Nine

Reagan refused to leave the hotel room the next day until right before the show. She’d missed a band interview—she always felt like an unwanted accessory during those anyway—and she still wasn’t prepared to face the public or more precisely, the press. From her suite window, she could see the gaggle of reporters loitering around the hotel’s entrance. They’d been there over an hour. She knew they were waiting for her to leave so they could make a mockery out of her. Trey didn’t have to face them today; Sinners’ show had been canceled because Sed was making funeral arrangements for his father. And she’d told Ethan that she’d actually feel safer without her bodyguard at her side. He was still brooding over that claim.

She didn’t know what to do about any of this. Her stomach was tied into so many knots, she couldn’t eat. Her head was full of so many troubling thoughts, she couldn’t sleep. So when a knock came at the door, she jumped as if a firing squad had just pulled their triggers.

Butch’s smile of greeting was laced with worry. “How are you holding up, kiddo?”

“Not so good. Is there another way out of here?”

“We’ll leave through the parking garage. The hotel can keep the reporters off their property—which includes the garage underneath—but they can’t keep them off the sidewalk out front.”

Parking garage? Perfect. Reagan took a steadying breath and stepped out of the room. A bright flash lit up the corridor from the end of the hall.

“Get out of here,” Butch roared, pulling Reagan behind his body.

Reagan trembled behind him until she heard a commotion beyond Butch. Exodus End’s security team—which was currently short one man—hauled the protesting photographer into an elevator.

“I swear they come out of the walls,” Butch said, stepping behind Reagan and placing a steadying hand on her back to urge her into motion.

She searched the corridor for additional spectators and finding no one but two familiar faces of Exodus End’s security crew, she took a shaky step forward.

“A word of advice,” Butch said as they headed toward the stairwell.

Reagan had heard about all the advice she could handle already, but she nodded.

“Don’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how much they upset you. Pretend like they’re not there.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” she asked.

“Focus on whatever you’re doing. Be as uninteresting as possible.”

She chuckled. “Well, that last part should be easy.”

“If they do happen to catch you out and about, act like a Hollywood starlet. Like you eat up the attention. Smile and be friendly no matter how much you want to kick them all in the teeth.”

“That sounds a bit more challenging.” Or impossible.

“You’ll be fine. Just give it time. Someone more famous than you will fuck up and the paparazzi’s focus will shift to them.”

She nodded, wishing he had an exact date and time for the end of her limelight. The man was a master of scheduling. Couldn’t he just add a couple of lines to the band’s itinerary?

6:03 p.m. The press finds someone more interesting and less sensitive than Reagan Elliot to hound

6:04 p.m. Reagan stops feeling like she’s going to hurl

When Butch opened the stairwell door, a member of their security team was standing on the landing waiting for them.

“All clear?” Butch asked.

The guy nodded. “We have someone on every floor.” His dark-eyed gaze shifted toward Reagan, and she tensed, wondering what he was thinking. “Isn’t Ethan with you?” he asked, and some of the tension drained from her spine.

Butch answered for her. “We figured that since he’s part of the scandal, it’s best if she isn’t seen with him until this all blows over.”

Reagan missed Ethan’s steadying presence already, but she headed down the stairs, Butch in front of her, the other guard bringing up the rear.

“I feel like the First Lady or something,” Reagan said as she followed Butch, her boots echoing on the steps.

He didn’t speak to her until they had descended all fifteen flights and she was ushered into a waiting SUV with dark-tinted windows. The first thing she noticed was that other than Butch, who climbed in beside her, she was the vehicle’s only passenger.

“Where are the guys?” she asked as the SUV moved forward at a sedate pace. Likely so it didn’t draw attention.

“They’ll leave through the front door in a few minutes. They have a decoy with them—a woman of your approximate size and coloring with her face hidden. The hope is that the press will follow them as they take the long way to the arena and it will give us time to sneak you inside unnoticed.”

Reagan flung herself against Butch and squeezed him until her shoulders ached. “You are the absolute best.”

Patting her weakly, Butch turned to look out the window.

“Did I embarrass you, old man?” she asked, grinning as she peered up at him through her long bangs.

“You won’t think I’m the best later tonight,” he said, returning her squeeze, probably so she’d finally release him.

“What did you do?” she asked, her heart thrumming. He didn’t set up some impromptu press conference after the show, had he? She hoped he wouldn’t throw her to the wolves and let her fend for herself.

“I just think you should be prepared.”

Oh God, he had set up a press conference. Reagan started eyeing the door, wondering if she’d survive if she jumped out of a moving vehicle. “For what?”

“I’ve been helping Logan make amends with Toni all day.”

“What?” Why would he do such a thing after the hell Toni had put her through? Correction, after the hell that she’d put all the musicians in Butch’s care through.

“He’s going to patch things up with Toni after the show tonight. He had me arrange a flight and everything.”

