Lead (Stage Dive, #3)(6)

What the hell was I still doing here?

When I took the job, my instructions had been scarily simple. Glue myself to his side and never, on pain of death, dismissal, and whatever else his lawyers could think to throw at me, let him consume a drop of alcohol or an ounce of drugs. Not a single pill could be popped. Given he’d been clean of his own volition for almost half a year, it hadn’t seemed such a hard task.

Until now.

“I’m going to go find your shirt,” I said, blinking like crazy, doing my best to pull my shit together. Qualified or not, I was all he had. “We need to finish getting you ready and then we’re going to go.”

He said nothing.

“We’ll get through this, Jimmy. We’ll get through today, then things will be better.” The words tasted sour. I just hoped they weren’t lies.

Still nothing.

“Okay?”

“Why did I say I’d talk at the funeral? What the f*ck was I thinking?” He scowled. “The guys should have known this wouldn’t work out, not to put me in this position. I’m in no god damn condition to do anything. But Dave is all like ‘you say a few words, I’ll read some poetry. It’ll be fine’. What bullshit.”

“You can do this.”

“I can’t.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “If I’m not going to f*ck up the funeral of the best person I ever knew, then I need a drink. One drink, then I’ll stop again.”

“No.” I faced him down. “They asked you to speak because as much as they’d probably hate to admit it, they knew you’d do it best. You’re the front man. You don’t need a drink. Shining in the spotlight is what you do. It’s who you are.”

He gave me a long look. So long, it got harder and harder to meet his eyes.

“You can do this, Jimmy. I know you can. There isn’t a single doubt inside of me.”

Nothing. He didn’t even blink, just kept staring at me. The look wasn’t unkind, I’m not sure what it was, apart from too much. I rubbed my clammy hands against the sides of my pants.

“All right,” I said, needing to escape. “I’ll get your clothes.”

Strong arms suddenly wrapped around me, pulling me in. I stumbled forward, only to be stopped by the hot face pressing into my stomach. His grip was brutally tight as if he expected me to fight him, to reject him. But I just stood stunned. His whole body shook, the tremors passing through into me, rattling my bones. He didn’t make a sound, however. Something dampened the front of my shirt, making it cling.

It could have been sweat. I had the worst feeling it wasn’t.

“Hey.” None of the last two months had prepared me for this. He never needed me for shit. If anything, I inconvenienced him. We clashed. He tried to cut me down. I cracked a joke. The modus operandi had been long since been established.

The man clinging to me was a stranger.

My hands hovered over his bare shoulders, panic bubbling up inside. I was most definitely not allowed to touch him. Not even a little. The one-hundred-and-twelve-page employment contract had been quite specific on the subject. Prior to this, he’d gone out of his way to avoid any and all contact, but now his arms tightened, fingers digging in. I’m pretty sure I heard my rib cage creak. Damn, he was strong. Just as well I came from sturdy stock, otherwise, he might have squeezed the life out of me.

“Jimmy, I can’t breathe,” I wheezed.

The grip eased a little and I stood there panting, my lungs working overtime. Thick arms remained around me. Clearly, I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Maybe I should get Sam,” I said in a stroke of genius once I’d caught my breath. Their Head of Security most closely resembled a thug in a suit. But I bet he gave great hugs.

“No.”

Crap. “Or David. Do you want your brother to come back in?”

His face shifted against me, moving first left and then right. Another no. “You can’t tell them.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Silence rung in my ears.

“I just need a minute,” he said.

I stood rigid in his embrace, useless, a mannequin would have been as effective. Shit, I had to do something. Slowly, ever so slowly, my hands descended. The overwhelming need to comfort him far outweighed any threat of litigation. Heat kissed the palms of my hands. He felt feverish, perspiration slickening the hard contours of his shoulders and the thick column of his neck. My hands glided over him, doing their best to soothe.

It was disturbingly nice, being needed by him, being this close to him.

“It’s okay.” My fingers threaded into his thick dark hair. So soft. No wonder they hadn’t wanted me touching him, now that I’d started, I couldn’t seem to stop. I should have been ashamed of myself, feeling the poor man up at such a time. But he’d been the one to initiate contact. He’d grabbed hold of me seeking comfort and apparently, when it came to him, I had a scary amount to give.

“What am I gonna say?” he asked, voice muffled against me. “How can I make a f*cking speech?”

“You say what she meant to you. They’ll understand.”

He snorted.

“No, really. Just talk from your heart.”

He took a shuddering breath, resting his forehead against me. “To top it off, she called.”