Page 41 of Butterfly
“You must be Shiloh.”
My eyes narrow.
“Yeah, I am.” And when I take a step closer to Donovan, he looks between us with a grin.
“I’m Jude. Donovan’s friend.” The heavy emphasis on the wordfriendmakes me realize that I might not be quite as subtle in my irritation as I think I am. At leastJudeis the only one who notices. Donovan slips his arm around me and hugs me against his side like he missed me in the few seconds he had to peel himself off to hug Jude back, and it makes some of the anger slowly spill out of me. “I’m glad you two could make it. Sorry you have to hide backstage. But at least you’ll have a good view.”
The more I look at Jude, the more I can see the way he’s putting on a sunshine smile, but there’s something empty behind his dark eyes.
Not empty.
Broken? He looks like artwork that wasn’t properly stored—beautiful and vibrant but peeling at the edges.
There’s something wrong with the man standing in front of me. I tilt my head, examining him as he shifts back and forth like he wants to say something, but he has to work up the momentum to get the words out.
And like Donovan can read him, he speaks in a softer voice.
“He’s not here, Jude. It’s fine.”
All that momentum deflates like a punctured balloon, and the fake smile Jude is wearing cranks up higher. “Right, of course not. Why would Oakley be here? You know, he’s never been to one of my concerts? He probably really does think I only play in garages on the weekend.”
Donovan opens his mouth like he wants to say something before snapping it shut so hard I hear his teeth click.
“I’ve been to so many of his games since we were kids, but…” Jude trails off, shaking his head. He turns those eyes back to me, and a little warmth that seems genuine spills into his expression. “I’m glad you’re both here.”
Maybe I don’t have to peel his tattoos off after all. Judging by the pain that was in his voice just a second ago, it sounds like he’s pretty much doing it to himself anyway.
I can tell that whatever this tension is doesn’t sit well with Donovan. His fingers slip along my back like he’s trying to find an anchor, settling when he takes my hand. “Jude, you know?—”
A sudden flash of light makes him pause.
“Cameras.” Jude frowns. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no one posts anything of you two. There’s always an NDA to sign somewhere if you’re getting backstage.”
NDAs and flashing lights. Right.
“I keep forgetting how famous he is.” I’m aware it might be offensive, since Donovan’s entire life seems to be centered around hockey. It apparently isn’t, since he gives me what I can only describe as heart eyes, and Jude actually laughs.
“Good. Yeah, he’s fucking talented, but he’s also one of the best people I know.” He leans in, poking Donovan on the chest. “You deserve to be happy, Donny. I feel like you waited around long enough to figure that out.” His dark eyes flick in my direction, and he looks me up and down one more time.
“I’m always happy,” Donovan answers, his voice a little too bright and bubbly.
“No, you’re always cheery to make sure other people are comfortable. There’s a difference. Now…” Jude gestures to our joined fingers. “Now you actually look happy. Good for you, Donovan.”
Before the man holding my hand can protest, Jude takes a step back with a grin, throwing his arms wide. “Now… let me go entertain my garage, right?”
He gestures behind us to the stadium that could easily hold more people than I’ve ever seen in one place, and from the sound of it, it’s filling up.
Oakley kind of sounds like an asshole.
“Knock ’em dead, Jude.” As he says it, Donovan pulls me closer, and I feel that strange warmth that I’m starting to get addicted to spill along my skin and sink into the hollow of my chest.
More lights flash as Jude steps out onto the stage with one more grin tossed over his shoulder in Donovan’s direction, and the entire stadium erupts into cheers and then music.
Yeah, Oakley is definitely an asshole… because I don’t know much about anything, but even I can tell Jude and his band Dragonfly are…
They’re something special.
Even with all that—the music blaring and Jude pouring his soul out into his music—I can’t help but look up at Donovan. He’s watching the stage with pride written clearly across his face. Warmth…
