by Anne Malcom
I waited for his footsteps to disappear before I followed him, but I turned to the stairs instead of going in the direction of the living room, where he went. I was sure it was to fill Zane in. I knew I’d be getting a call from him in the morning, when my new phone arrived. Luckily, it wouldn’t shock Mom to have to change my number. I went through new phones continuously. The life of a rock star.
Wyatt leaned against the stairs, his face hard. He and all of the boys had come home when they’d been alerted of the photo. Sam was in the living room with a bottle of Jack muttering about contacting the White House to “hook us up with the Secret Service.” Noah was there too, sitting in the corner, reading. That’s where I’d left him anyway. He wasn’t actually reading, more like trying to control the fury that lurked inside him.
Wyatt looked like he was having a hard time doing that. “Cops are fucking useless,” he muttered when I reached him. Then he yanked me to his large body, kissing my head. “You okay, Lexie?”
I leaned back and met his concerned eyes. “Yeah. It’s just a photo. I’ll get some sleep and get over it,” I lied. I wouldn’t tell him how violated I felt at having someone watching me. How it brought back that horrible feeling of filth that came with the knowledge that the man who had almost killed my friend had watched me sleep.
Wyatt didn’t buy my act. “Not talkin’ bout the photo. Though I’m fucking proud of you for not turning into a blubbering mess when you got it.” He paused. “We both know Sam would have.”
I smiled at him weakly.
He squeezed my neck. “I’m talkin’ bout with him.”
I didn’t need to ask who “him” was; the way he spat the word said it all.
“I’m fine,” I lied again.
Wyatt frowned. “You’re a shitty liar, babe. But you need some sleep, and I need to self-medicate.” He kissed my head. “Get some sleep. You’re safe here.”
Wyatt was wrong. I may have been safe here in the physical sense, but with Killian under the same roof, after the kiss that still burned on my lips, I was in a shit-ton of trouble.
“Remember, we’ve got a senator and his daughter here tonight. Keep it PG,” Mark ordered, eyes landing on Sam.
Sam scowled at him. “I’m not runnin’ for president. Why should I censor myself for some stuck-up politician? Freedom of speech! This is America, land of the free, no one shall silence me,” he proclaimed, putting his hand on his chest.
Wyatt rolled his eyes, and Noah looked up from the set list, shaking his head. I smiled. The first one I’d had all day.
“How stuck up can he be if he’s at our show?” Wyatt asked, eyes touching me; they lightened at my smile.
Sam pointed to Wyatt triumphantly. “Exactly. He knows our music. He paid for the tickets. He gets what he paid for. We do not do made-to-order music,” he spat in disgust.
Mark gritted his teeth. “Just tone it down,” he ordered, before turning on his sneaker-clad heel and leaving.
Sam flipped the bird to his retreating back.
I frowned as Mark slammed the door to my dressing room harder than necessary. He was laid back. As laid back as any band manager could be, at least. He always dressed like he was on holiday on some tropical island, loose shirts, jeans, and converse. I’d only seen him in a suit a handful of times, and he flatly refused to wear a bow tie even to the Grammys. Then again, he was famous, legendary in Hollywood. He’d managed some great bands, ones that were superstars in the rock world. I imagined he could turn up to the Grammys in flip-flops and still get in. He was a shark when dealing with our business deals and the record company. He always had our best interests at heart and knew our sound, our core values, and the fact we’d never ‘brand’ ourselves. That meant he missed out on hefty commissions on sponsorships we refused, but he knew we were in it for the integrity of the sound. He wasn’t exactly making peanuts. Our upcoming tour was looking to be our biggest yet.
Maybe that’s why he was walking around like a lion with a sore foot. Or maybe it was the murderous stalker who may or may not screw up everything by killing the lead singer of the band he managed.
Too soon? Yeah.
Sam rolled the sleeves of his Henley up, exposing the tattoos covering his arms. “I need to get laid,” he declared. “Calm down before the show. Catch you on the wings.” He made to leave, but I clutched his arm.
