Chapter 3
Angus
I wake up with a raging hard-on and the hangover from hell.
Christ.
I don’t know why I let the guys talk me into shit, but we have today off so at least I can sleep it off on the bus. We didn’t get to bed until dawn, but I need to take a quick shower before we leave for the next city. It’s a short drive so maybe I can take a nap when we get to the hotel, and I’ll wake up somewhat refreshed. We don’t have to be on the road until noon so it shouldn’t be too bad.
I turn the water on as cold as I can stand, and let it run over me.
Despite paying for it today, last night was fun.
I’m thirty-two now, so while I don’t consider myself old, I’m not twenty anymore. Staying up all night drinking is hard on my body, and I have to be in top condition to play drums the way I do for forty or fifty minutes every other day. Sometimes two or three days in a row. I have to sleep, stretch, work out, and stay hydrated.
Last night was pretty much the opposite of that.
And dealing with Callum Yates is never fun.
We have a history.
I unknowingly slept with his girlfriend.
Her body was covered in bruises, and she’d later admitted she just wanted someone to make her feel good without hurting her.
Frankly, knowing what I know now, I have zero regrets.
I made an enemy out of Callum, though.
Luckily, he doesn’t scare me.
I don’t understand how beautiful women keep falling into bed with him, but that’s not my problem.
I do have a problem with Ryleigh, though.
Not just because our management team embedded a journalist without even talking to us ahead of time, but because she’s hot. And smart.
That’s a dangerous combination for me.
Add in the fact that she’s a journalist?
A guy with secrets could be fucked.
And I’m a guy with one fairly big secret.
There’s a reason I legally changed my name when I turned twenty-one.
Frankly, there are a lot of reasons.
Ironically, it’s been eleven years, and my family still doesn’t know my name change was legal, and that Angus Jeffries isn’t just a stage name.
I was born August Michael Gregory Hollingsworth, III but changed my name to Angus Jeffries because I love Angus Young from the classic rock band AC/DC, and because Jeffries is also Tate’s last name. He and I are close, so it was a kind of rock and roll brothers type thing.
The Hollingsworth family is notorious for long, memorable—though I’m not sure to whom—names. And first-born sons like me are practically royalty.
Which is why I keep my identity hidden from almost everyone and work hard to stay under the radar when I’m forced to spend time with my family. People hate them and what they represent. As the CEO and members of the board of a huge pharmaceutical company that’s made billions, they get the worst press, and we deserve it.
If that got out, it could absolutely impact the band and our music.
And I love my band.
The music, the friendship, the musical dynasty we’re trying to build.
But mostly the guys.
They might not know who I really am, but they get me. We’re a unit, friends, bandmates—practically brothers. We’ve been through a lot the last two years and despite my secrecy, I would never do anything that might blow back on them.
And frankly, being a Hollingsworth has been more of a curse than a blessing so far in my life. From my high school hockey team to my place at Harvard, everyone watched carefully.
To see if I would succeed.
To gloat if I didn’t.
To determine if I was as smart as everyone said I was.
To discern whether or not I was worthy of taking over for my father and grandfather someday.
To see if the women I dated were the right kind of women for a man of my status.
But more than that, they watched to see if I would fail.
A bad grade on a test?
Fiasco.
Couldn’t score for the team?
Loser.
Girl broke up with me?
Not a good guy.
So I walked away.
Except my maternal grandmother didn’t give a shit about what the rest of the family wanted for me—she wanted me to be happy. And rich. I got access to my first trust fund when I turned twenty-five, and believe it or not, you can live pretty damn well with ten million in the bank.
I feel a slight pulsing behind my eyes, reminding me that last night’s shenanigans are catching up to me.
Time for a gallon of water, breakfast, and a nap.
Tonight, I’m absolutely hiding in my hotel room with a book.
No parties, no hanging out, and definitely no lusting after a nosy redhead.
* * *
The rest of the band looks just as hungover as I am, so the ride to Milwaukee is quiet. I sleep for a while but wake up about an hour from Milwaukee. Everyone else is still asleep and I look around, taking it all in.
We’re traveling by bus on this tour, in a convoy with Nobody’s Fool’s bus. They’re big and roomy, so it’s not like we’re slumming it, but there isn’t a lot of room to stretch out. We all have bunks, but they’re smaller than a twin-size bed so it’s not the most comfortable way to rest after a show. We don’t sleep on the bus often, though. That’s Nobody’s Fool’s rule, and I’m grateful for it.
Usually, we sleep in hotels and then travel to the next city the following day. The semis with all our equipment leave right after each show because it takes them longer and also because they sometimes need hours to set up before we get there.
The crew definitely works harder than we do in that regard.
But we do what we can to take care of them.
