Jax
Why can’t we do the release party on Halloween instead?” James pouts, trailing after Don. “That’d be way more fun.”
Don sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before placing both hands firmly on James’s shoulders. “Because the release party happens before the release. Not the day of.”
“Oh, we should totally—”
“No.” He cuts him off, raising a finger in warning. “No Halloween costumes at the party.”
James slaps his hands against his thighs and gapes at him. “Do you wake up every morning and choose to ruin joy, or is it just instinct at this point?”
I take my phone from my pocket to text Allie the details, but the second it connects with my hand, the guilt starts to gnaw at me for not even telling her we’re done recording until now.
It really wasn’t intentional, but with everything going on, it just slipped my mind.
Now here I am, texting her about it like it’s not a huge deal.
Hey… I know I should have told you sooner, or even in person, but it doesn’t look like that’ll happen in time. Things blew up with the label and they moved up the release date. The release party is on Oct 30 @ 7 The Wren House, Boston.
Can I pick you up the night before?
“Oh, come on, Don. Ditch the band manager hat for like two seconds and let the boy wear his costume,” Desmond calls from across the room.
I glance up just as he walks over, tall and built like a linebacker, though he mostly uses that strength to mess with James.
His daily-too-bright hoodie—the one that looks like a bloody highlighter—stands out even more against his rich brown skin under the kitchen light, and his wild curls are half-flattened from the headphones now hanging around his neck.
He goes straight for James’s cheeks like an annoying older brother—until James slaps his hands away.
“Ay, don’t touch me with your grubby hands,” James snaps, nose wrinkling. “God knows where they’ve been.”
Desmond grins, completely unfazed. “Wouldn’t you love to find out?”
He moves to mess with James again—
“Alright, you two,” I interrupt. They freeze, hands in the air like someone hit pause. “Enough. We can do something the day after since it’ll be actual Halloween. We’ll even still be at the hotel.”
James lights up immediately. “Are Allie and Ana coming?” he asks, practically bouncing on his heels now.
Not sure why he’s asking me, since he and Ana still talk day in and day out. He probably already knows she’s in. Allie, on the other hand…
“I hope so,” I say quietly. “It’s something we’ll have to figure out. But I’m sure she’ll try.”
Desmond leans back, lifting his beer and watching me over the rim as he takes a long pull. “Are you and Allie that couple who wear matching costumes?”
“Oh, they totally are,” James says, grinning.
I frown and shove his arm. “We are not,” I reply, maybe a little too defensively.
James barks out a laugh. “Yeah, okay, sure. You two would be the proper spooky lovebirds. Frankenstein and his bride. Or a police officer and their crook. Or—oh! Even better—peanut butter and jam.”
Desmond snorts into his drink. “That’s disgustingly wholesome.”
James spins in his seat to face him, like they’re two bloody schoolkids gossiping. “I bet they coordinate colors.”
“Yeah?” Desmond leans in. “I bet Allie’s already got a mood board going and is just waiting for Jax to pick one.”
“Well, you know if they went with peanut butter and jam, Jax would have to be the peanut butter, since he’s already salty as hell.”
Desmond raises a brow. “Yeah, but is Allie sweet like jam?”
James smirks, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “Oh, she’s sweet, alright. Isn’t that right, Jax?”
I nod, humming in agreement but staying quiet. I’ve given them ammo enough times already—and regretted every time. Now I know better.
“Might have to find out for myself,” Desmond says, matter-of-factly.
For a second, I think he’s serious, and I snap my head toward him. Then I spot the way he’s wiggling his eyebrows, clearly just trying to push my buttons like he’s been doing since he got hired as our fill-in.
“Careful, Jax,” James laughs. “Dezzy’s coming for your girl.”
“He can try all he wants. Though, honestly, we could always find another drummer for the tour if he gets too cheeky,” I say, smirking. “She’s mine.”
Desmond cackles, then leans back against the sofa. “I can’t wait to meet them. This guy”—he elbows James—“texts Ana constantly but won’t show me what she looks like.”
“You’re not worthy of their beauty yet,” James says, almost sounding serious. “But maybe, if you’re a good boy, you’ll get to see them in person.”
Desmond blinks. “Worthy? What does that even mean?”
James glances between the two of us and shrugs. “Our last two drummers turned out to be royal twats. You’ve been… okay so far.”
“Hey, Max wasn’t a twat,” I interject. “He just didn’t want to pursue music as a career.”
Desmond raises a brow, eyes bouncing between James and me. “Wait, who’s Max? I thought Casey was the only drummer you guys ever had.”
James shakes his head. “Nope. We had Max first, but he left shortly before we came to America for the Blackout Summer Tour last year. Like I said… a royal twat.”
Desmond chuckles, and I just shake my head.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Gareth sitting alone in the lounge—beer in one hand, phone clutched in the other. He’s staring out the window at the city lights, dead silent, when normally he’d be over here busting my balls with these two, like usual.
I hold up a hand to silence the Chatterbox Twins. “You guys know what’s up with him?” I ask, nodding toward Gareth.
They both frown, then shrug.
“He’s been pissy all night,” James says. “Threatened to toss me off the balcony if we bothered him—and I’m pretty sure he meant it. So we’ve kept our distance.” He squints toward Gareth. “You think it’s shit with Nora?”
I frown, shaking my head. “Why would it be? You saw them when the girls were down here. They were screwing like bloody bunnies and seemed pretty happy. This should be a time to celebrate for them.”
James lifts his hands in surrender. “I don’t know, mate. I overheard them arguing on the phone earlier. I’m betting that’s what it is.”
I scoff and push up from my seat. Gareth’s never been much of a talker when he’s upset, but he’s also never pushed me away. Maybe just sitting with him will calm his arse down—even a little.
This is supposed to be an exciting time for him. A baby. A record. Interviews. A bloody tour. So what could possibly have his knickers in a twist?
My hand lands on his shoulder, and he flinches, pulling away slightly. His jaw clenches briefly, and for a moment, he just stares blankly out the window.
“What’s up, mate?” I ask, easing down into the seat beside him. “You’ve been quiet all night. You okay?”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh, shakes his head, and continues twirling his phone between his fingers on his lap. “Never better.”
Before I can say another word, he slips the phone into his pocket and bolts upright, like just being here has suddenly become unbearable. I start to stand, but his eyes lock onto mine as he shakes his head once, silently telling me not to follow him.
He stands there, eyes pinned on mine until I give a simple nod. Then he turns and walks off, straight into his room, and slams the door behind him.
I stay frozen for a moment, not sure what to do. Gareth’s not usually the type to let shit get to him. Maybe he’s just stressed with everything happening at once. Or maybe he’s second-guessing the tour now.
Would I be upset if I were in his shoes? Absolutely not. He’s living the life I want right now—and can’t.
Am I upset about that? Hard no. Things happen for a reason.
Which is what I wish some people would understand.
Desmond shifts uncomfortably, his hand gripping the back of his neck. “Well, that’s awkward.”
I rest a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, he’ll come around.”
Hopefully. Or else this poor mate’s gonna get run off by Gareth before we even officially release the bloody record.
My eye catches James standing near the bar. He’s glancing between Gareth’s closed door and me, like he’s waiting for further instructions.
I pat Desmond on the back. “Alright, let’s go grab a drink.”
“Hell, yes.” I hear James say, glasses already clinking on the counter. “So about them costumes, Don—”
And just like that, he’s off again, probably giving Don the kind of headache that could cause an aneurysm.