Page 47 of Wicked Destiny

“Yep.” I don’t feel bad. Even when we party, I’m always the responsible one. I deserved a little indulgence for a change.

My smile must have split my cheeks because Connor stares at me, fascinated. “Aye, so it was good?”

“Yep.” I’m not about to give details; I don’t work that way. Even for Connor.

He gives me a quick nod before sighing loudly. We haven’t had much one on one time in Europe, mainly because I’m buried in my laptop most of the time. A myriad of expressions cross his face from confused to thoughtful to sad.

He hangs his head. “So, em. Jen’s been avoiding my calls for the past week.”

“What?” This is disturbing news. “I’m sorry to hear. Should I call her?”

Connor seems reticent. “Nah. Don’t even try, Jace. Even for me and your sister, it’s impossible to keep a relationship going on a schedule like we have. I know I’m losing her, and the funny thing is? I don’t blame her.”

“You’re not going to quit, are you?” I’m alarmed.

“No.” Connor looks me in the eye. “I’m where I belong.”

And so it continued for the next few months.

We made it through Budapest, Serbia, Denmark, Belgium, and Portugal and were going to close out our tour with the Reading and Boomtown festivals in the UK, a week off in London, six weeks of club dates across Europe again followed by Oktoberfest in Munich.

Since I have to be in New York for the Vanity Fair shoot, we added a secret club show and a few dates across country to bring us and our gear back to Seattle for a private Mission show.

Management is taking mercy on us and letting us have a few days off at Christmas before we jet off for five months in Australia, New Zealand, and Asia after New Year’s.

I can’t wait for a break. Touring for this many months has gotten old. Aside from the shows and fans, it’s not fun anymore. We’re bickering, exhausted, and cranky. Ty refuses to do any press or VIP activities. Zane barely lets him out of his sight. Nearly every other day, Connor and Jen have heated FaceTime fights in the close quarters of the tour bus.

Because I rarely let my emotions get the best of me, being surrounded by so much drama and tension is annoying. I usually bury myself in social, determined to make up for the weird energy in the band with cool posts of us in cities we visit. It’s working; our reach grows by hundreds of thousands of followers each week.

I find myself counting down the days to New York. I’m no longer denying I have a huge crush on Alex, the likes of which I’ve never experienced before. Certainly not with Cassie or any other hookup over the years. I can’t bear to look at another woman let alone hook up with one. Not since Barcelona. I have no interest.

No one compares to my Poppy, the feisty, funny adventuress.

We text several times a week. She loves Ibiza and the horse rescue she works at. I have dozens of photos of Alex with the various horses she’s rehabilitating. I’m not a horse guy, but the vision of her sitting astride a black steed with her head thrown back in utter glee, honey locks blowing in the wind, is breathtaking.

It’s like catching a glimpse of the true Alex deep down to her soul.

My communication with her is the highlight of my day and a welcome respite from our internal band drama. I invited her to our final show. She can’t make it. My heart is heavy. Disappointed. I can’t argue with money, though. She’s getting paid a small fortune to make an appearance somewhere in Germany.

So, it’s our final gig tonight. Reading. Limelight’s on the bill, they go on right after our set.

We’re all bracing for the inevitable confrontation between Ty and Carter, which can’t be avoided anymore. By the time we roll onto the grounds of the festival, I’m sick from the stress of it all. The only thing keeping me sane is the promise of seeing Alex in New York for the Vanity Fair photo shoot.

Despite all the bullshit, we kill the live show. I mean kill. It’s game-changing. Ty is the best I’ve ever seen him, but so are the rest of us. Most of the Limelight guys stand at the side of the stage cheering us on, clearly proud of how we’ve evolved, but completely unaware of the storm clouds afoot. The second we finish our set, Ty storms off the stage like thunder past Carter toward the dressing room, without any acknowledgment whatsoever.

Connor and I stopped for a minute to speak to other guys in the band, after all, they’ve supported us for years and aren’t to blame for what’s going down. Carter leans against a massive wall of speakers while the set change goes on round us. His head is buried in his hands as Zane fills him in.

None of us except Zane watch Limelight’s set because we stay in our dressing room in solidarity with Ty. When the last notes of the encore fade into nothing, the energy in the room becomes super-charged with tension. Any second, Zane is bringing Carter to face us.

Ready for a confrontation, Ty slouches on the couch. His arms are crossed over his vintage Alice in Chains T-shirt. His eyes closed and his mouth is set in a grim line. It’s almost like he’s meditating.

A few minutes later, we hear footsteps approach. Zane opens the door and Carter follows him in, drenched in sweat. Our mentor drags a folding chair over to Ty and he sits in front of him. Ty refuses to make eye contact.

Carter looks around at the rest of us. “Guys, could you give us a minute?”

“No,” Ty says definitively, his jaw set. “They stay.”

Carter sighs with resignation. “Okay.”