Chapter Seventeen
Jem
As the days pass, the tightness of Ruby Riot places me further on the edge of Ruby’s life. This allows me to back off, which will make asking her to leave a ton easier when we get back. Two weeks and ten gigs, the band holds up well. This is what I needed to see. There’s no real friction apart from what comes out of Ruby’s mouth before she goes on stage and the guys are used to that. In a weird way, Ruby breaks the tension.
Liam and Bryn came to a couple of the gigs and their approval reinforces this is the right decision. Only Steve’s thumbs up is needed now. He hasn’t been in the UK recently. His wife has him tied down to their house in the States so he’s asked for a full demo. The excitement on the guys’ faces when I tell them I have studio time booked after the tour is priceless. Even Ruby cracks a smile.
Tonight Ruby Riot played their last gig of the tour to a crowded venue in Oxford. Their sets get tighter, the audiences bigger. There’s a weird fatherly sense of pride toward them, although my feelings for Ruby remain increasingly un-fatherly. The bad thing is, the more I resist my brain’s attempt to develop an emotional attachment to her, the more I want her in my bed. Yeah, I want her out of my house but in my bed; I’m still a selfish bastard.
Guys hit on Ruby after gigs every night and I watch with a combination of jealousy and amusement, depending on how she responds to them. Curiously, Jax intervenes most nights and gives outsiders the impression the guitarist and lead singer are an item. I’ve heard her thank him for getting rid of unwanted attention and he shrugs it off but this gnaws at me. I know the four of them share a room at each hotel; and who knows what happens following the late night, drunken sessions I keep out of. At least those thoughts reinforce that my dumb, sober brain needs to find someone else.
Yeah, right, apart from she’s cock blocking me, Jem Jones passing on groupies who inevitably pass themselves onto the other guys.
Heading back to my room after the gig, I find Ruby sitting on the floor in the hallway, resting against my suite door with her eyes closed. I pause, wishing the sight of her didn’t fire up the irritating mix of desire to screw her with the longing for her attention. We’ve barely spoken in days. Ruby’s plain grey top is scooped across the neck and has slipped on one side, past the ink to the top of her black lace bra. Not helping. Her amazing legs stretch in front of her, wrapped in black yoga pants; barefoot, toe nails painted bright red to match her fingernails. I pull the room’s keycard out fighting the usual image of those legs wrapped around my body.
“You okay?” I ask.
Ruby opens an eye. “I’m too tired to deal with people. The guys are really going for it tonight and I want to sleep.”
I laugh at her. “It’s ten p.m.”
“Two weeks of this and I’m fucked. No idea how you guys tour for months on end and don’t burn out.”
“The current state of Blue Phoenix answers that question.” I slide the keycard and push open the door. “I’ll get you a drink and you can hide out here for a few hours.”
“Thanks.” Ruby stands.
I hold the door like the gentleman I’m not and catch her fresh-showered scent as she passes, rewinding me to our days alone in my house.
“Shit, if I’d know your rooms were this big I’d have asked to stay before,” she remarks as she crosses the penthouse to look over the skyline. “This is an apartment, not a hotel room!”
Stay?
“I like my space,” I say as Ruby sits on one of the sofas opposite the bedroom.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
Was that a loaded comment? “Did you want a beer?”
She looks at me curiously. “No, I don’t like drinking around you. Hadn’t you noticed?”
I hadn’t but now she mentions it, this explains why she avoids me after most gigs. I convinced myself she avoided me for other reasons.
“Yeah. Okay. Coke?”
She nods and I return with a can from the fridge to where Ruby’s stretched out on the cream cushioned sofa, legs crossed at the ankles. Resting her head on one arm, Ruby’s scarlet hair flows behind almost touching the floor as she gazes at the ceiling.
“It’s been a while since we talked,” I say.
“I see you every day.”
“I mean, since we chatted, me and you.”
Ruby twists her head toward me. “I guess not. Maybe because you’re hiding behind Jem Jones again?” she suggests.
“And you’re Ruby again.”
“There’s our answer.” She looks back to the ceiling.
“You look healthier even if you do feel burnt out,” I tell her.
She twists her head toward me. “Healthier?”
“Not as skinny.”
She pushes to sit. “How much attention do you pay to my body?” she asks in a low voice.
“It was just a comment. Don’t get so defensive!”
“I’m not! I’m just saying, don’t make me worry that you’re perving on me.” She adjusts her top, pulling further toward her neck.
