl he grabs around the waist and pulls into his lap.

“Ladies,” he says.

The girls giggle.

The sound crawls over my skin. When the rest of the women descend on the table, pushing themselves into the booth, I raise my hand. “Hold up,” I say to a very pretty brunette in nearly sheer silk. “I gotta piss.”

Classy. It has the effect I wanted. Her nose wrinkles, and she scurries out of my way. But her expression quickly smooths. “Hurry back. I can’t believe I’m going to party with Killian James.”

She’s not. But I don’t correct her.

I slide out and head for the exit.

“Wait up.” Whip is at my side. “Wanna go down to the actual bar?”

I want to ask him why he’s suddenly not interested, because he’s a bigger player than Rye. But then I’d leave myself wide open for the same question. So I just nod.

The bar is crowded, people bumping into us. But there’s anonymity here too. As long as we don’t make eye contact with anyone, we’ll be left alone for now.

“I got used to not being recognized,” I tell him as we drink our beers.

“Me too.” He glances at the empty stage. “Kind of liked it.”

“But you want to get back to that.”

“I must be a glutton for adoration.” His eyes meet mine. “You?”

I think about it for a second. Did I miss the adoration too? There’s a strange tension in my spine, along my arms. I look at the stage, and my heart beats faster. “I miss it.”

I don’t add that I fear it too. It would be so easy to let the need for it take over.

“Yep.” He takes a drink. “As for the rest? I feel old now.”

I have to laugh at that. “Old and boring.”

“Maybe.” He shakes his head. “I want something real. Get back to that place we were when we wrote ‘Apathy’.”

A place of truth. I had that with Libby. I felt it when we sang. I want it back. I want it with her at my side. Does that make me selfish? I don’t know. But regret weighs on my shoulders. I backed off, gave her space. And it feels like a mistake.

I have made enough mistakes in my life. I set my bottle down on the bar, my stomach sour. “I want you to listen to the songs I wrote,” I tell Whip. “I think they’ll go with what you and Rye have been working on.”

Whip slowly smiles. “We’re gonna do this? Kill John rebooted?”

Anticipation licks over me like a good buzz. No more regrets. Forward action from here on out. “Yeah, man. We are.”



Libby



I’m having a pity party of one, lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling when someone knocks on the door. It sends my heart into instant overdrive, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I need it to be Killian.

Even so, I sit there for a long moment, trying to stop shaking.