Idol (VIP, #1)(45)

When none of us say anything, he lets out a noise of disgust. “Come on. I swear, if you all start acting like old men, I’m going to kill my…” He trails off, going pale.

No one looks at Jax, but he laughs hollowly. “Word of advice: Stay away from OD-ing. Not as fun as it looks, man.”

Heavy silence falls over the room, and Jax lifts his head to look at us. His expression twists with a smirk. “Too soon?”

It will always be too soon for me. But I’m saved from answering when my phone rings.

The familiar tune of “Hotel Yorba” plays, and I’m not embarrassed to admit my heart stops. Libby. I roll off the couch, striding toward the door as I pull out my phone. “Gotta take this.” I might be running at this point.

Fuck. If she’s calling to say no, I might punch a wall. I go into the padded sound booth so no one can hear me.

“Libby,” I answer. Do I sound breathless? Shit, this girl has me acting like a preteen, and I don’t even care.

“You have some interesting communication skills,” she says by way of greeting.

I grin. Sending Scottie and Brenna to give her notes might be construed as juvenile and slightly corny, but there is some method to my madness. I knew it would either annoy her or throw her off guard before she could retreat behind her walls. I’m hoping for the latter. “I’d prefer talking face to face.”

She huffs, but it doesn’t sound angry. “I got that.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense, Elly May. I’m dying here.”

“And you think calling me Elly May is going to help your cause?”

“Liberty Bell,” I warn. Hell, I’m sweating. I lean against the wall. “Out with it, evil woman.”

A sigh, and then her voice goes soft and small. “I miss you too. So much.”

“You’re killing me, babe.” My eyes close. “You know what? I lied. If you don’t come to me, I’m coming to you. And I’m not leaving empty handed.”

“You’d forcibly haul me back with you?” she asks with a husky laugh.

“Yep. Might take you over my knee before I do, though.”

I’m not going to lie; my dick gets hard at the thought. It twitches when she laughs again.

“You like living dangerously.”

“You’d be well satisfied.” I smile but it’s weak. “Tell me, Libby. Tell me you’re on your way.”

She sighs. “You want me there to visit or to perform?”

I want her as my partner in all things. I know that now. But one issue at a time.

“Babe, I’ve made what I want very clear. Stop hiding away in that house.”

“Killian, do you understand that the idea of getting on a stage and performing for a Kill John–sized crowd makes me want to vomit? As in, I’m eyeing the bathroom as we speak.”

I want to hug her so badly. I clench my fist against my thigh. “Do you really hate the idea? Between you and me, without thinking about anything else, what does your heart say?”

Silence follows, highlighting the sound of her breathing. “I’m afraid…” Her voice is stark. “…that I’ll lose myself.”

“I won’t let you.” She has me now. Even if she doesn’t fully realize it. I’ll always be there for her. I just have to show her.

She speaks again, barely a whisper. “I’m afraid I’ll look ridiculous up there.”

I let out a breath. “Oh, baby doll. If you could just see yourself the way I see you. Your voice, the passion in the way you play—that brought me back to music. You belong out there. You said you wanted to fly. So fly with me.”

“Why is this so important to you?” she rasps. “Why are you pushing it so much?” I can practically hear her brain whirring. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. If I want her trust, I have to go all-in now. “The first time I told my parents I wanted a guitar, they sent an assistant out to buy me a six-thousand-dollar Telecaster.”

She’s silent for a beat. “Is that supposed to be bad?”

I snort in tired amusement. “They got me lessons from the best teacher in New York. Because, and I quote, ‘Killian’s finally found a little hobby.’”

I keep talking, exposing more. “When I told them I wanted to form a band, be a rock star, they asked me if I needed them to book a concert hall for me. They knew some people.”

“I…ah…I don’t understand. They sound more supportive than most parents. Maybe a little patronizing, but they clearly cared.”

“Libs, I meant it when I said I had a good childhood, the best of everything. But I was also something akin to a pet. Interest in who I was or what I did with my life wasn’t there. I wasn’t missed or needed. And that isn’t a poor-little-rich-me speech. Just the bald truth. To this day, they haven’t heard a single song or gone to any of my concerts. Which is fine.”

But it isn’t.

She clearly picks up on that. “So you want to fix me because of what? Childhood angst?”

Something in me snaps. “I’m trying to show you how much I care, that your dreams mean something to me! They’re not things to be swept under the rug or given lip service. They f*cking matter, Libby. You matter.” I stop there, my body tensing. I’ve said too much, exposed my underbelly. It isn’t a comfortable sensation.