“Jesus, okay, I was saying you look better after all the shit from a few weeks ago.”
She pulls a sour face. “Again, don’t.”
When we disagree, there’s a weird thing that happens, a clashing of wills as we stare at each other waiting to see who’ll back down or get the last word in. I’ve given up trying. Apparently satisfied she’s reprimanded me enough with her stern look; Ruby shifts her gaze to the open door behind where I’m standing.
“Oh! Your guitar!” Ruby points at the acoustic leaning against the end of the bed. “Is that a classic Martin?”
Thank f-uck for that. I thought we were going down the route to things that shouldn’t be said.
“Yeah.”
“Wow, I bet it’s a rare if you own it.” How many people could identify a guitar from a distance?
“OM-18,” I say with a small smile. I have a collection; this one isn’t exactly my most expensive, but I love the sound. I may not be in the band, but my music comes with me.
“Serious? Can I try?” She looks at the acoustic with an amusing awe.
“Sure.”
Ruby heads to where the guitar rests against the wall in the bedroom. Picking it up as if this is a precious heirloom, she perches on the edge of the king-sized bed and hauls the strap across her shoulder, then balances the guitar on her lap. “You got a pick?”
I toss her one from my pocket. I have never been in a room with a chick who’s more impressed and excited by the sight of my guitar than being with Jem Jones. But she’s no ordinary girl. This is Ruby, the mind-blowing woman with her amazing voice, talent, and a body that dances into my dreams on a too frequent basis. The twinge in my chest grows, as she strums the opening chords of a Ruby Riot track, “Shellshock”. I could push the hair from where it falls across Ruby’s face, brush her skin with my fingers, kiss her. Crap, Jem.
“Who writes your lyrics?” I ask and cross to sit next to her on the other edge of the king-sized bed.
“Me and Jax, mostly him.” Her focus remains on the guitar but she stops playing. “Huh. I don’t often play acoustic. One day I’m going to get myself a really rare Gibson. I bet you have a crap load of guitars. I know that’s what I’m spending my money on if I get cashed up.”
“One or two, and I’m sure one day you’ll have a collection of your own.” I smile and lie back on the bed, tucking my hands behind my head. “Play me a song, Ruby Tuesday.”
“Why did you call me that?”
“It’s who you are, isn’t it? Play me something.” Ruby taps the edge of the guitar. “Go on. Then I’ll play something for you.”
She purses her lips. “Okay, but only because I want to play this awesome guitar.”
I smile to myself when I hear the opening chords to “Rising”; typical of Ruby to do this when I told the band never to play my songs again. Only this time the sound reaches inside my heart. The memory of the day I wrote the song, of Phoenix being as new as Ruby Riot joins the images. “Rising”, the first real song we wrote. I knew at that moment we’d be big and I’d sacrifice anything to get there. I didn’t realise the sacrifices came later.
Aware Ruby’s stopped playing, I sit up. “Don’t stop.”
“Your breathing’s funny, are you okay?” She removes the strap from her shoulder.
“Just rewinding in my head. You’re making me feel old. I wrote that song eight years ago.”
“I thought Dylan wrote Blue Phoenix’s songs.”
“Lesser known fact, I wrote “Rising.”
“Really? Well, I listened to it on repeat for weeks. The first song that ever spoke to me,” she says softly, rubbing the neck of the guitar. “Did it help you?”
“No, but it sounds good, hey?” She doesn’t want me to meet Tuesday so she’s not going to delve into my mind either. I won’t share the pain that lies beneath the song.
The intensity and softness in her expression kills me. The song weakened and hit me further with what I deny: Ruby is the epitome of myself. She’s here and her eyes are acknowledging what I repeatedly see: we’re from the same place and we don’t want to be there. I can’t hold Ruby’s look; I’m sitting on the bed with this woman and the buried need to hold her resurfaces. Kiss her. Touch her. Inhale her, until she’s part of me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.
“Because you blow me away. You’re amazing.”
Ruby carefully places the guitar on the floor and shifts on the bed, tucking her long legs under her. “Can I be straight with you, Jem? Get this out in the open so we can lay it to rest?”
“Be straight as you like, you always are.” I prop myself on my elbows.
We half-smile at each other and the understanding floods the physical desire again.
Ruby tips her head. “You know we’ve avoided each other for most of the tour, right?”
“No,” I catch her look. “Okay, yeah. A bit.”
“Because something weird’s between us, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, I can’t get past seeing you as the guy in the kitchen that night; he was pretty scary.” I look away. “I wanted to help you when I should’ve run and that’s part of this ‘something weird’,” she says with a small crease of concern between her brows.
