Chapter 10
SANITIZER
The summer heat does nothing to help my scorching cheeks.
I can’t believe I said that? Out loud! I’m pissed off, but also… ashamed? Devon could have easily choked me out, and I stood there, allowing it. Liking it. Why did I do that? It’s possible he’s just fucking with me. That’s his favorite pastime after all.
But what if he’s not messing around and meant what he said?
A series of flutters erupts low in my stomach, reminding me of all the uncertainty. I glance over my shoulder and frown.
No. I’m the only idiot here who hasn’t been able to move on. There is no way he’d want me eight years later.
The rest of the band is still touring the selection of buses. I’m going to have to adorn the villain cap once more and break it to them that we can’t afford the model they’re fawning over. I don’t even need to see the numbers to know that much.
Planting myself off to the side, I check my phone just so I can take a small breather before I burst their bubble. Devon’s words are playing on a loop in my head. How he wants to fuck the attitude out of me.
I hate that my body reacts to that. My dick threatens to give me away.
My face contorts further, scowling at my home screen.
This has got to be some form of medical condition—wanting a man who treats me like shit.
I have to accept that how he was with me all those years ago wasn’t real.
Devon isn’t sweet and funny. Devon doesn’t care if I’m comfortable or feeling safe.
Not anymore. The butterflies return to their dormant state in my belly, and I sigh, rubbing my forehead.
“Are you alright?”
I drop my hand and glance up at Michael. His blue eyes are filled with soft concern. “I’m fine,” I reply quickly, my tone automatic. That’s my go-to answer.
I'm fine. Always fine, always holding it together.
It's always the same—fine, fine, fine. No matter what.
His eyebrow cocks, waking those fucking butterflies as anxiety rushes in. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or something deeper, but his stare makes it clear he doesn’t believe my response. I squirm in place, then slip my phone away, feeling exposed.
“He’s just an asshole,” I grumble, chewing my lip and breaking eye contact.
“Seems to be a lot of assholes lately.” He pauses, with a clear double meaning in his words. Everyone’s still mad at me for being mean to Jorge.
“Look, I don’t need you to judge me, too,” I snap, still staring at the asphalt. “I know I messed up with Jorge, and I’m going to…I’ll…anyway. I don’t need more on my plate right now.”
“We are going on tour soon. It’d be good for everyone if we didn’t have any drama.”
I blow out a rough breath. “I know. I'm trying, Michael, I swear I am. It's just extremely difficult when I feel like everyone hates me.” The words spill from my lips and don't stop, just like the last time we were alone together. Only now I don’t have the excuse of alcohol loosening my lips—maybe it’s just the effect he has on me. “They all hate me. Everything I do is for the band, for everyone else. I know I’m bossy and rude, but look at how well Dreadful’s done because of it?
Phoenix will be able to afford his own place now.
And there’s new equipment, so Devon will have more options for mixing the songs.
Jorge got the microphone he’s been asking for for two years. I’m doing everything I can. I’m—”
“Hey,” he interrupts, stepping closer but not breaching my personal bubble. “No one said you weren’t doing your job.”
“But you all hate me for it,” I argue, finally looking at him. The exhaustion in me turns to resignation as I say, “I think I might quit.” I exhale heavily. No one would care anyway.
That look of concern twists to something like anger.
Not that I’d know how that emotion would manifest on Michael, seeing as he’s more stoic than a rock.
But there’s definitely a hard edge to his gaze.
“I know Devon is giving you shit. I’m not going to let him push you out.
That’s not right. You could work on your delivery and the way you talk to everyone, but you mean well. I see it even if they don’t.”
I blink. “You do?”
He nods once. “I’ve always seen it.” Pausing, he takes another step closer.
The potent cologne he wears soothes something inside me.
It’s warm, masculine, and enticing. “No one ever sticks up for you.
Everyone likes to talk shit about how you handle things, but when lines are crossed, no one ever says enough. I'm even guilty of it.”
“Well,” I start, shaking for some reason, “they’re your friends—family.”
“They should be yours too.” Those blue eyes are so serious, so striking. I swallow hard. “I’m not letting this,” he gestures at me, “continue.”
“I can stand up for myself,” I argue, albeit weakly.
“I know you can,” he says smoothly and folds his arms. “But you need someone to have your back. I’d like…I can be that person.”
My heart is racing. Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them back. “You don’t have to do that,” I whisper. Michael is the last person I would have expected to say any of this.
“I have always tried to look out for you.” Something shifts, and he glances away from me.
“The sales guy keeps asking for your number. Seems interested,” he grunts out the last two words.
A muscle twitches in his jaw before quickly glancing my way.
