At the same time, he wanted to give Mish everything in the world. She deserved that, someone who could sacrifice themself for love. Be willing to let go of everything for this one shot at happiness.
He wasn’t that person. He was fundamentally flawed in that regard. He—had to live for himself.
That inner turmoil, that war raging over this tangled mess he’d helped create was probably why he failed Mish again.
The concert was their best yet. Ray’s voice was back, the fans loved when he and Mish sang together, and every song they played was top notch. No problems with the fans, aside from some drunk shoving in the pit that was handled quickly by the venue.
Then the signing happened.
There was a dude eyeing Mish while he stood in line. David resisted the urge to roll his eyes because it was obvious he was checking Mish out, even as he went to the other band members. Kid needed to knock it the fuck off.
Heat and rage rose in David—and he mentally kicked himself in the ass for it. He was not getting jealous of a fan, was he? God. Yeah, he fucking was, and that was an issue and a half right there.
Still, he took a step closer to Mish’s table. Just in case. But not too close as to be the damn overprotective boyfriend.
Of course the guy asked for a selfie with Mish. Of course. Not intervening took all of David’s professional demeanor. Didn’t stop him from gritting his teeth when they both leaned over the table and the guy wrapped his arm around Mish before snapping the photo.
Then the dude snagged the necklace around Mish’s neck and yanked.
Happened in the blink of an eye. One second the photo, the next Mish shouted and clutched at her neck as the guy took off.
David froze. He should have seen it. Should have stopped the dude. David had been right there. Horror and anguish at his sheer incompetence rolled through him. This was his job, and he’d failed completely. Breath halted in his lungs. Time stood still.
Holy fucking hell.
He burst into movement after the guy and the venue staff, who’d been more quick-witted than him.
Thank god the chain had broken easily—must have been thin. Thank fuck Mish hadn’t been hurt. Ray was going to have his head. Hell, the whole band would probably be gunning for him.
By the time David caught up to the staff, the guy was gone, vanishing into the crowds that were milling around and heading to the exits.
Fuck. Oh fucking hell. Just like last time—only worse, because he’d noticed the guy. Seen him. Just been too damn caught up in his relationship with Mish to do anything useful. Now the dude was gone along with another one of Mish’s belongings, straight into the hands of her stalker. Who was probably here.
David resisted the urge to punch the nearest inanimate object and scream. All his muscles tensed, and his throat was raw with rage—at the dude, at the stalker, and at his damn self.
One of the venue staff ambled over. “Did you get a good look at him?”
“Yeah, but it’s not going to help.” This thief had been pretty nondescript. White. Mid-twenties. Medium build. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Black concert T-shirt and jeans. Matched half the men at the concert. They’d never find him.
The venue guy eyed David. “You were right there, weren’t you?”
David bit down on his tongue to keep from snapping back, then ground out, “Yep. Guy was fast.”
And David had been slow. Motionless, in fact. He saw the contempt in the other man’s eyes. He deserved that—and more.
With the thief gone, there was nothing to do but head back.
By the time he returned to the signing area, Domino was consoling Mish. Some great boyfriend David was. Hadn’t even fucking been there for Mish. Not as a bodyguard, either. Waste of space. This was exactly the kind of shit that had killed people in the desert. Inattention. Lack of focus. At least Mish was fine, physically. A small abrasion marred her neck, a nick from where the chain had bit in before it had broken. Barely any blood.
“Fucking hell,” she murmured, then sat back in her seat.
The band, of course, insisted on finishing the signing, against the better judgment of Marcella, the site, and David.
There were statements to give the police. Reports. Each time he told his part, the recriminations in the eyes of the officers became more and more apparent. Yeah, great bodyguard he turned out to be.
When it was all over, he sought out Marcella and Ray. They were by the band bus, with Adrian. Ray must have known what was coming, because he raised both hands. “David, don’t.”
“You have to find someone better, Ray. For Mish, for all of you guys. I fucked up. Shouldn’t have taken this job.”
“The only way you could keep this sort of thing from happening,” Marcella said, “would be to convince the band not to have public interactions.”
“That’s exactly what I should have done,” David ground out. He’d gotten too close to all of them. Hadn’t been strict enough.
“Yeah, well, that was never gonna work.” Ray folded his arms.
God, they were all so infuriating. “I saw that guy. He was eyeing Mish. I should have stopped him from getting anywhere near her.”
Ray released his arms. “Lot of fans eye us up. We’re—whether we like it or not—part of people’s fantasies.”
“Yeah, so what? I failed at keeping her safe, for the second time.”
No one said anything. Adrian shifted and had the gall to look hurt, which made no sense at all.
“What?” David snapped at him.
Adrian didn’t flinch. “Mish is fine,” he said. “People ask and take selfies with the band all the time. Maybe we should stop, sure, but that’s not on you. It’s not a failure on your part.”
“It is.” David tightened his hands into fists. “Look, you all have been kind to me. And yes, I’m well aware that Mish likes me. But you need someone better for this. Someone who will tell you the truth and not be won over by all of your damn charms.”
