I don’t bother turning to acknowledge Killian at my side. It will only encourage him. And I don’t have it in me to pretend I’m impenetrable right now. I hurt Sophie last night. I ruined her fun and then made her think she was a problem to be solved.
I didn’t realize how badly I was mucking things up until she stormed out. I’d only thought to protect my private life as I’ve always done, by putting up a wall and sniping at anyone who tried to look over it.
The method still works; she left. Cut me off at the fucking knees. I’m stuck walking on stumps and trying to pretend it isn’t agony.
Around us, stagehands, lighting engineers, and sound techs scurry to and fro, getting ready for the concert. On the other side of the massive screen we’re standing behind, the crowd fills up the stadium. Their murmurs and laughs create a constant hum.
“Shouldn’t you be in the dressing room getting your hair artfully disheveled?” I ask him.
“Libby does that for me in her own special way,” he answers easily.
Of course she does. Every damn person on the tour has been treated to the sounds Killian and Libby preparing for concerts. And celebrating the conclusion of each show. I don’t know how they ever thought they were being secretive.
“Then go find your wife,” I say. “I’m fairly certain she’s waiting for you in the lavatory.”
“Man, don’t let on that you know about the bathroom hookups or she’ll never give it to me there again.”
“It would do well for you not to provide me with ammunition at this moment.”
He falls silent, standing at my side and watching the well-choreographed art of the stagehands’ work. I know what he’s doing. Babysitting. Killian knows me too well. Just as I am able to tell if he’s hurting with one look, so is he. Granted, it’s been over ten years since he’s seen me hurting. Thinking about that time adds another stone to the gravel pit that’s formed in my gut.
Sophie didn’t come home last night. Home. I have not thought of any place as home for so long I’m surprised I even remember the concept. My houses are dwellings in which I rest when not working. Given that I’m always working, I rarely spend time in any of them. Yet from the first night Sophie settled her things alongside mine and filled those quiet, orderly spaces with her effusive nature, wherever she is feels like home.
Last night, alone in my bed, it was more like hell. I wasn’t able to lower my pride enough to ask any of my crew if they knew where she was. But it was a close thing. I’d been tempted to beg. That chafes too.
Eventually the tour will end. Sophie will move on to other projects, and my life will return to normal. Why that thought makes my gut clench isn’t something I want to dwell on.
Knowing Killian as I do, it isn’t a surprise that he can’t keep quiet for long.
He huffs out an impatient sound. “Seriously, dude, what’s got your dick in a knot?” From the corner of my eye, I can see him grinning, wide and smug. “I thought for sure your coach would be rocking for a few hours.”
“Don’t be disgusting,” I snap, leaving my damn cuffs alone.
“Hot lovin’ is never disgusting.” He nudges me.
“I might be emotionally scarred for life after hearing you say hot lovin’. And mind your business.”
“Oh, please. It’s not like you’re hiding anything.”
I finally glare at him, and he keeps that smug grin in place.
“You are so gone on Sophie,” he says happily. “You have been since you got off that plane.”
Sophie had been so happy, dancing like an erotic weapon and rapping—the lyrics falling from her lips in syncopated rhythm without falter or embarrassment. It was unexpected and lovely. I’d wanted to laugh just for the joy of it. I’d wanted to haul her over my shoulder, take her to my bed, and have her sway and thrust those hips of hers right over my mouth. My cock stirs at the thought, and I remember Killian is standing there, looking at me as if he’s never seen me before.
“Why are you grinning like a fool? You don’t even like her.”
“Eh,” he shrugs. “I was pissed about old shit. She’s cool. Just took me a bit to let myself see it.”
Despite the fact that I want to tear my skin off and throw myself into traffic for putting that hurt on her pretty face, I’m mollified by Killian’s acceptance. The fact that it means so much to me also irks.
“Everyone likes her,” he adds as if he’s trying to reassure me.
“It’s impossible not to,” I mutter. A mistake. It gives Killian an opening.
“So…” he prompts with a wave of his hand. “Why aren’t you knocking boots with Sophie right now? You two are clearly dying to fuck like horny bunnies—”
“One well-placed punch, Killian. That’s all it would take to have you silenced for the rest of the night.”
“Touchy. Touchy.”
He’s loving this. Throwing myself into traffic sounds more appealing by the second.
“I’m just saying,” he goes on, “I’ve never seen anyone more in need of a good, hard fuck than—”
“Shut your fucking gob.”