Reagan’s fear and anxiety were instantly replaced by boiling rage. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she yelled. “How could he take that back-stabbing little bitch back?”

“Toni wasn’t the one who leaked the information to the press.”

“Of course she was. Who else had access to that information?”

“We don’t know yet, but someone took the information from her personal belongings.”

“You have proof of this?” Reagan’s outraged roar lowered at least half a decibel. She’d actually be thrilled if it turned out her friend hadn’t betrayed her trust, but she wasn’t going to buy into the idea unless she had inarguable evidence that Toni wasn’t involved.

“Logan’s talked to her, and she mentioned something about her diary being lost or stolen.”

Reagan shook her head. “So she didn’t hand secrets that could ruin my life over to the press. She just left them lying around in some diary so anyone could get their hands on the information.”

“I’m sure she’s crushed,” Butch said, and Reagan swore she saw the sparkle of a tear in his eye. “Actually, I know for a fact she was devastated.”

“You feel guilty,” Reagan said.

“I shouldn’t have told you all about the tabloid the way I did. Everyone overreacted and—”

“We did not overreact, Butch.”

“I had to literally carry her away from the bus, and I threatened to call the police on her. Have you ever seen her cry?” Butch rubbed at his throat and bit his lip.

“More times than I can count.” Toni cried over freaking dog shelter commercials. Reagan crossed her arms and jiggled her foot in annoyance. Just whose side was Butch on?

“I’ve been with this band since they were kids,” Butch said. “Every last one of them is like a son to me.”

“I know that, but Toni isn’t one of them.” And I’m not one of them either, Reagan realized.

“Logan loves her. Crazy, impulsive, never serious Logan Schmidt is in love with that sweet, naïve woman.” Butch chuckled softly. “I figured he’d be the last one of the boys to settle down, but Toni has changed him. Made him a better man. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still the same fun, adventurous, foul-mouthed, ornery little shit that he’s always been, but she makes him a better, more considerate, happier version of himself. It didn’t feel right to take that away from him.”

“You didn’t, Butch,” Reagan said. “She betrayed us. It’s her fault that she was fired, not yours.”

Butch took a deep breath. “But I honestly don’t think it is her fault. She made a mistake, but it wasn’t malicious. She didn’t mean to hurt anyone, especially not you. She really looks up to you.”

“She’s only two years younger than me,” Reagan said. “You’re making me feel old.”

“Age is just a number, Rea,” he said, cupping the back of her head and showing her a bit of that fatherly affection he showed the rest of the band. “You’re wise beyond your years, and she’s been completely sheltered.”

Reagan snorted. “That’s a fact.”

“She probably should have known better than to write personal details about her new friends in a journal.”

“Damn right she should have.”

“But remember who we’re talking about here. Did she really know better? Or had that journal been her only confidant for so long that she never considered the possible consequences of what would happen if someone besides her read it?”

Reagan groaned and poked him in the belly. “You suck,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Why do I suck?”

“Because you’re making me feel sorry for her, and I really, really need someone to direct my hatred toward right now.”

“Then direct it toward whoever took her journal and sold the info to the tabloids.”

“I would if I had any idea who it could have been.”

Butch smiled and patted her knee. “You’re a good kid.”

Reagan couldn’t help but smile back. Her own father thought she had been possessed by a demon at puberty. She needed a fatherly-type man to tell her she was a good kid every now and then.

“And you're a good person,” Reagan said. “Exodus End would be lost without you. I would be lost without you.”

“Damn straight,” he said, and his chest puffed out with pride.

The SUV pulled up to the barrier fences behind the arena. Reagan flinched away from the window when several people put their hands to the glass and tried to see inside.

“That guy right there is a total dick,” Butch said, pointing at one of their spectators. “His favorite pastime is to follow celebrities whose relationships are kind of rocky and get them arguing so he can take pictures of their fights. Relationships between celebrities are challenging enough without some shithead egging on arguments.”

Reagan shrank into her seat. “So why is he here?”

“He’s probably hoping to raise tensions between you and Trey.”

“Trey’s back at the hotel.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Butch said. “Tonight. Just know what kind of crap that guy is capable of. He’s very good at what he does. Half of the nasty shit that was publicized when Steve was going through his divorce was his doing.”

Reagan nodded, grateful that Butch was there to help her navigate the shark-infested waters.

The barrier gates were opened to allow the SUV through. The clutch of paparazzi was much smaller here than it had been in front of the hotel. Reagan hoped that meant the plan to divert them had been successful, but it would also mean that more people eager to get into her business were headed in their direction.

“Now, remember,” Butch said as the vehicle stopped feet from the back entrance. “Pretend you don’t notice them. Smile. Preferably at me or someone else you’re greeting. Don’t play the starlet right now, or they might use that as proof that you’re proud of your scandalous love life.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“No telling who they’ll accuse you of sleeping with next.”

