She blinks. “No.”
I’m not fazed. I lean in and prop my arms on the counter, giving her a great view of my muscled biceps in the short-sleeved Vital Rejects shirt I’m wearing. I’ve been working out daily, and I’m not ashamed to share my beautiful muscles with the world. “The truth is, I can’t live without Helene—that’s the name of my guitar.” I glance down at the case at my feet. “She’s been with me since the beginning of, well, everything, and it’s bad luck to travel without her. Plus, I’m utterly exhausted, and if I don’t have my guitar . . . I might be sad.”
The agent gives me a onceover, her eyes lingering on the sweptback hair, which is white this month. “Do I know you?”
I grin. “You like British rock stars?”
“Not especially.”
“Beautiful men with tattoos?” I twist my neck so she can see the spider.
Her nose turns up a notch. “Definitely not.”
I smirk. “How about gritty music with incredible guitar riffs?”
She compresses her lips. “Don’t want none of that stuff that makes my ears hurt. I listen to Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton.”
My eyes flare and I freeze—Dolly freaks me the hell out. Maybe it’s the hair, maybe it’s the boobs, but just the mention of her evokes mental images of her hiding behind a door or a shower curtain with a knife. I don’t know why. I can’t explain the fear; it just is.
“Need some help, baby?” Rose whispers from behind me, so close that her breath fans against the back of my neck. Just the sound of her voices relaxes me and makes me want to turn around and kiss her, but I have to focus. I’m determined to win this ticket agent over.
“No,” I hiss under my breath. “I got this.”
She laughs. Before arriving at the desk, we bet on whether or not I’d be able to get Helene on the plane with us. Usually we travel first class and it’s not an issue to put the case in the coat closet, but when you’re in coach, everything’s different. Granted, I could have just checked her, but it bugs me if she isn’t close.
“Sir,” Gwendolyn says, eyeing me dismissively as she looks over my shoulder. “If you’ll move along, I can get to the next person.”
I try again, flashing a bright smile and waggling my brows. “In case you didn’t know, I’m Spider from the Vital Rejects. Our fifth album just went double platinum.”
“Never heard of you.” She scrunches her nose.
Bloody hell. Leave it to me to get the person who doesn’t know music.
From behind me, Rose laughs, reminiscent of the time when we met on a plane all those years ago. “Aren’t you going to make up some lie about your girlfriend cheating on you with someone—oh, or maybe a dead dog?”
I answer her with, “My girlfriend—also known as my wife—would never cheat on me. She’s happy with what she’s got, if you must know. Her husband is fucking amazing.”
“Is he now?” Rose says.
“It’s no secret he’s a stand-up mate, plus a stallion in the bedroom.”
“Yes, he is,” she murmurs. “And I love him.”
Deep satisfaction falls over me. “Do you love me enough to handle this old bird? I don’t think she cares for my looks, my tattoos, or my music.”
“Are you talking to yourself, sir?” the agent finally asks, her brow pulled down low over beady eyes. She’s been eyeballing me since I started talking to Rose without actually turning around. I guess I do look weird. “Do I need to call security?”
I blink. Security? Shit. I really have lost this bet. I exhale, perturbed that I can’t get a guitar on a plane anymore.
“Let me handle her,” declares Rose as she brushes past me, her heart-shaped arse swaying in all the right ways as she steps in front of me in her black halter dress. It’s summer and her legs are bare and tan, and her copper hair is twisted up in some topknot that looks messy and stylish at the same time. With a determined look on her face, she marches up to the desk.
I grin and watch as she does what she does best: reading people and knowing exactly how to gauge their reactions. Her skills come in handy as our tour publicist for the band, focusing primarily on big media spots when we’re on the road. Mila, who recently got married, still does our general PR, but she doesn’t travel with us.
Rose fishes around in her bag, pulls out her phone, and shows something on it to Gwen—who has decidedly changed her tune and is smiling from ear to ear.
Wait . . .
What’s going on?
I lean over to see Rose showing her photos of Chloe and Connor, our one-year-old twins.
“They’re adorable!” she says, cooing at a picture of them playing in Central Park just a few days ago.
Rose smiles. “I know.” She nudges her head at me. “And this cocky rock star is their dad.”
Gwendolyn gives me a critical eye, but I think I see a softening there. “Is he a good one?”
I smirk and just stand back to wait for Rose’s answer. We’ve been together for the past four years, and every single moment has been a dream. We went through hell getting it figured out all those years ago, but now that I’m clean, our fates have aligned.
“He’s the best father ever,” she murmurs softly, her hand over her heart.
Nice touch, my eyes say.
I learned from the best, hers say back.
Rose clears her throat and focuses back on Gwendolyn. “So if you can find a spot for the guitar in a coat closet or storage, that would be fantastic. Normally, we fly first class, but we brought along some friends to take to London and we all decided to fly coach together.”
“We’re packed, and the closet is probably already full.” Gwendolyn thinks about it, her face doubtful.
“Made it! Thank God!” Oscar calls as he rushes over to us, pushing the twins in a double stroller. Wearing his black duster, he looks flustered. Axe trails behind him, smiling.
“You didn’t mention that these little devils are disgusting with their poo. Oh my God, out of control,” Oscar exclaims, his face pale as he glances down at them. “They’re so . . . angelic-looking. I mean, it doesn’t make sense.”
I slap him on the shoulder and laugh. “You’ve had them for ten minutes, mate.”
“Ten minutes is a lot when you can’t breathe for fear of gagging.”
“Is he your nanny?” Gwendolyn asks Rose.
Oscar rolls his eyes and waves at her. “Lord no. I’m the best friend. We’re all going to London for a vacation at their new country home.”
Axe raises a hand. “I’m the fiancé,” he tells a blinking Gwendolyn.
Just then Chloe lets out a bloodcurdling yell and her face turns an I demand to be picked up red.
Before I can do it myself, Rose scoops her up and soothes her, patting her on the bottom as she bobs her up and down. I watch them, emotion tugging at me. As if she senses me thinking about her, Rose’s green eyes shift away from Chloe and find mine. I get a buzz from the connection that’s always been between us, that knowledge that she and I are two parts of a whole. I let out an exhale.
I’m nothing without this.
Without her.