When I just stare at him, he adds, “I’ll go talk to Dev.
” I can tell he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t.
After one more look into my eyes, he blows out a breath and heads over to the other tour bus.
I watch him climb the steps, my pulse thumping in my ears, and I feel lighter than I have in years.
All eyes are on me. Typically, I’m not swayed either way, but over the past week, I’ve been going back and forth on whether to hold this band meeting.
I’ve thought a lot about how I’ve behaved, what I’ve said, and what has been said to me.
While I don’t feel it’s absolutely necessary to have them all present for an apology meant solely for Jorge, I’m hoping it’ll earn me some brownie points.
Taking accountability and all that.
Clearing my throat, I focus on a spot on the wall behind the couch.
They wait somewhat impatiently for me to get started, and a few murmurs about whether I’m having a stroke hit my ears.
This is what I’m talking about—the petty, snide remarks when I’m trying to do the right thing.
Still, I swallow the need to retaliate and center myself. I can do this. I’m strong enough.
“Jorge,” I start. “I apologize for what I said to you. It was wrong.”
He humphs, squirms, and then says, “Thank you.”
“Great. I’d like to discuss the upcoming video shoot—”
“What about the rest of us?” Devon demands, waving his arm out. “Don’t we deserve an apology too?”
My bravado wavers, my stomach clenching. “I was unaware you needed one.” My tone can’t be helped. I’m now being targeted and caught off guard.
Phoenix shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt, man. Things have been tense.”
I seek out my cousin, hoping for some backup. She’s shamefaced as she admits, “Jorge isn’t the only one with hurt feelings. Just the other day, you told me that I needed to look into Adderall."
Fuck. Did I say that?
My throat seizes as my eyes bounce around the group. “And you told me I play like shit whenever Eli is here,” Phoenix tells me.
“Not to mention every other fucking remark you sling at us whenever you’re in a bad mood.” That’s Devon.
The walls I hide behind are rising. My first instinct is to go on the defensive, to point out that while I might say it in the wrong way, my words hold truth.
I also really want to tell Devon to go fuck himself.
Clenching my jaw and folding my arms, I lift my chin, open my mouth, and right as I’m about to unload on these assholes, Michael speaks.
“And what about all the remarks everyone says behind his back?”
I stare at him in horror.
The room falls silent, the entire band mirroring my expression.
“Don’t look at me like that. We’re all guilty of it.
Unlike the rest of you, Lex has the balls to stand here on the chopping block and attempt to make things right.
” He turns his attention to me, holding my gaze captive in his. “I’m sorry.”
Michael hasn’t ever said anything about me…not to the extent his friends have.
“He’s right,” Kelly sighs. “I’m sorry, too, Lexy.”
I grimace at the old pet name, but my frozen exterior starts to thaw.
Jorge is next to apologize. Phoenix grumbles that he’s sorry, but Eli still should be allowed to come to band practice. “I never said he couldn’t. He just distracts you, and we are on a deadline. Could you ask him not to flirt so much while Devon’s trying to get the recording down?”
Phoenix looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Uh. Yeah. I can definitely do that.”
I sneak a peek at Michael, who nods encouragingly. I say, “I didn’t mean what I said about the Adderall, Kel. That was fucked up. You know I don’t hate your spicy brain.”
She snorts, stands up, and hugs me. “I know. And I accept your apology.”
I give her a quick squeeze while a blush consumes my entire face.
Devon isn’t appeased, though. He’s fuming, the vein in his neck popping and throbbing.
“So that’s it, then? A little pow-wow and all is okay in the world?
I’m not sorry. You can’t expect me to fuckin’ forgive and forget just because you’re finally getting a taste of your own medicine.
I don’t believe a word out of your mouth.
Today it’s ‘I’m sorry’, tomorrow it’ll be ‘you’re the scum of the earth’. Be so for real right now, Lewis.”
“Devon,” Michael warns.
“I’m right, and you know it!” Devon bellows, eyes shooting razors.
The man stomps over to where Devon is manspreading on the couch, grabs him roughly by the back of his neck, and forces him to his feet. “Outside. Now.” The two words are said through gritted teeth.
“Get off me!” Devon swings an elbow, dislodging Michael’s hold. “Why the fuck do you suddenly care about this asshole? Huh?”
Michael is a brick wall. And for the first time, I think ever, he raises his voice. “I said get the fuck outside!”
A collective breath is held while the pair of them stand off for a few beats. Eventually, Devon throws his hands in the air and growls, “This is bullshit.”
When they exit the studio, I sag against my cousin.
Jorge, ever the icebreaker, chirps, “They’re going to punch each other and then kiss.”