“Probably you,” she said with a smirk.

“Maybe. But more likely Dare or Max or anyone you happen to glance at. You don’t want them to have to deal with this shit too, do you?”

“No,” she said. “So act like I’m not bothered that they’re all a bunch of nosy jack-ass-lanterns and pretend I hope they forgive me for living my life as my own. Got it.”

Butch grinned and shook his head. “No need to be a smart ass. You have five steps to get to the door. Use them wisely.”

Oh yeah, great. No pressure there.

Butch opened the door and even though the congregated press—or whatever they were calling themselves these days—was standing yards away behind the barrier fence manned by the surliest-looking members of Exodus End’s team, Reagan could still hear them yelling their ridiculous questions at her.

“Reagan. Reagan! Does Trey realize that you’ve had sexual relations with his brother?”

She’d slept with Dare? When had that happened? She was pretty sure she would have remembered that.

“Is it true that all your live performances are actually recorded and you’re just pretending to play?”

Did she look like Milli Vanilli? Better invest in some dreadlocks and bicycle pants to wear with her combat boots to complete her farce of a career.

“Pyre Vamp of Hell’s Crypt says you cheated to win Exodus End’s Guitarist for a Year Contest and that he should have won. Do you have a comment?”

Reagan stopped one step from the door and spun toward the crowd, her eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, I have a comment for Pyre Vamp,” she yelled. “He can go fuck himself! And you all can go fuck yourselves too.”

Butch shoved Reagan through the open door and marched in after her.

“What are you doing?” Butch yelled at her.

She was too pissed to shrink away from his rage. She stood up straighter and stood on tiptoe so she could get in his face.

 “Do I need to remind you what that Pyre asshole did to me?” She traced an imaginary line around her throat where the bruise he’d left there with a guitar string had once been. “He tried to fucking kill me because he was jealous that I beat him. And now he’s telling the press that he won and that I cheated. There is absolutely no truth to that.”

“There’s no truth to any of those questions they were asking you. Unless you did sleep with Dare . . .” Butch raised both hands. “It’s none of my business—”

“Of course I didn’t sleep with Dare!”

“So why are you pissed about one lie but not another?”

“Because,” she said. “Because I allowed Sam Baily to snow me into letting Vamp get away with hurting me, with almost killing me, and I’m tired of taking shit and not standing up for myself.”

“Okay, cool,” Butch said, taking her by the arm and walking her quickly toward her private dressing room. She didn’t understand why until she noticed several members of the press were inside the building and writing down everything she said. Once they were inside the room and the door was securely shut behind them, he resumed talking.

“I’m not sure Baily’s decision on that issue was wise, but now is not time to dig up another scandal. Don’t you have enough to worry about?”

“If they focused on that talentless hack and the truth about what he did to me, they’d have someone else to harass.”

“Depends on which story sells more papers. What do you think people will want to read about, an unattractive failed guitarist’s hurt over not getting the chance to realize his dream, resulting in your long-gone neck bruise, or a very attractive rising-star guitarist who’s sleeping with Sinners’ ornery, much-adored guitarist and her dark, mysterious bodyguard?”

She hated that Butch was right. It made her want to kick him. She flopped herself into a chair instead and tried to scowl a hole through his head.

The walkie-talkie on Butch’s belt screeched, and he answered the summons. “Yeah?” He sounded almost as pissy as she felt. She supposed dealing with all this bullshit was trying for him as well.

“The guys are here.” A somewhat familiar voice came out of Butch’s handset. “Do you want them to come directly inside or talk to the press?”

“Give Max five minutes to sweet-talk the press,” Butch responded, “but send the rest of them in.”

Reagan’s jaw hardened. “Why does he get to say whatever he wants to the press?”

“If you want me to throw you outside and let you fend for yourself, I will,” he snapped at her.

She was half tempted to take him up on the offer, but she crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her glare of death to the floor.

“Max knows how to work a crowd, Reagan. He’s better at it than anyone. He’ll keep his head no matter what they ask, and he’ll charm them all. It’s what he does. When you get to his level of finesse, you can speak to the press, but until then—”

“Keep my mouth shut.”

“Please,” Butch said with a relieved sigh as he rubbed at his eye.

“Fine. But can I hang out with the guys until the show? I don’t want to sit here by myself for hours.”

Trey and Ethan usually kept her occupied before a show, but since they were both absent, she knew she’d go mad if she were left to dwell on all the bullshit she was forced to endure.

“I’ll ask them.” Butch let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him.

He’d ask them? What did he mean he’d ask them? Wasn’t she part of the band too? She’d always assumed she got her own dressing room because she was female, but maybe it was because she was an outsider. She was feeling supremely depressed about her lot in life when the dressing room door opened and Steve bustled into the room.

