Chapter twenty-six
Carter
The Milan crowd is still losing their minds when I slide into the last chord. The whole stadium shakes alive, consuming us whole.
Lights drop.
I jog offstage and sling my guitar at the tech, sweat running down my face, pulse still synced to the addictive thump of Kai’s kick drum.
The backstage hallway is its usual clusterfuck: security barking at the groupies for space, crew dragging cases, cables underfoot, Mika and Dave trying to get their shots without being trampled, Violet somewhere in the swirl catching her angles.
Someone swings a towel at my head; I snag it one-handed and loop it around my neck, not breaking my stride.
Because I’ve already seen them.
My people.
My mouth goes wide. “About time you assholes showed up!” I roar, barreling toward them. “I’m disgusting and I don’t give a shit, get in here.”
Zac gets grabbed first, whether he wants it or not. Then Cora, round and glowing and way too pregnant to be on her feet in this chaos, then Hailee, laughing while I haul her in. All of them get the full rock star treatment: sweat, heat, leftover stage buzz still crawling over my skin.
Chloe hangs back a little, hands tucked into shorts.
I snag her wrist and tug. “Oh no. None of that. Get over here.”
She makes this horrified yet delighted sound when I wrap her up in a sweaty hug, and it pulls a laugh out of me that feels too big for my chest.
When I let her go, I jab a finger her way. “You. You’re the one who made Dr. Doom stop scowling at the world.”
She blushes all the way up to her hairline. “That’s . . . highly debatable.”
“Nope.” I glance at Zac. He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know him. I saw him before you. I see him now. Night and day. You pulled him back from the deep end.”
Her eyes shine, lips parting.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
Zac clears his throat. “I’m standing right here, dickhead.”
I shrug. “Yeah. Standing and smiling. Proves my point.”
Chloe lifts her head to look at him, eyes still sparkling. “You do smile more now,” she admits. “It’s weird. Kind of hot, though.”
He raises a brow. “Careful, Gigi. Flattery might make me soft.”
She leans in, says something low in his ear I don’t quite catch, but the look she gives him would drop a lesser man to his knees.
I scrub the towel over my face and groan. “I’m leaving before you start fucking on a flight case.”
“Too late,” Zac mutters, hand sliding between her legs, fingers pressing through the fabric of her shorts. Chloe gasps softly, eyes fluttering.
“She’s already soaked,” he adds against her jaw, smug as hell.
Chloe bites her lip, trying not to grin.
I throw both hands in the air. “Fine. As long as she’s the one getting naked, go wild. I’ve seen your cock more times than I want to admit.”
“Yeah, well,” he smirks, “some things are hard to forget.”
I flip him off over my shoulder and head toward James and Dameon, who are cutting across the hallway in my direction. I hold my fist out in greeting; they meet me halfway, knuckles knocking, both of them grinning.
“Good to see your ugly faces,” I say, dragging the towel across the back of my neck. It does nothing. The more I wipe, the more sweat beads on my skin.
“Killed it,” Dameon says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Crowd was feral. You too.”
James nods. “You ready for Como?” he asks.
“More than ready,” I exhale. “Thirteen cities. I need another break before I start climbing the walls.”
James’s mouth quirks. “Same here. It’ll be our last break before Cora delivers. And then I have to fight her off me for six weeks. Pregnancy hormones are a whole other ball game.”
Dameon lifts both hands quickly. “I’ll take your word for it, mate.”
I snort, about to fire something back, when a flicker of black at the edge of my vision hooks me.
Dark hair. Pale skin. A walk I could pick out in a blackout.
My head turns before my brain even issues the order.
Violet slips past us, her camera bumping against her chest, completely in the zone, not even noticing me. Her dress shifts with each step, and the sight of her cuts out everything else. My pulse jumps up a notch, the leftover adrenaline giving me a second wind.
Beside me, Dameon follows my line of sight and whistles low. “Christ. You’re gone.”
I ignore him. No point denying it.
“Wait.” His eyes narrow. “Is that the goddess from Eden?”
“Her name’s Violet,” I say, already stepping back. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
I don’t hear whatever smart-ass comment he throws after me.
I’m already shouldering into the moving current of bodies, pushing upstream.
Every few steps, someone blocks my path to grab my hand, clap my back, yell in my ear, or wave their phone for a selfie.
I give them enough to be polite. A nod here, a half-smile there.
My eyes hardly roam their faces. They keep leaping past shoulders, tracking one dark head as it disappears into the VIP room ahead of me.
It’s like fighting through a river of noise and bodies, but nothing knocks me off course.
I keep moving, step after stubborn step, toward the only person I actually want to see.
I break through the last knot of people and slip into the VIP room.
First thing I see is exactly the kind of bullshit I should have expected the second Xander’s dick started thinking for him.
Cindy is once again perched on his lap just like she was on the plane, laughing loudly and tossing her hair around.
X has one hand spread over her thigh, thumb stroking idly as if she isn’t a live grenade with the pin halfway out.
He looks relaxed. Happy, even. He has no idea what he’s invited into this room, this tour, or my life.
I make a mental note to smack him in the back of the head later.
I drag my focus away from that mess and find the only person that matters.
Vi is leaning against a tall table a few steps away, hips slanted, camera strap looped around her wrist, eyes on me. Dark molten heat climbs my spine, closing a fist around my skull.
My feet carry me until I’m standing right in front of her, toe-to-toe.
For a long moment, we don’t say a word. Time gets weird, collapsing in on itself.
Her gray eyes narrow the tiniest bit, the start of a smirk tugging at her mouth, and I feel my responding grin pull at my own lips.
The tension between us draws tight, ready to snap.
Everything in me wants to put my hands on her. Turn her, press her back against the nearest wall, mouth on her throat, hands under that dress, and feel the heat I’ve been starving for since Toronto.
But I can’t.
Megan is ten feet away, pretending not to watch me from behind her champagne flute. And the biggest reason of all sits in the back of my mind like a deadweight. Liam. Still miserably fucking unaware.
Vi tips her head, her red-painted lips spreading wide. “So,” she says, low enough that it’s almost eaten by the music. “Cindy.”
I pull a cigarette from my back pocket and light it.
She arches a brow. “That was ballsy.” There is a spark of real amusement there. “Thank you,” she adds, and I know she means it.
“I figured it was time,” I reply, blowing smoke out of my nose. “Time to stop letting old bullshit have that much power over us. Over you.”
She nods, looking down.
I lean in, close enough that no one else can hear. “And tomorrow,” I murmur, “your ass is mine.”
Her head swings back up, lips parting.
“No holding back,” I add. “Not with my people around.”
The hunger in her eyes makes my cock jump against the zipper. She looks ready to climb me or claw at me, maybe both.
“That’s a big promise,” she says quietly.
“When have I ever not delivered, Storm?”
For a moment, it’s only us. Everything else disappears. Her gray eyes are the only clear thing in the room.
Someone jostles my shoulder, shoving a hand in my face, and the moment between us cracks. I take the hand out of habit, give nothing more than a quick squeeze, then let it go, my gaze never leaving Violet’s face.
Tomorrow, we get our fill.