“I’m sorry I scared you. Don’t worry; you won’t see him again. We’ll keep things professional.”
Ruby drags her hair from her face and holds it as she studies me with pursed lips. “Not just that but all the parts of you I saw in that week. I felt a weird connection to you and it worries me. Especially when you say shit about how I’m looking better, as if you’re thinking of me.”
“Okay, I won’t say anything. I won’t come near you if you don’t want.”
She’s so f-ucking hypocritical. Ruby came here tonight; and we’re sitting on my bed together, talking about guitars and music and wrapping our world back around our shoulders. All that’s left is to reach out and admit this.
Ruby indicates herself and me. “URST.”
“Erst?”
“Unresolved sexual tension. It’s a thing on TV and movies. Two people attracted to each other but can’t or won’t do anything about it for whatever reason. It follows us too.”
I shrug. “Right. If you say.”
“Seriously, Jem? You’re saying there isn’t any?”
“Are you asking me if I want to f-uck you?”
“No, I’m not asking; I don’t want to have sex with you. I’m saying there’s an attraction and it’s awkward, yeah?”
I guess Ruby doesn’t have an issue with the topic; but the word ‘sex’ should not come from that mouth, otherwise I’ll be forced to kiss it away and show her what the hell she’s doing to me.
Deep breath, Jem.
“So what if there is; we don’t need to act on it. I get why you’re saying this and you should know by now I’m not going to do anything that’ll cause problems. You’re an attractive chick; yeah, I’m not screwing this up by hitting on you.”
“Okay,” she says doubtfully. “Because I don’t want anything f-ucking up the other relationship we have… the musical one.”
“I think you need to worry more about you and Jax if the concern is f-ucking up musical relationships.”
“Me and Jax?”
“Your URST or lack of, if you’re an item.”
“We’re not an item! Jesus!” Ruby laughs. “No way, never Jax. He models himself on you when it comes to women. If I was with him, would I put up with the girls he scouts out after every gig?”
“I don’t see much of him doing that.”
“Yeah, you’re not around. You come back to your room and sulk. This whole tour you’ve behaved like a grumpy old man apart from when your Blue Phoenix buddies have been around.”
Does she do this deliberately? Each time we tentatively relax around each other, she says something to push me away. And each time it gets my back up. “I am not an old man! Besides, how do you know that’s what I’m doing? I might have groupies of my own, sounds like I have a reputation to maintain.”
Ruby’s mouth thins. “Never thought about that.”
“Did you think I was up here thinking about you and our URST?”
The chilled out feeling switches, the barriers re-erecting on both sides and she shifts away from me.
“I don’t know, Jem Jones, were you?” she says, coldly.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Huh! Fine.” She swings her legs to climb off the bed. “I’ll go, leave you to your sulky old man life.”
“Grow up, Ruby,” I snap.
She pauses, her back to me, and I will Ruby not to walk out of the door. The first time alone with her for almost two weeks and this happens. So, it’s clear sex isn’t on the agenda, but I want to spend more time with the person who brought my world to life.
I temper my tone. “Sorry, you just pissed me off. I’ll play for you like I promised. Stay.”
She glares at me as I pick up the guitar and indicate she should sit back down.
“Serenaded by Jem Jones? Aren’t I a lucky girl?” Her voice is edged by sarcasm.
“Yeah, you are. I don’t normally play for a crowd less than ten thousand.”
“Fine, but I’m sitting over here.” Ruby heads back to the sofa, the dark sky in the wide windows behind her.
“Sit where you like.”
“I will.”
“I know.” With a small laugh, I shake my head and scour my mind for the right song. There’s only one I’ve been dying to play her since she first told me her name, the one that goes through my head when she’s around, “Ruby Tuesday.” I smile to myself and position the guitar.
I hardly get past the intro when she stands abruptly. “Jem. Stop. Don’t play that.”
“Why? It’s your name.” The song is her. To me. To the world. I continue.
Ruby heaves in a breath. “Don’t. You can’t.” As her voice cracks, I stop. Tears fill her eyes and she shakes her head at me, causing one to spill.
“Shit. Okay, I thought you’d like it. You know, your name. What’s the big deal?”
“Tuesday. You said you don’t want to know who Tuesday is, and then you try and pull her out of me!”
I’m witnessing another of Ruby’s flips from calm to panic, her switch so easily triggered by the smallest, unknown thing. I’ve come across complicated chicks before but this one wins the ‘what the f-uck?’ stakes hands down.