“You volunteering, Lex?” he teased with a raised brow.
I made a show of dropping his arm like it was scalding hot. “I could think of many more pleasurable ways to contract syphilis,” I deadpanned.
Sam held his heart, pulling an imaginary dagger from it. “You wound me so. You know it’s just a matter of time before you give into this chemistry.” He waggled his eyebrows.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure it’ll be the best fifteen seconds of my life if that moment ever comes—you know, when hell freezes over or Ozzy Osborne starts singing pop, Sammy.”
Wyatt snorted with amusement.
I went serious and looked to the rest of my boys. “I just wanted to run something by you. I thought we could close out tonight’s set with ‘Skeletons of Us.’”
The atmosphere in the room, which had been light and teasing, turned wired.
Sam’s grin disappeared. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“Shit, okay.”
“You sure, babe?” Noah asked, concerned.
“I’m sure,” I replied.
We’d never played “Skeletons of Us” live. Never. It was easily one of our most popular songs. It went to number one immediately after the album dropped last year and had tens of millions of plays on Spotify.
But as a band, we’d only played it once. Insane, I know. Usually, in the recording studio, you did multiple takes. Spent hours, days sometimes on one song. Not this one. We got it in one take. We had to. Because that song was my soul. It was the broken, ugly spirit that I had left. It was all of my pain and suffering stuffed into three minutes of music. I could only play it that once. Singing that was facing the raw, horrible part of me that I spent every moment of my waking hours trying to escape from. That’s why I’d only done it once. It was all my heart could take.
“It’s ’cause of him?” Wyatt nodded to the closed door that I was sure Killian was standing guard against.
I had done my best to ignore Killian all day, as if that was even possible. But my pounding head had been a welcome distraction from my bleeding heart. And luckily, by the time I’d stumbled downstairs after a night of restless sleep, my kitchen had been full. No alone time for Killian and me. The whole day was planned out with organization for our tour, and the rest was spent recording. The police had been in contact, letting us know there was no new leads. I wasn’t surprised. It didn’t scare me as much as it should, maybe because there wasn’t room for any more emotions in my pulsating head. I didn’t spend a second of the day not being aware of Killian’s presence, the shadow of the kiss hanging between us.
“No, it’s not because of him,” I lied to the boys back in the present.
They all looked at me with various expressions of disbelief.
I threw my hands up. “Okay, it’s a little bit because of him.” I held my thumb and forefinger together. “But mostly it’s because of me. I need to do this.”
I did. Something had to give. However long this thing with this… stalker was going to last, Killian was going to be here. Instead of being freaked the fuck out at the thought of some psycho watching me and waiting for me, I was too focused on him. I had to try something.
Noah nodded. “Proud of you.”
I smiled at him.
“Crowd’s gonna go fuckin’ wild,” Wyatt added.
I nodded again. They would indeed. We had awesome fans, crazy stalkers aside. They were dedicated. There were online clubs, pages, and twitter posts. All talked about “Skeletons” being their all-time favorite song of ours, all speculating the reasons we didn’t play it. Not that there
was any hiding in the lyrics.
Sam crossed his arms. “Are we really sure we should be playing this show? I mean, there’s a fuckin’ crazy person out there after Lexie.”
We had talked about this. Multiple times.
“We’re not going through this again,” I said. “I’m not cancelling a show because of this asshole. I’m not crawling away into a corner, scared. We’re playing this show. We’re touring. Keltan’s got security sorted, and I highly doubt this guy is going to follow us around Europe. Touring is probably the best thing we could do right now.”
Sam was grim-faced but nodded. “Okay, but we get any inkling that you’re in danger, the tour’s off. I don’t give a shit about anything else but your safety.”
Wyatt and Noah nodded their heads.
“I’m going to be fine, guys. Now go and sow your oats with some unlucky girl, Sam,” I commanded.
He gave me another look. “Okay, but I’m serious. Anything happens, it’s off.” He shook his finger.
I rolled my eyes.
“Use protection!” I shouted as he opened and closed the door.
