His impression of Mark is so bad, it makes me smile, but he’s spot on with the words—that’s exactly what he would have said. The guys and a couple of the crew laugh. Even Blake smiles for a nanosecond, his stance relaxing a little, and I release the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. Emmett’s joke breaks the tension, and the guys calm enough to sit down. Fight averted, for now at least. They say there’s always a fight at family gatherings, right? Or is that just weddings?
Once everyone settles down and takes their seats, silence descends over our table again, and there’s an awkwardness that I hate. Eventually, Blake, who’s been staring down at the table, lifts his head, and with a pained expression, he looks over at Emmett. “Then what do we do?” he asks, referring to his earlier comment of what Mark would have wanted us to be doing.
My heart constricts painfully in my chest as I pull my eyes from him, unable to bear looking at him anymore, and I wish I had an answer for him. Gazing around the table, I see matching expressions on my guys’ faces. Out of all of them, Blake was the last one I would have expected to break down, and I can see it’s shaken the others too.
Clearing his throat, Leo pushes up from his chair. “We do what we do best.” He walks over to the bar and starts talking to the bartender before disappearing through a backdoor.
Confused, I frown and glance at the others. I notice I’m not the only one who doesn’t understand what’s going on, but when my gaze reaches Liam and I see his growing grin, I know he’s worked out what Leo’s up to.
Suddenly, music fills the room, filtering in through the old speakers hanging in the corners of the bar, but my eyes are on the figure in the doorway. It’s not exactly light inside the pub, but because it’s dark in the room behind him, there’s a strange shadow-like effect on his body. Thanks to the poor quality of the speakers, I can’t make out any lyrics, but that doesn’t matter. As soon as he hears the beat, Leo starts moving, leaving the shadow and snapping his fingers to the beat of the song.
He glides across the floor, his hips swinging to the beat. Leo reaches our table, grinning down at me as he does a body roll before extending his hand to me. Glancing at the others, I take in their expressions. Liam is smiling and pushing up from the table, as is Damon. Emmett is walking over to a stunned-looking Kathy over at the bar. Blake is gripping the table so hard his knuckles are going white, his jaw tight as he stares at the outstretched hand being offered to me.
Although I feel like I’m breaking inside and dancing is the last thing I want to do, Leo is right. This is what Mark would want. Besides, the idea that his killer is here watching us, watching our grief, enrages me. How dare they? They don’t get to share that, to have a part of that. So I will put on a brave face for Mark.
Leaning across the table, I press a kiss against Blake’s lips before resting my forehead on his. “Think about what Mark would want. This is what they need, let them grieve the only way they know how.” Pulling back, I see a flash of understanding in his eyes, and he nods once, loosening his death grip on the table.
I take a deep breath and turn back to Leo, seeing many more people dancing behind him now. Placing my hand in his, I let him help me up, and he instantly spins me until I start laughing. I needed this too. He was right.
We dance and dance and dance. The music changes as the night progresses, but my heart is a little lighter than it was earlier.
I’m hot and sweaty, and my feet are killing me. I lost my heels a long time ago, but I don’t care, all that matters is that my guys are here with me. I stop moving for a moment, trying to calm my racing heart. Blake still dances slowly behind me, his hands on my hips, so I turn to him and excuse myself to the ladies’ room to freshen up, fanning my face as I do. I walk through the tight hallway towards the bathroom, past the photos of local landscapes hanging on the wall, while brushing some of my hair back from my face. The pub we hired for the event is one of those typical, old English pubs with the twisting corridors, open log fires, low beams, and stone floors. It’s exactly the type of place Mark liked to come and drink. Now that I’ve had a couple glasses of wine and loosened up with several dances, I can appreciate the beauty of the place. Except right now, I need to pee.
“This is a private event, family and friends only, you can’t come inside.” Kathy’s strained voice makes me pause. Glancing over my shoulder, I see her forbidding entrance to someone at the back door. It’s so dark in the pub and such a beautifully sunny day outside that I can’t see the face of the person trying to come in, but they’re obviously male.
“Come now, Kathy, not even for old times’ sake?” the smooth, oily tone replies.
The voice makes me freeze before fire fills my veins and has me moving again, but this time towards the back door. No fucking way. When I reach Kathy’s side, I wrap my arm around her waist—strength in numbers and all that.
“Mr. Jones.” My tone is strong, polite, and professional, no matter how much my brain is screaming silent expletives. As soon as he sees me, his entire demeanour changes. He stands up straight, and a saccharine sweet smile is plastered on his face, his too small suit gaping in the middle where the buttons desperately try to keep his bulging belly contained.
“As Kathy informed you, this is a private event for Mark’s friends and family.” I cross my arms over my chest, holding my ground as I stare down at him, pasting a tight smile across my lips. “Since you are neither, I will have to ask you to leave.”
Mr. Jones is one of the men on the board of directors who owns The Wild Boys and originally hired me. They were also the ones who hired Kathy as a spy, fired me, and tried to make my life miserable. Now that I have full control of the boys and the whole act, they treat me with the respect I deserve, at least to my face.
“Gabby, lovely to see you,” he drawls, holding his hand out as if to shake mine. I glare down at it like it’s diseased. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot barge pole on the best of days, and he’s trying my patience. Frowning, he pulls his hand back at my lack of social etiquette, but his smile quickly returns as he looks back up at me. Kathy uses the opportunity to step back so I can face him head on.
“Uh-huh.” I don’t believe he’s happy to see me. I’m betting he drew the short straw or lost a bet and was the one who had to come speak to me. “What do you want?” My voice is sharp, my patience thin.
Throwing a nervous glance over my shoulder and wincing at the loud music, he takes a step back and gestures for me to follow him. “Why don’t you come outside? It’s so loud in here.”
“So the paparazzi can get lots of pictures for the papers?” Snorting, I shake my head. Does he think I was born yesterday? Since Mark’s death, the guys took a leave of absence, and it’s been all over the papers. If they catch me, their manager, talking with a member of the board of directors, before we know it, there will be photos everywhere with headlines speculating about their return. The guys don’t need that right now. “I don’t think so. What do you want?”
Seeing his nice guy façade isn’t going to work on me, he finally stops pretending and scowls. “The boys need to go back on tour.”
It takes a couple of seconds for the audacity of his statement to sink it, but when it does, it takes everything in me not to jump forward and slap his face. “How dare you?” My tone is deceptively calm, but my hands are shaking at my sides.