Ray stepped forward. “So that’s it? You think you fucked up, so you leave us—leave Mish in the lurch?”
Marcella shook her head. “This is not the appropriate time to talk about this. We’re all rattled and tired and none of us has a clear head.”
David hadn’t had a clear head since he’d walked into that studio and met Mish Sullivan in person. Felt like he finally had one again. “Break’s coming up in July. I’ll stay on until then, and help you find another person—or a team.”
Marcella sighed and Ray rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, we’re not doing this now, David. Go get some sleep.” He nodded to the bus.
David stared at it. No way in hell he was spending the night on the band bus. “I’ll get my things and head to the crew bus.”
All of them had the good sense not to argue with him about that. He climbed on board the bus and gathered his belongings.
Marly was sitting in Mish’s berth. David fingered the dog tags—they weren’t the ones he’d worn so many years ago. Those were in a box in his closet with a couple of other mementos. Still, these ones had been with him for years. And Marly had always been there. He patted the bear on the head. “You take good care of her, since I can’t.”
Then he hoisted his bag and walked off the bus.
Sometimes you had to do what hurt the most to make everything better. He’d been hired to do a job—that he’d failed to do. Regardless of what Mish or Ray or Adrian or anyone a part of Twisted Wishes felt—he had to go. For the band, for Mish, and for his own sanity.
* * *
The police were kind in taking Mish’s statement, but she’d had it with the whole situation. After the ring fiasco, all of the jewelry she’d worn had been decorative, not sentimental. She didn’t give a damn about the trinket. Yeah, her neck was a little sore, there was a tiny abrasion, but thankfully the chain had snapped like the cheap thing it was.
Whoever the stalker was, he wasn’t getting an item that meant anything to her this time.
What worried her most was that David was nowhere to be found. He’d taken the whole incident hard—even with all the precautions in the world, that guy had ripped the thing off her neck. Wasn’t David’s fault, though. They—she and the band—still chose to get up close and personal with fans. You couldn’t keep shitheads away. They said one bad apple ruined the bunch, but Twisted Wishes had vowed not to let that happen.
Eventually she found a very grave-looking Adrian at the exit that let out to their buses. “You’ve seen him, haven’t you?”
“Yeah.” Adrian stared out at the buses. “He’s kicking himself hard for this one. Thinks he was too distracted.”
That roiled Mish’s innards. Distracted because of her. “It’s not true.”
“Doesn’t matter, in some ways.” Adrian’s voice was low and gentle. “He believes he failed at his job.”
Over a stupid piece of metal with a glass bobble on the end. “Where is he?”
Adrian shoved his hands into his front pockets. “On the crew bus.”
Pain, anger, and fear all laced through her, tangled into a braid that hurt every bone. Because if he was there, she knew what was coming.
Fucking hell.
She took a breath to steady herself, then another. Finally, she spoke. “Thanks. I’m gonna go talk to him.”
Adrian nodded. “I’ll let the others know.”
First, though, she needed to collect something from her berth. Because if this went the way she thought it might, she needed to be prepared.
The walk to the bus wasn’t long, but each step hurt like razors, especially when the crew members—milling around the outside of the buses—stopped to watch her.
Yeah, this wasn’t going to end well. Mish climbed onto the silent band bus and headed to her bunk. Marly was there, of course. David wouldn’t have the heart to take him back, even if he was taking everything else with him. Her heart, her soul. She didn’t understand why, but she knew what was happening. These stories always ended like this—and she was not a woman built for happy ever afters. Never had been.
Mish pressed her head against the wall that surrounded the berths, against the cool chrome strip there. There would be no tears. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Finally, she kissed Marly on the head, straightened, and headed out of the bus.
The crew members who’d been around before were nowhere to be seen now. When she neared their bus, Marcella stepped off. Before she saw Mish, she covered her face with her hands in a rare display of emotions, and that drove pain deeper into Mish’s soul.
This was going to go the way she thought. She scuffed her boots against the gravel and Marcella jerked her head away from her palms. “Mish.”
So much unhappiness in her name. When she’d chosen it, she’d never thought it would carry the same weight of sadness her previous name had. She’d been wrong about that—though what was wrapped around her name now was a life of her own making. One she was proud of, and nothing, not even David Altet, would change that.
“David on there?”
Marcella focused on Marly, then met Mish’s gaze. “Yeah. He’s—upset.” She lowered her hands and smoothed out non-existent wrinkles on her skirt. “I made sure everyone else is busy elsewhere.”
To give him space. To give them space. “Thank you.”
“Mish...” She took a breath. “Don’t let him do this.”
They all knew the score. All of them. “I don’t keep lovers who don’t want to stay. I never have.”
She’d never seen Marcella look so distraught. “Sometimes you have to fight for what you want.”
Mish almost laughed out of bitterness. But Marcella hadn’t been there when they’d all fought for the band, or for each other. And none of them had been there when Mish had been a kid. “Oh, honey, you don’t have to tell me that. I’ve fought for what I want my entire life.” She drew close, pausing before she entered the bus. “But that fight can’t be one-sided. Sometimes you have to let people go.”
