Chapter 20
BEAUTIFUL JAMES
The flash of hurt, anger, and confusion all wrapped up in hazel irises was necessary.
I need to get to the bottom of what’s going on with Dreadful’s lead guitarist. I can’t do that with everyone hovering over me.
As much as Michael intimidates me on a personal level, with my manager mask fully in place, I’m invincible.
He staggers over to the bed and collapses on the edge.
It’s clear to everyone he’s wasted, but Michael is in denial.
Does he truly have a drinking problem? If so, that’s going to destroy any future he has.
Making sure I’m standing tall to embody authority, I step directly in front of him, planting my feet and placing my hands firmly on my hips. “What is going on with you?”
Scrubbing a hand down his face, he tries to shake off his drunken stupor but can’t. Defeat quickly claims him, and he groans into his palm. “I panicked.”
“Clearly.”
“I thought it was all over with.”
“It very well could’ve been, and this,” I gesture at all of him, “isn’t helping our case.”
“I’m not a drunk,” he says immediately, dropping his hand and balling his fists. His bloodshot eyes bore into mine, and my stomach clenches.
Michael is that All-American beauty. Those poster boys for Abercrombie and Fitch.
Categorically handsome while also carrying a rugged charm.
When I first met him six years ago, I could’ve sworn I’d seen him before, but I never could recall where.
It was always a weird sense of déjà vu in those first few months, until the feeling went away.
After our fight, and Devon revealing that Michael was at the same show that destroyed whatever budding relationship we might have had, I now know the truth.
I’ve always known Michael.
He’s that handsome blonde who saved me from being squashed by that random stage diver. Thinking back to how frustrated I was back then seems silly now. Even when he didn’t know me at all, he looked out for me. Warmth threatens to swallow me whole.
But now isn’t the time to admire him. I need to rip him a new one so he gets his act together.
“Drinking on the job is stopping right now.”
His eyebrows pinch together. “I’m not on the job. I thought I didn’t have a job.”
“This isn’t the first time. As far as I’m concerned, the second we boarded the plane in LA, we were working. What you do on your own time is your business, but this is directly interfering with Dreadful’s progress. Kelly said you showed up drunk to band practice.”
“I wasn’t drunk,” he denies. “Since when is it a crime to have a drink?”
My stomach keeps fucking flipping and dipping. Just like earlier today, I feel sick when I try to challenge him, and I’m not sure why. That night I ran into him at the bar doesn’t seem so coincidental now. He must go there frequently, and no one notices.
“Can you stop arguing with me? You always own up to your mistakes. What’s changed, Michael?”
He swallows hard. His eyes flick down my body before slowly dragging back up to my face. He swallows again. The churning inside me turns to something far more instinctual. A recognition. “Are you struggling with something?” I ask, keeping my voice intentionally soft.
Michael flexes his jaw and keeps his gaze locked onto mine, refusing to speak. His eyes never waver as he silently stares, tension in his face.
“You can tell me. I promise not to say a word.”
Blowing out a single, harsh breath, he shakes his head. “I’m okay, Lex. I’ll get whatever this is under control. It won’t be a problem.”
My heart sinks. He’s shutting me out. Even though we’ve only ever had a professional relationship, he’s always been kind to me.
And lately, even more so. That morning, after I woke up hungover at his house, he told me he’d have my back so no one would bully me.
As much as I try not to look too deeply into these events, they’ve stuck with me.
It’s why yelling at him earlier was so hard.
It’s damn-near impossible to stay angry with him. “I’m worried about you,” I admit. “Something is clearly wrong, and you aren’t willing to tell anyone, not even Devon.”
Mentioning his best friend seems to trigger something. He jumps to his feet and moves away from me like I’m contagious. “I said I’ll get it under control,” he growls. “Leave it alone, alright?”
“O-okay.”
He sees the way I go rigid, my fingers twitching as I curl my arms protectively.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, softening his tone. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
I nod, unable to find words.
He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to sober up. “Look, I’ve got a lot on my mind, but I’ll be okay. It’s been like this my whole life, and one day, I’ll either come to terms with it or I won’t. But you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
“Alright.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll find somewhere else to crash for tonight. Are we still staying the week? Or are we flying home sooner?”
I don’t want him to leave. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say it, but he’s already moving. “We may as well stay the week. It’s cheaper than paying for new tickets.”
“Good. I’ll catch up with you guys before we fly back.”
“Michael…”
He pauses, hand on his suitcase. I hate the look on his face, the defeat on his shoulders—that wall that seems so familiar, it may as well be my own.
Whatever he sees in my eyes only reaffirms his desire to leave.
“See ya later,” he grunts and is gone before I can even think of something to make him stay.
The door shutting hurts, and makes me feel so alone.
I tried to fix one mess and inadvertently created another. I’m positive Devon is ready to throw in the towel. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I hurry to my phone and send a text, hoping I can show Devon that I wasn’t shutting him out.
I need us to…try. To be better. To finish what we started.