Noah and Wyatt chuckled. They left soon after, as was our ritual. We all needed some alone time before we played. I needed to strive for some kind of silence. But I found it hard to concentrate, knowing Killian was right outside the door. So instead, I abandoned silence. Picking up my guitar, I started strumming the guitar version of Christina Perri’s “Jar of Hearts.” I didn’t play my own stuff on my own. I couldn’t. It was too confronting. Then I’d have to think too hard about the words I wrote. What they meant. I needed the boys there with me to focus on the music instead of the emotions it was built on.
“We still don’t have a trace on that number?”
“No. Even Wire couldn’t get it and the fucker hacked into the FBI database when he was twelve.” Killian could feel Bull’s frustration from the other end of the phone.
“Fuck,” he bit out.
“She good? Lexie’s covered?” Bull continued, concern seeping into his tone. Killian knew it was killing his brother not being able to be there to make sure of it himself, having to trust someone else with Lexie’s well-being.
“You know she’s covered.”
There was a pause. “This fucker needs to die. And soon. I ain’t gonna be able to keep this shit from Mia much longer, and I don’t like my rate of survival if I keep doing so.”
Killian ground his teeth. “I’m on it.”
“Know you are.”
Killian put his phone in his pocket after Bull’s version of good-bye.
The entire day he’d been wound tighter than he was before a fight. Before he got into the ring, he was pulsing with adrenaline, anger, and expectation at the prospect of silencing his demons for the length of time it took him to pummel his opponent.
Now, all he could think about was the way every single one of his demons had disappeared the moment he’d laid his lips on Lexie’s.
He hadn’t slept a wink that night because he was consumed with the need to taste every inch of her body once more. He’d planned on getting a taste at some point today, regardless of the shit going down, but she was never fuckin’ alone. Not for two fuckin’ seconds. Despite the fact she’d gone through hell, she still worked all through the day. Meetings, recording, coasting on something Killian couldn’t understand. He had no fuckin’ clue how she could keep going.
Play a fuckin’ concert tonight.
He was not happy about this. Not in any sense of the word. Lexie on a stage, vulnerable, in front of thousands of people? The thought filled his blood with acid. But it was not his choice. Unless he wanted to kidnap Lexie, there was no way to stop the show. She had made sure everyone knew she was doing it, despite all protests. Even her fuckin’ manager didn’t seem happy about it. And it was the guy’s paycheck that would hurt if she didn’t play that show.
He was concerned enough to forfeit money in order to keep Lexie safe.
Thing was, she wasn’t willing to forfeit her pride to do the same.
It made Killian proud as shit and furious at the same time.
After being satisfied that the venue was covered, he’d returned to stand outside her door. Sam had threatened to disembowel him if he entered. Not that he’d listen to him, but this wasn’t the time. Lexie was about to play. He couldn’t do this now. He had to be patient. He’d waited four years, what was another couple of hours?
Just watching the chaos backstage made him nervous. So many fuckin’ people ran around, any of them could be a threat. They’d have to go through him first. Plus, Keltan had vetted all the people backstage. As had the cops, who visited regularly but still had nothing.
Idiots.
Standing outside Lexie’s door, he’d been approached by a handful of girls who he’d immediately recognized as groupies. They had the same look to them as club girls. Too much makeup, too few clothes, and not enough self-respect. He’d shrugged them off like flies.
He listened to the muffled voices in Lexie’s dressing room. The band plus her manager were in there. The manager who had blatantly ignored him all day. The one who was definitely pushy but still cared about Lexie.
The door opened and that very manager emerged. His scowl settled on Killian and he slammed the door behind him. He stepped forward so he was toe to toe with Killian.
“You hurt her, I’ll slit your throat in your sleep,” Mark promised before stepping back and striding off.
Killian watched him leave with a grin. Yeah, he cared about her.
The band left soon after Mark, each of them pointedly ignoring Killian.
