Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(49)

Simon waved him ahead. “I’m just gonna lay here and die. Nick can sing.”

Deacon jogged over to where he was on the ground and ran circles around him. “You said you wanted to do this.”

“Changed my mind.” He pressed a hand to his sweat-slick belly. “You’re a sadist.”

“We’ve only done two miles.”

Simon rolled onto his belly and buried his head in his stacked arms. “I’m good.”

“You’re going to cramp.”

Simon lifted his foot and grabbed his sneaker to stretch out the back of his legs. “There.”

“Don’t come crying to me,” Deacon said and jogged back to the path.

“Oh, I won’t,” Simon said more to himself than anything since Deacon was already gone.

Saratoga State Park butted up to the parking lot of the Saratoga Performing Arts Center and Deacon had found every damn path there was.

Just because Deacon felt the need to abuse his body with five to ten miles of running a day did not mean Simon did. Sure, he needed the cardio, but two f*cking miles was more than anyone needed.

Add that in with the resistance training Deacon was forcing on all of them, and Simon was ready to kill him. If only the bastard wasn’t so big, or so fast.

Day one of the rehearsals had gone well. They had most of stage set up and the soundboard was a dream. Nick, Gray, and Deacon still had hard-ons from that little tour.

Jazz and Harper were talking babies twenty-four-seven and he was fairly sure there would be a pair of really good wireless noise-canceling earbuds in his future.

All he needed to do was nod and smile, anyway. He might as well listen to good tunes while he was doing it.

“Fucking baby fever.” Simon pushed himself up off the grass and stood. It was going to be a damn long walk back to the venue.

Or, he could run.

Because he was alone, he let himself whine a little before he picked up the pace. It was a gorgeous late May day. He brushed off the stray bits of grass from his chest and waved at the two girls playing golf.

He grinned when one completely missed her ball before twisting around to watch him run by. Okay, so the workouts for the last few weeks weren’t all of the suck. He’d never work out like Deacon, but he had to admit he liked the six-pack he had going.

He was prone to skinny and only ripped because he was usually climbing on something. But he’d always been the skinny kind of ripped. Thanks to Deacon, he had a little more meat on his arms and shoulders.

And the fact that their bassist wouldn’t let him sleep in anymore. Which sucked. But Simon needed to be in fighting shape for this tour. They weren’t just doing a forty-five minute opening act anymore. The current setlist was reaching for two hours.

Slowing to a jog, Simon resisted the urge to grab his knees and pant like the bitch he was. He’d wait to do that on his bunk in the bus.

In privacy.

Where he could cry.

He didn’t even know the name of the muscles that hurt. All of them?

He slowed to a walk as the huge gold and black bus came into view. “Home sweet home,” he panted and grabbed the handle for the door.

He landed facedown on the loveseat at the front of the bus.

“You are a schmuck.”

“Fuck off, Nicky.”

The offending * dropped onto the longer couch next to him. “You’re the one who decided it was a good idea to go running with marathon man.”

“You did it yesterday.”

“Yeah. But so did you. No need to run every day, idiot.”

Actually, he did need to. Running on that stage and singing was going to kill him if he didn’t find some way to train. Deacon had warned him earlier, but he’d never been the type that needed to exercise. When he was a kid, food wasn’t exactly a commodity in his house.

He’d learned to go without a long time ago.

Nick moved over. “You smell like a f*cking vodka bottle.”

“Sweating out my sins, my friend.”

“Lots of sins.”

Simon grinned unrepentantly. “I believe you tried to hang with me last night, buddy boy. You didn’t make it to midnight.”

“That’s because you’re pickled.” Nick rose and grabbed two bottles of water out of the fridge. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Simon took one and sucked it down. He rose to refill it from the filtered tap on the front of the fridge. The cold water felt awesome on his abused throat.

Landing facefirst in the grass wasn’t his best move. He didn’t have allergies like some people did, but he was a cement jungle guy—grass wasn’t one of the staples in his life. The back of his throat was tickling like crazy.

“Lila’s here with Donovan.”

“Oh yeah?” Simon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did he see our sweet setup yet?”

“She’s showing him around now. She wants us to meet her down there in an hour.”

“Cool.” He moved to the back of the bus for a shower. Now that it was just him and Nick on the bus, it was a helluva lot easier to take a shower. And the upgrade of the bus meant it didn’t stink like chemicals.

He washed up and stepped into a pair of faded jeans. And because the big boss man of the label was there, he tugged on a Rebel Rage t-shirt instead of one with rude sayings.