“Jesus, it’s a paparazzi circus out there,” he said. “It wasn’t even this bad when they were hounding me through my divorce.”

“That’s because your divorce wasn’t news to anyone.” Logan said, following Steve. “It was bound to happen.” He sidestepped to avoid the fist Steve swung in his direction.

Dare brought up the rear and closed the door behind him. He crossed the room and squatted in front of Reagan’s chair, taking her hands in his and staring up into her face. “How are you holding up?”

She meant to yell about the injustice of it all, but somehow ended up crying instead. As an only child, she’d never had a big brother’s shoulder to cry on. She hoped Trey didn’t mind that she used his.

“Toni feels so guilty about what happened,” Logan said. “Even though she didn’t do anything.”

Reagan sniffed her nose and pulled away from Dare so she could wipe at her eyes. She’d always dealt better with anger than self-pity. If she felt sorry for herself, she ended up taking no action. If she was angry, she went after the root of the cause. And she had every intention of going after the son of a bitch responsible for this mess. “She should feel guilty.”

“I guarantee she didn’t sell those stories, Reagan. If she did, I’ll serve you my left nut on a platter.”

Reagan laughed and shook her head at him. “Your left nut? Why the left one?”

Logan’s blue eyes twinkled as he grinned at her. “It’s my favorite.”

“I don’t want to know why,” Reagan said, waving her hands. She shifted her attention to Dare, who was still watching her with concern and holding her upper arms. Did he realize how much strength that leant her? “Thanks for the shoulder.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “How’s Trey?”

“He’s fine,” she said. “It’s kind of annoying how fine he is about all this.”

Dare chuckled. “He’s only happy when he’s being himself. I’ve been reminding him of that fact for years. To think, my advice finally sank in. Now if the two loves of his life would figure out how to do the same.”

Dare’s stare made Reagan feel like she was about five years old, had been disobedient, and needed to stand in a corner to contemplate her wrongs.

She squirmed and scowled at him, but she wasn’t really cross. Deep down she knew he was right, but following his advice was hard. Part of her still wanted to be normal—whatever that was—and love only one man, but her heart refused to cooperate. And her body didn’t want that outcome either. Dare ruffled her hair and straightened from his crouched position.

Max entered the dressing room and shut the door against the din of loud conversations in the hall. “I don’t know why I always get stuck talking to those fuckwads.”

“Takes one to know one,” Steve said, helping himself to the snacks that had been set out for Reagan. She noticed that the bouquets of flowers and gifts that usually filled her dressing room before a gig were missing. It hadn’t taken long for her admirers to turn their backs on her.

“So what did you say?” Logan asked.

Max grinned. “I used the answer-their-questions-with-more-questions technique. It always confuses them.”

Reagan perked up. She needed to learn how to talk to the press without telling them to go fuck themselves. “How does that work?”

Max sank onto the sofa and stretched his arms over his head, giving Reagan a lovely view of his toned and tattooed abdominals.

“Uh . . .” His hazel gaze met hers. “Do you really want to know?”

She nodded. “Teach me, master.”

Max smiled, nearly knocking her out of her chair with his natural charm. He didn’t smile all that often, which was probably a good thing. Women might walk into traffic or tumble down stairs while distracted by it.

“Okay, so for example, when they ask is Logan really the biggest pussy who ever cried into his pillow over his mommy . . .”

“Hey!” Logan threw a cashew at Max, who tilted his head so that it missed its mark.

“. . . I say, are you speaking of an actual domesticated feline or are you insinuating that Logan commonly displays characteristics that are more befitting a cantankerous toddler?”

“Hey!” Logan turned to Steve. “That was an insult, right?”

“He said, so you want to know if Logan is a regular pussy or a giant pussy?” Steve opened his arms as wide as they’d stretch. “I’d go with about this big.”

Steve’s stretch left his gut wide open for Logan’s elbow.

Reagan laughed. “That’s so mean.”

“Don’t worry,” Max said. “I didn’t answer any of their questions. They probably won’t figure it out until they’re going over their notes to write their articles.”

“What did they ask about me?” Reagan leaned forward in her chair and rested her elbows on her knees. Whatever he responded, she could handle it. She hoped.

Max’s smile faded. “They were more interested in my involvement with Vic,” he said, his gaze flicking to Dare.

Dare turned away and crossed to the mini-fridge in the corner. “Where’s the scotch?” he asked. He pulled out one of Reagan’s favorite strawberry wine coolers. “Do you really drink this shit?”

“They’re good,” she said. “Get out of my fridge.” She didn’t drink wine coolers on the bus, because she’d known the guys would tease her about her girly beverage of choice, but she’d thought her secret would be safe in her private dressing room.

Her fault for telling Butch she didn’t want to be alone.

The door opened again, and Reagan expected to see Butch, but it was the band’s manager, Sam Baily, who entered the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing to gawk at him.