31. Kelsey
Kelsey
Sitting on the stage, legs dangling over the edge, I savor the emptiness of the huge arena. The guys and Coffey are doing one last inspection of the stage set up. Occasionally their voices and laughter interrupt the quiet and bounce off the thousands of empty seats.
Sound check will start soon. They’ll sing a song that is for them alone. It could be one of theirs, or one they love, or some silly ditty Riot comes up with on the spot.
A few hours from now the place will start to fill. There are already people lined up outside. They’ll cram into the space in front of the stage first, the nosebleeds will fill later.
The noise level will rise, but it will also soften into a comfortable buzz. All those bodies absorbing the sound. And then Riot will approach the microphone, and the anticipation of the fans will turn silence into a living, breathing energy.
But this is the moment, when it’s just us, the guys, security, roadies, and me... that I always appreciated the most. The excitement of my guys over what they were creating. The intimacy of it.
Riot takes a seat next to me on the stage. He shoves up the sleeves on his bomber jacket and does something on his phone without saying a word.
I inch over enough to keep a gap between us.
Despite what happened between us early this morning, or maybe because of it, we will never be friends again.
And the softness he is exhibiting toward me—the guilt—isn’t going to change that.
There is nothing he could say or do to change that at this point.
It hurts my heart to be so certain. Hating him and having him hate me back is easier than whatever this is.
“Neil should have been here for this,” he says. “He was supposed to be here.”
Loss is a never-ending ebb and flow. Missing Neil breaks open the carefully constructed damn inside me.
Wetness pricks my eyes and makes me need to swallow.
If I hadn’t left, would I have been able to protect him?
Would things have been different? “Things didn’t work out the way we thought they would. ”
“Nothing turned out how it was meant to. Not with Neil. And not with us.”
We fall into silence. It’s easier than talking when all we do is fight.
Riot exhales and his shoulders roll forward. “Is Marco... did he—”
Rook and Jasper escort a gorgeous black man toward us. Behind him is a whole entourage of beautiful people carrying make up cases and hair products. At the back two women roll a rack full of clothes between them.
“Kelsey Peterson?” The stylist looks up at me.
“That’s me.” I wave at him before turning to Riot. “You said hair.”
He shrugs. “I’ve been an asshole to you. The least I can do is this.”
“It doesn’t change anything.” He must realize that.
He puts his feet on the stage and then gets up in one fluid movement. “If you’re going to try and hide behind dyed hair, you’re going to need a whole new look, right?”
“Fine.” He has a point.
“Sound check,” he says and the other guys move to their positions to start the process while the stylist, his entourage, and I follow Jasper to another part of the arena.
Rook heads off to hold a meeting with the rest of security about the conversation I had with the guys earlier.
The room we end up in becomes a hive of activity while the stylist barks orders and his entourage set up the space with a portable massage table and a place to do my hair.
I have the sudden need to sit down. Or to get out of here.
Riot did all this for me. Do I want that to mean something? Or is this emptiness I’m feeling because I know I would have forgiven him two years ago if he had fought for us?
He didn’t though. And I’ve lost too much. Hurt too hard. I can’t forgive him now. I can’t even forgive myself.
“Come. Sit.” The stylist pats the back of the chair in front of him.
I do as I’m told and he lifts the almost white tresses at the sides and piles them on top of my head before letting them slink down on their own.
He purses his lips. “Oh, non non, mon amie. C’est très tragique. Did you do this yourself?”
“It isn’t obvious?” I grin awkwardly at him.
He arches a perfect eyebrow. “Oh, it is. You should not look this pleased with yourself. C’est merde. Your poor hair. It’s ruined.”
“That bad, huh?” I make a face at Jasper who very patiently has taken up sentry in a seat near the door to the room after collecting everyone’s cell phone.
It’s strange hiding out on a tour with the hottest band on the planet. On the one hand there’s almost no chance I’m not going to be noticed. On the other their security team is equipped to handle situations like stalking, bugged hotel rooms, bomb threats, and personal attacks.
“It’s pretty bad.” Jasper gives me an apologetic look.
The stylist laughs. “Don’t worry, mon amie. We can fix this. Shall we consider colors that will better suit you?”
“Practically anything,” I quip.
“A rich dark chocolate,” he suggests my natural color. “Or... a plum.”