Except Wyatt. “You go in there”—he nodded to the door—“we got problems. Lexie needs quiet before shows. She’s got enough swirling in her head. She’s fuckin’ brave even playing this show. You don’t do anything more to mess with her head,” he ordered, face hard.
Killian nodded.
When Wyatt seemed satisfied, he walked off, tagging one of the girls who had hit on Killian earlier and dragging her off. She was more than willing to be pulled away.
The quiet that Wyatt said Lexie needed didn’t last long. The sounds of her guitar filtered through the door along with her voice. Every single part of Killian froze the moment he heard it. He stopped breathing. He’d heard her before. Gone to every show he could, but she’d never been this close, and the words to the song hit him. It took every inch of self-control not to burst into that room. But Wyatt’s words echoed in his head.
“She’s got enough swirling in her head.”
So with great effort, Killian stayed put. Until after the show. Then, all bets were off.
“Are you ready to fucking rock, L.A.?” Sam screamed into his mic the moment he sat at his kit.
The roar that had only just died down exploded again. I grinned at Wyatt, who was shaking his head. I caught a glimpse of Mark in the wings, his hands going to his temples when Sam spoke. What did he expect? He’d told Sam to be PG; he should have known Sam would do the exact opposite. He was like a twelve-year-old.
My gaze darted to the form half hiding in the shadows. The one that had been there since I emerged from the dressing room. The heat of his gaze hadn’t left me since he’d taken in my outfit. I’d gone overboard tonight. I usually went for classic boho with a rock edge for shows, but this was straight rock. I was wearing a skintight black dress with flecks of silver in the knit. It was sleeveless and high necked, but the back dipped right down to the top of my butt. The hem finished just below my ass.
The boots I was wearing nearly reached to the top of my thighs, laces snaking up the backs of them. I had huge amounts of silver bracelets on and my hair was tumbling down my back, a crown of braids expertly disguising my fading cut. Mario had gone for smoky eyes and sultry lips.
The look did its job if the way Killian froze and his jaw went granite was anything to go by.
I jerked back into the present with the strum of Wyatt’s bass. Only Killia
n could make me forget I was standing in front of thousands of people. Only he could make them disappear.
I turned away from him and faced the pulsing mass in front of me, leaning in to sing the first verse. I sank into the moment and let the music take me over.
*****
“For our last song tonight, we’re doing something a little different,” I murmured into the mic, my voice husky.
The crowd screamed in response.
I gave Wyatt a sideways look. He grinned and nodded. “Here’s a little song called “Skeletons of Us,” I hope you enjoy.”
The crowd went wild, completely insane. Then something settled over them the moment I sang my first word, something tamed them. Maybe it was because this was the only time I’d sung this so they were listening. Or maybe they melted away because the song took me over.
Breeze blows sand off a long forgotten bone
Winds uncover what’s buried beneath the stone
A little piece of my soul that no longer lives in me
Because this skeleton I am no longer feels free
Skeletons of us, the sweet remains
How can a dead thing still feel this pain
In this wasteland I’m free
But freedom means nothing when you’re not with me
I used to dream of the sanctuary of forever
Now it’s a life sentence that nothing will sever
Forever is the blink of an eye
Forever is an eternity haunted with a love that never dies
Skeletons of us the sweet remains
How can a dead thing still feel this pain
In this wasteland I’m free
But freedom means nothing when you’re not with me
My violent soul craves the same tragic end
As the skeletons of us that lie at the end of the earth
where my heart cannot pretend
My heart lingers in the bones ground to dust
In the skeletons of us
My voice trailed off and there was a split second of silence. I mean complete silence. The entire crowd paused collectively, my notes flying into empty air. Then it was gone, that absolute, blessed silence. The roar replaced it. And energy fueled it, one I’d never encountered before, not in any other show I’d ever played. The whole stage seemed to shake under the weight of it. I knew the boys felt it too. My heart was thundering out of my chest and every part of me was shaking. It was the song, sure, but it was mostly that intense energy coming from the side of the stage. The stare that had intensified with every word I sang. Every piece of my soul I exposed.