My drum tech, Bobby, has been with me a long time.
We met in college, became friends, and he wanted to tag along on my rock and roll journey. He got a job working for Pretty Harts on their final tour before Casey married a European king and went from rock and roll queen to actual royalty. We lost touch for a while, but when things got serious with Crimson Edge, I reached out and asked him to come work for me.
He knows my real identity, of course, but he has no interest in outing me since I supplement his income. He was making a ton more than he makes working for Crimson Edge, but I take care of him. In turn, he takes care of me, both personally and professionally.
“Where are we?” a quiet voice asks.
I turn to see Ryleigh blinking sleepily.
She fell asleep as soon as we got on the bus, wrapped in a light blanket, and now she’s sitting up.
“Almost to Milwaukee,” I reply.
“Thank God. I’m starving.”
“Yeah, I’m hungry too.”
“I want a steak,” she murmurs, almost like she’s talking to herself. “With a baked potato and all the toppings. And a big-ass salad.”
“Drowned in ranch,” someone else adds.
I glance in the direction the voice came from and realize it’s Mick.
“And someplace that brings bread to the table,” Tate calls out, though his eyes are still closed.
“Fuck, I’m really hungry now.” Jonny sits up and looks around.
“Let me find a steakhouse close to the hotel,” I say, pulling out my phone.
“Somewhere that’s not too expensive,” Mick mumbles. “Like an Outback Steakhouse.”
I mentally grimace but don’t say anything, looking for a place we can eat that everyone can afford. We get a per diem but it’s not a lot. I can eat anywhere I want, but they don’t know that, so I have to make a decision as to whether I buy dinner for everyone at a place I want to go to—and I’ve done it many times before—or just suck it up so they don’t get suspicious.
I made it sound like I made good money before I decided to play music full-time, and despite how close we are, they’ve never asked for details.
It’s a cluster fuck, and it’s becoming clear I need to come clean with them.
It’s just hard.
I don’t want them to be pissed off that I lied.
In the beginning I didn’t know them well enough to trust them, and now that I do, I’m the one who betrayed their trust.
“There’s a place that sounds good within walking distance of the hotel,” I say after a moment. “Let’s go there.”
The place is expensive, but I’ll put it on my credit card and tell them they can pay me back whenever. Or buy me drinks after the next show. It won’t come close to covering the cost, but I’ve done it before, and it’s never been an issue.
“Where are we going?” Ryleigh asks as we gather in the hotel lobby.
“It’s called Dominik’s,” I reply absently. “It’s only about two blocks from here.”
“Okay.”
“Meet back here in an hour,” I say.
Everyone disperses, and I freshen up in my room before heading back down. The whole band is there, along with Sam’s girlfriend Kirsten, who’s with us for a few more weeks until she leaves for college, her sister and brother-in-law—Sydney, who’s married to Ford Malone from Nobody’s Fool—and a couple of the road crew.
Everyone except Ryleigh.
“Anyone talk to Ryleigh?” I ask, looking around in annoyance. If she’s one of those women who’s always late, we’re not waiting around for her.
“She’s not coming,” Kirsten says.
“This was her idea,” Mick protests, making a face.
“I don’t think she can afford it,” Kirsten says softly. “I offered to pay for her, but she said no. And I didn’t push it because she seemed embarrassed.”
Dammit.
I wanted to avoid them thinking about the price until we got there. I should have known she would look the place up once she asked me where we were going. The rest of the band wouldn’t think to do that—they’d just wing it when we got there because they trust me.
Ryleigh doesn’t really know me.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say, shrugging. I hate leaving her behind, but I’m not sure what else to do. Short of telling everyone I’m planning to pay the bill, which I don’t want to tell them ahead of time, I’m caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. I’ll just surreptitiously order her a meal and bring it back on the down low. I can let Kirsten take it to her since they seem to have gotten friendly.
“I guess journalists don’t get paid much,” Mick says, falling into step beside me.
“Probably not,” I acknowledge.
“Not that we get paid,” Jonny quips, “but we can splurge once a week since we get fed on show days.”
“Not our problem, right?” I ask. I hate sounding like an uncaring jerk, but I’ve put myself in this position and now I’m not sure how to get out of it.
“I’ll bring her back something,” Tate says. “Kirsten can ask her what she wants. I don’t mind. I’ll just eat a burger. I don’t love steak anyway, and she seems nice. Besides, it’s better for us if we’re nice to her, you know?”
Now I feel even worse because I know Tate can’t afford it. He’s got responsibilities back home, and this was my idea. Well, it was Ryleigh’s idea but when I upped the stakes from a twenty-dollar meal to a fifty-dollar one, she had to bail.
“I’ll take care of it,” I tell him.
He glances at me in surprise but then nods.