“I want something less my normal.” I might not need to hide inside a disguise since I have a whole security team ready to make sure Marco can’t get his hands on me. But a change would still be good, and perhaps those fans who would notice me as Riot’s ex might not be so quick to recognize me.
“Cherry.” His keen gaze lights up. “Maraschino cherry. Such a bright beautiful color with dirty roots.”
Golden enters the room. He comes over to where we are and pulls a second chair up next to mine. “Dirty Cherry. That sounds like you.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” I look at both men, lightness bubbling up in my chest that I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Très magnifique,” the stylist gestures a chef’s kiss. “Let me prepare.”
He leaves me and Golden to whip up the product he’ll need.
“You’re always smoking hot, Special K, but as a redhead? Are you trying to get me into trouble? I love a foxy redhead.”
“You also love a blonde. And a brunette.” I shove at his chest playfully. “And every color in between.”
He grins at me. Catches my hand and holds it to his chest. “I’d give them all up for you.”
“You would not.” I roll my gaze at him. “I love you, but you’re a total man whore.”
“Pity,” he says.
“Go sweettalk yourself into a facial while I get my hair done,” I tell him. “That’s why you’re in here.”
He stands and kisses my temple. “You would be the one woman that would be worth giving up every other woman on the planet.”
These L.A. Riot guys... these guys of mine... we were all close before I left. Except for Kodiak of course. But now Kodiak is one of my boys too. I’m going to miss them when the tour is over and it’s time to leave all over again.
Golden gets his facial and a phone number from one of the women while the stylist applies color to my strands. He leaves glowing and with a wink in my direction once I have a headful of tin foil.
Only to be replaced by Bronx who hovers over me during the processing and while the foil is removed, the dye is rinsed, and a treatment is added. He watches each step like he is enthralled, shifting from foot to foot like he’s as nervous about this change as I am.
He licks his lips when the color is fully revealed. “Fuck Riot, and his orders. If he expects me to stay away... he didn’t bet on how sexy you would be as a redhead. Spend the night in my bed?”
His gaze tells me he means it. The buzz between my thighs tells me I like the way him wanting me makes me feel. Just like it does with Kodiak. And Golden.
But it’s the way I look at the doorway to see if Riot is about to burst in and catch us talking about it that tells me I’m truly messed up. I want all of them. And I want him to be part of it. And after, I want him to fight for me the way I needed him to.
In a way that will never happen.
And if it did... I would still be leaving at the end of this. Because it wouldn’t be enough. It could never be enough to undo what’s been done.
I put my hands on Bronx’s shoulders and brush my lips against his cheek. “How can that be a good idea?”
“You’re probably right.” His hands squeeze my hips. “It isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop thinking about it.”
“Thinking about what?” It must be Kodiak’s turn to sit with me because he strides across the room to join us.
Is Riot sending them to keep me company? Does that mean he’ll be here soon?
“How fucking sexy Kels is as a redhead,” Bronx tells him loud enough for everyone to hear that he likes my new look. But then his voice lowers so only the three of us can hear. “How much I want her in my bed tonight. The rest of you fuckers can listen to her as I get her off.”
I shake my head. “As appealing as that sounds...”
Suddenly I am between two hard bodies. Kodiak lowers his face close to my shoulder. “Or we could show you a real good time, Scary Girl. All you have to do is tell us exactly what you want?”
The haze of lust that runs through me soaks my panties. Bronx’s pupils dilate; his lids grow heavy.
“Both of you get the fuck out,” Riot growls from the doorway. He’s holding a paper bag in one hand and a tray with two giant takeaway cups in the other. His gaze steadies on me. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“Oh, she’s hungry.” Bronx smirks playfully at me, his words meant only for me though Kodiak can probably hear him.
Riot scans the room for a place to put our food amongst all the hair and skin products, the makeup, and everything else the stylist and his entourage brought with them.
He finds a spot on a low side table next to the leather couch where the stylist’s personal assistant is working on her laptop and making the phone calls necessary to reorganize his whole week in order to dedicate the entirety of today to my appearance. “What was that, Bronx?”
“Nothing,” Bronx says.
Riot swaggers over like he doesn’t have a care. His gaze runs the length of my body, briefly pausing on the tight points my nipples are making in my shirt before moving to the apex of my thighs. “You are so much trouble, Little Vandal.”