Lead (Stage Dive, #3)(27)

His hand sliced through the air. “Enough. I’ll double it. You cut the shit and we don’t talk about it again, understood? Now I got stuff to do.”

“Stop!” I yelled.

He stared at me, unblinking. Hostility seemed to ooze from his very pores.

“I’m leaving.”

“Why?” he asked, through gritted teeth. “C’mon, you at least owe me an explanation, Lena.”

Outside, it started to rain, the heavy grey clouds finally giving it up. And still Jimmy waited. I squeezed my eyes shut against the sight of him. Oh god, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. This wasn’t going at all like I had planned.

“I know we’re not best friends, but I thought we got along okay,” he said.

“We do, basically.”

“Well, then?”

“I’m not right for this job.”

“Look at me.”

I opened one eye, he actually looked reasonably calm. His big arms were crossed, sweaty shirt plastered to his buff chest, but otherwise, he didn’t seem too angry. So I opened the other eye, too. Brave of me, I know.

“Unlike the other sobriety companions, you don’t completely piss me off,” he said.

“I know. I’m mostly useful.” I laughed. Not that it was particularly funny. “Gah! Why are you fighting me so hard on this?”

“Because the record company and Adrian would still like someone around to keep an eye on things. I happen to agree it’s not a completely bad idea,” he said. “I don’t need you counseling me and messing with my head, giving me your version of whatever philosophical bullshit turns you on. I just need you to be here. How is that so hard?”

“It’s not. But it doesn’t explain why you’re so hell-bent on that person being me.”

“Look, you’re basically the best out of the bunch, okay? Someone else might be far worse. I’m not going to risk it. You have to stay.”

My nose wrinkled up, I could feel it.

“Hang on, is this about what happened before the funeral?” he asked.

My mouth opened but I had nothing. He didn’t mean when he clung to me, but thanks to my guilty conscience, it was all I could think of.

“It is.” His forehead furrowed. He shoved a hand into his hair and grabbed a fistful, tugging on it. “That was … there were extenuating circumstances. You were never in any physical danger from me, Lena. Not ever.”

“I know.”

“Do you? I get that I freaked you out,” he said. “I know I trashed that room, but I would never—”

“It’s not about that.”

“So what’s the problem?”

I turned away, mind scrambling for a plausible lie of an excuse. There must be something I could use, letting him think I was physically afraid of him wasn’t tenable. He had more than enough issues to contend with.

“It is the problem.” He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. “Fuck.”

“No. It’s really not. I get that you were in a bad place that day.”

“Then what? What do you need here, an apology?” Irritation filled his eyes. “Fuck’s sake. I’m sorry, okay?”

My jaw fell slack. “Wow. You are breathtakingly bad at apologizing, aren’t you?”

His cell buzzed on the counter. We both ignored it.

“Jimmy, for future reference, when you apologize to someone you might want to sound like you actually mean it. Consider not sneering or swearing at them, perhaps. Hmm?”

He kicked and scuffed his foot against the floor looking for all the world like a schoolboy being scolded. “Okay. Sorry … and stuff.”

“Slightly better.”

“So we done here? We good?” he asked, already moving toward the door.

“Can I tell Tom Monday suits you?”

“Lena! Shit.” He made a noise of sheer exasperation. “Why?”

The words stuck in my throat. I could have choked on them which was probably a better fate than letting them out, all things considered. The tension coiled inside of me, huge and horrible. If only I could have disappeared into thin air.

“WHY?” The ass shouted, the sound reverberating around the room.

“Because I have feelings for you, alright! And don’t yell at me.”

Silence.

Absolute, pure, silence.

Little lines appeared beside his nose. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“You have feelings for me?” The way he drew out the word, rolling it over his tongue like the taste disgusted him and belittled us both. I might never recover.

“Yes.”

“You’re f*cking with me.”

“No,” I said, my heart on my sleeve. Actually, forget the sleeve, my chest felt like it had been ripped wide open. I stood there completely exposed, everything on display. Quite gross really. But it didn’t mean I had to like it. “Well?”

He just stared at me.

“Say something!”

The bastard burst out laughing.

Great big belly laughs filled the room, the sound circling me, battering at my head. I couldn’t get away from it. There were knives on a rack on the kitchen wall, many shiny bright knives all in a row. It would be so easy just to throw the odd one at him and see what I could hit. I might not be in any physical danger from him, but him being in danger from me was a distinct possibility. I imagined him bloody and beaten, bleeding on the floor. It kept me from immediate violence, despite my clenched fists.