“No, I’m not trying to find Tuesday; I have no interest in her. I just played a song I love that makes me think of the real you.”
Her eyes widen, pupils dark. “Think of me? Don’t think of me, Jem!”
“Why not?”
“Don’t, just don’t…” Ruby heads for the door. What the hell is going on? She talks about us and what we’re hiding, then instead of sorting things out pushes me away. We need to have this conversation; she’s right. Put this to rest. Move on. I jump off the bed.
“Don’t leave, I’m sorry,” I say.
“I have to go.”
“Forget the song, let’s deal with this other shit, then we can draw a line and move on.”
Ruby’s teary eyes meet mine. What did I do?
“How do we fix this? What happens on the TV with this URST crap?” I ask.
“Nothing for about three seasons. Move.” She attempts to open the door and I place my palm on the smooth wood to prevent her. “Please.”
“Three seasons? We can’t go that long. What happens after three seasons?”
“I want to leave, Jem.” Ruby’s hand trembles and she pulls at the handle.
“What happens?” I repeat.
She turns a furious face to me. “They kiss. They f-uck. Then the world jumps in and pulls them apart. Either that or they marry, have beautiful children, and live in a house in the country. Either way, things are dealt with. Move.”
I touch her hair, pushing a tangle from her face and she slumps against the door as my fingers linger on her cheek.
“Kiss?”
“Jem, please don’t.”
This is f-ucking torture, not whatever the hell stupid name she calls it. I hold Ruby’s face in both hands, rubbing my thumb along her cheek where the tear fell, inhaling the warmth emanating from her. She closes her eyes as I move my mouth to taste her lips.
“Don’t do this. Don’t take us there.” She twists her head away the moment my lips skim hers. “Stop, Jem!”
Her words, the shortness of breath… What a dick move, cornering a girl who’s recently escaped an abusive ex. I step back. Ruby’s wary but thankfully, there’s no fear in her eyes. Worse, it’s disgust.
“Back off. I’m not going to f-uck you,” she says.
“I don’t want to f-uck you.”
“You just tried to kiss me.” Her eyes harden.
“Last I knew they were two separate acts.”
“In my experience, one always leads to the other.” She takes a ragged breath. “I come here because I think you’re my friend and then…” She waves a hand. “All this!”
“This?”
“You. Being nice then trying to kiss me, playing songs to serenade me into your f-ucking bed! Well, you chose the wrong song! And the wrong girl!” Ruby drags her palm across a cheek, wiping a new tear.
“That’s not what I’m doing. You were the one talking about sexual tension.”
“Because I hoped we’d deal with it and move on. It wasn’t a f-ucking invitation.”
Whoa, this girl is on a short, and very confusing, fuse. “Fine. I get that.”
“So I can leave now? You won’t stop me?”
“I wouldn’t ever stop you doing what you wanted, Ruby.”
“Good. Then leave me the f-uck alone!” She drags the door open.
As it slams behind her, I’m dazed at how quickly her mood shifted. And annoyed with myself for screwing this up. Sometimes, I need to learn to listen to the part of me that screams ‘stop what you’re doing or everything will go to shit’.
****
Ruby
I slam through the open door of my hotel room straight into a suffocating mix of people, alcohol, and a sickly smell of weed. The music blares from one corner, a dozen or so people crammed together in the room. Jax is on the bed, shirtless, with a petite blonde girl wrapped around his naked chest.
“Ruby!” He waves a half-empty bottle of bourbon at me. Jesus, he’s buying into the cliché.
What do I do? The headspace Jem just dragged me into isn’t one that can include other people. As Jax disengages from the girl and heads in my direction, I’m aware of others staring at me. Crap. Tears. I scrub my face and head for the brightly lit bathroom. Jax appears.
“What’s going on?”
“You’ve got drugs in here! If Jem knew, he’d lose his shit. Do you want him to drop us?”
“He won’t know. Anyway, it’s only a bit of weed.”
Something Jax has evidently partaken of, judging by his pupils. “Is it?”
Jax shrugs. “As far as I know. Couldn’t vouch for what everyone else has taken.”
“Shit!” I turn on the tap and splash my face with cold water.
“Where’d you go? What happened?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Who upset you?” I dry my face on a white towel. “Ruby?”
“I said I’m f-ucking fine!” I yell and push past him.
“Come here.” Jax takes my elbow and guides me around the bodies on the floor, and into the empty hallway. “Where did you go?”