Even if she didn’t want to. Wanted to wail and beg and bargain. Sure, she’d listen and hope and use logic. But if David was going to walk away, she’d let him.
When she stepped on board, David was there, in one of the crew seats, his hands gripping his hair. He looked up as Mish made her way toward him.
The heartbreak in his eyes was unfathomable. Especially when they alighted on Marly. “You...”
Mish held up a finger. “Wait. Let’s talk before you make unilateral declarations.”
He sat back against the seat. “Okay.”
She sat sideways on the seat across the aisle from him. “What happened tonight wasn’t your fault. Like the ring wasn’t your fault.”
A snort and a shake of his head. “I’m supposed to be your bodyguard, Mish. No one’s supposed to get that close to you. Both events were entirely my fault.”
“Technically, you were hired to provide security for the band.”
“We both know why I was hired.” His voice was flat. “And I fucked up that job. Over and over again.” He rubbed at his beard and finally looked like he had lived more than forty years. “I shouldn’t have gotten so close.”
There it was. “That’s bullshit. All of it. First, you’ve done your damnedest to keep me—and us—safe. Second, we’ve chosen to continue interacting with fans. Doing the signings and the encounters and all of those things.”
He started to argue, but she cut him off. “And third—the ring would have been stolen and that necklace would have been stolen regardless of whether we were involved or not.”
He leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Maybe,” he whispered. “Maybe not.”
The pain in his voice and the lines in his brow were symptoms of something else—and the words came out of Mish’s mouth fast and hard. “You were thinking of ending things before tonight, weren’t you?”
David closed his eyes, and the truth cut through her hard and fast. She nearly dropped Marly. “Were you even going to talk to me about it?”
“I wanted to. Wanted to talk. But there was never any time. Tonight only drives home how much this isn’t going to work.” He gestured between the two of them. “No matter how much I want it to.”
Anger finally wormed its way into Mish’s veins, thank goodness. It hardened her bones and drew a shield around her fragile, shattering heart. “So, since you’ve got it all figured out, you wanna tell me why you’re dumping me on my ass? Why this—” she repeated his gesture “—won’t work?”
She was glad for David’s flinch. “Because this tour’s going to end. Then what? What happens?”
Mish wracked her brains. “I figured we’d keep seeing each other. I’ll be in the city, you’ll be in the city. Why wouldn’t we see each other?
“Sometimes my jobs take me out of the city.” David rubbed his hands on his thighs. “This one is a perfect example. If I take a gig with another band, or an executive who travels, or someone like that, I won’t be around.” He paused. “And when you go out on tour, I’m not gonna be security for you all. I’m too close now. I’d turn down the job even if Ray offered.”
This didn’t make sense. She held Marly a little tighter. “So?”
He rotated in his seat and stared at her. “Our lives won’t intersect. You’ll be off being a rock star and I’ll be back working the jobs I had before I got...” He let the statement drift off, his skin blanched. “Being a rock star’s significant other is...a detriment in my line of work. I’ll be famous. No one’s gonna hire me.”
That wasn’t at all what she expected and it made her blood run cold. “So you’re dumping me because I’m a liability to your income?”
“God, you make me sound like a fucking asshole,” he said. “How are we going to date if we
never see each other? You’ll be off doing your thing, and I’ll be off doing mine, ’cause yeah. I still have to eat, Mish.”
Except she could support him. Even as the thought slipped into her mind, she knew he’d reject it and why. She’d have done the same—they were alike in many ways. Fiercely independent. Fighters. People who’d learned to rely on no one but themselves for years and years.
She’d found Twisted Wishes, though, and learned that she needed Ray and Dom and Zavier and Adrian—and now Marcella—as much as they needed her.
Still, she felt compelled to offer the notion, at least in a roundabout way. “There’s a place for you here, David.”
“Doing what?” He raked a hand through his hair. “I know what you’re thinking. I wouldn’t have to work. It’s not the money. It’s—me. I need to be useful. And if I’m—If I’m not much more than a groupie because I happen to be dating you...” He shook his head. “I can’t, Mish. I love every fucking second with you. You’re the best woman I’ve ever met. But you’re you and I’m me.”
“I have no idea what that means.” The pain slipped past the anger, dragging sadness in its wake. “There’s a ton of things to do on tour. You wouldn’t be a fucking groupie...” And the anger sprang back. She shoved Marly into David’s hands. “Shit. I can’t believe you said that.”
Standing felt better, so she did, and paced a few steps down the aisle before turning and stomping back. “I get wanting to be independent. I so understand that. But if you hook your life up to someone, things give way. You make compromises. You do it out of love.”
“You don’t have to. You hold all the cards.”
She froze in place, heart shattering like glass, eyes locked on his. What he said was true from a certain point of view. “Do you want me to give up the band?”
He stared back at her, his face ashen. “What?”
“Do you want me to give up the band?” she repeated. “Because it sounds an awful lot like the only reason you don’t want to be with me is that I’m a rock star.”
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