Page 50 of Layla

“What the fuck else is new?”

He chuckles. “On the road with a famous actress, eh?”

I grit my teeth, not at all surprised my dad got the details wrong. And I know exactly how the truth is going to go over. “I’m actually working for a rock band.”

Tim does not disappoint. He laughs for a solid minute, barely able to draw breath. “Shit, man,” he finally wheezes. “Arockband?You? Do they know you think Kenny G is the height of musical sophistication?”

“Fuck off,” I growl, and he laughs some more.

“So, how’s it going? You must be seeing a lot of the country.”

“I’m seeing a lot of shitty concert venues,” I mutter.

“Sounds glamourous.” He laughs some more. “You can tell me all about it over an early dinner. I figure if we’re actually in the same city for once I may as well see your ugly face.”

“Well with an invitation like that,” I say, chuckling. Just then, I hear the unmistakable sound of the band leaving the stage—they always argue after sound check, usually James and whoever feels like hassling him over the set list. James takes the set list very seriously—and the rest of them just seem to enjoy messing with him.

Once again, Layla ignores me as she passes, and my stomach gives a painful twist.

It takes a minute to realize Tim is trying to get my attention. “Johnny? You think the rich and famous can spare you for a few hours?”

I think about the pointed way Layla avoided my gaze just now. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Getting the hell out of here actually sounds really fucking good right now.”

Tim is quiet on the other end of the line for a moment. “Hey, man,” he finally says. “You doing okay?”

I don’t like the tone of his voice at all. “I’m fine.”

He snorts. “Well that’s some bullshit if I ever heard it.” A pause. “Nightmares bad?”

I know I shouldn’t let those words get to me. If anyone in the world understands about my nightmares, it’s Tim Fulton. But his words still set my teeth on edge. “Said I’m fine.”

“Uh, huh.” He obviously doesn’t believe me. “Well, that’s cool. We can talk about it over lunch.”

“And just like that, I think I suddenly became busy for the rest of the day.”

He laughs. “You’re such an asshole. Text me the address of the venue and I’ll head that way.”

“Okay.” It will be good to see Tim, even if he does hassle me about PTSD bullshit. “But you’re buying, Mr. Money’s Good Property Developer.”

* * *

In the twentyminutes it takes Tim to show up, I change my mind about going at least a half dozen times. The band is staying at the venue until the concert so it’s actually a good time for me to take a break. There’s not a lot for security to do when they’re just hanging out in the dressing room.

Still, the idea of leaving Layla here, relying on someone else to protect her, it doesn’t sit well with me.

My walkie beeps in my pocket and I pull it out. “Whitmore,” I mutter.

“John you have a guest at the front door,” Logan, one of the newer guards says. In the background I can hear Tim muttering something. I’m pretty sure I hear the words “thinks he’s so important.”

“Check his ID and have someone walk him back.” Never let it be said that I’m someone to break security rules for a friend. Besides, it will probably tick him off and that’s always a good thing.

A few minutes later Tim comes stomping down the hall towards me, Eddie behind him. “You seriously had me escorted into the building?”

I smirk. “Can never be too careful.”

He shakes his head, but there’s an amused twinkle in his eye and he steps forward to pull me into a hug. Not one of those lame guy back-slap hugs—Tim goes in for the real deal. “Good to see ya,” he mutters against my shoulder.

“You too.”