Leaning against the wall, I stare at the worn carpet. “I went to see Jem. I didn’t want to come back here for another party, so thought things would be more peaceful with him.”
Jax straightens. “What did he do to you? I’ve seen him watching you. Did he come on to you?” He sweeps a gaze over my figure. “Did he do something you didn’t want?”
“Nothing! He didn’t do anything!” The tears return, threatening to spill.
“You don’t cry for no reason.” Jax continues. “You never cry.”
“Well, clearly I do.” I move away as he tries to touch me again. “Jem wouldn’t do that; he doesn’t want to screw things up with the band.”
Jax rests against the wall next to me and says quietly, “Yeah, I get that. Relationships inside the band would f-uck things up whether it’s the manager and the singer or the lead guitarist and singer.”
“Exactly, and he…” I stop. “Lead guitarist and singer?”
Jax screws his face up and rubs his temples. “Shit, forget it. I’m drunk and a bit stoned.”
I cross my arms tightly. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you f-ucking dare throw this crap at me! There’s nothing between us.”
“Ignore me. It’s just I care a lot about you. I’ve seen the shit you’ve been through; and even though you pushed me away and refused to let me help, I still kinda feel protective.”
“Protective?”
“And yeah, I probably like you a bit too much, but I ignore it. Thing is, I can’t if I see you with someone else.”
Ohmygod. Talk about things going from bad to f-ucking worse. “Shit, Jax!” I shove him in the chest. “Don’t do this! Stick to screwing your groupies; there’s plenty willing.”
He catches my arm. “Yeah, I get that you’re not interested, but you’re special. Too special to be screwed around by Jem Jones.”
My chest constricts as the sob attempts to find its way out. “I am not special!”
“And that’s the other reason, Ruby. You’re a mess. It’s not your fault. I know. But you can’t get self-esteem boosts from guys like him.”
“You don’t understand at all!” I half-yell. “You and your perfect middle-class upbringing. Your loving family who pay for you to live in London and follow your dreams. There isn’t one f-ucking thing you struggle with. So don’t judge me! You don’t know me!”
“I’ve known you over a year and I’ve stood back when I shouldn’t. I’m not doing it again. Don’t get messed up by someone else who’s fucked in the head. Underneath, Jem’s no different to the other asshole you got involved with.”
“f-uck you!” I yell, the sound echoing along the corridor.
“He’s probably right, Ruby.” I turn to the familiar voice. Jem stands a few feet away, lines creasing his forehead as he looks between us. “I shouldn’t have tried to go there with you.”
“I knew it! What did he do?” Jax straightens; face hardening as he watches Jem.
“Nothing!” I snap at Jax.
“Everything’s too hard. I can’t get involved with anybody else’s drama.” Jem crosses the hallway and hands me the keycard to his room. Our hands touch and I jerk my fingers away. I could’ve kissed him. I wanted to, was so close to giving in, and giving myself. “I’m driving back to London tonight. Use my room, Ruby. When you get back tomorrow, we need to talk about a few things.” He looks to Jax. “All of you. I’m not stupid. I can smell the drugs in that room.”
Jax stares at his bare feet like a scolded child. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Yeah, decide on your priorities because I’m not managing a bunch of stoners. Your music should come first. See you tomorrow.”
Jem pulls his phone out and scrolls through the screen as he walks away. I stare after his retreating figure, stunned by the turn of the evening.
“What a f-ucking hypocrite,” says Jax. “He’s the biggest stoner of them all!”
I itch to slap Jax, at his immature understanding of Jem’s situation as a recovering addict. “Maybe take his life as a warning.” I head away from him. Nothing would persuade me to go back into the hotel room I share with them. “And have some respect!” I call, not looking back.
Jem’s room is empty apart from the guitar I played before. He left it for me. This lances pain into my heart because it means Jem heard me play at night when I was staying with him and I couldn’t sleep, and is aware tonight will be difficult. He’s wrong. I’m exhausted; the events of the evening dragged the remaining energy from me. I don’t touch the guitar; instead, I crawl into the soft bed and wait for sleep.
He was right. I’m wrong. Sleep doesn’t come easily. I’m in the bed Jem once slept in and I breathe in the scent of him. Jem came so close to kissing me; if I hadn’t turned my head, I’d have given in to the hidden desire for Jem I deny every day. I can’t let him in; he’ll take advantage of my vulnerability, use me, and break apart the pieces I’m gradually slotting back together.