In the movies, love takes two forms: the sickly-sweet love of Christmas movies where even the most difficult of challenges are easily overcome, or the crazy psycho love that drives people to do all kinds of insane things.
As much as I’d like to believe that these men have feelings for me, I’m obviously kidding myself. They have a duty to protect me that I’ve built into some greater level of care. They’re good, responsible men, and that’s blinded me to the fact that this situation is all my creation.
Men love sex. They’re biologically driven to fuck as much as possible. So, if a woman offers it on a silver platter, they’re likely to take it. Sex for women has a greater emotional element. Sex for men is a functional need.
All I’ve done for them is fill a desire for physical release and provide them with some fun on the lonely nights on tour. The same as they’ve done for me, except I’ve been an idiot and let my heart get involved.
If I tell them how I feel, would it make a difference? If they fought to stay with me, what would the end result be? I’d lose my contract with Blueday. That’s a certainty. We’d all end up resenting each other. Their life is on the road, and mine is too. I convince myself that this thing only worked because of the forced proximity of the tour.
Swallowing everything down tastes as bitter as the drink I almost swallowed yesterday. To my dying day, the loss of these men and that terrible experience will have the same flavor.
For all of our sakes, the best thing I can do is let my bodyguards walk away.
25
BEN
It's raining in London; weather fitting with the mood we are all doing our best to conceal. As we disembark, the stewards shoot us pearly-white smiles that don't quite meet their eyes. When we're through the immigration checks, we're stopped by a troop of men in black.
"Steel 7 Security?" the biggest one with the shaven head asks.
"Yes." Connor's shoulders rise as he takes a steadying breath, and my knee feels weak.
These are our replacements.
"We'll take it from here," he says. "Miss Evans, your car is waiting outside. I'm Mr. Wright, and this is the rest of your team. Can you follow me, please?"
"Hang on a minute," Asher says. "We're going to need to see some documents before we release the primary. Show us your contract."
Mr. Wright reaches into his inside pocket, pulling out a roughly folded bundle of papers. "Here's the contract from Adam at Blueday. I take it that it's the same one as they sent to you."
Connor looks over the details, nodding as he reads the relevant sections. Mr. Wright takes a step forward impatiently, but Connor puts up his hand, and the rest of us gather closer to Luna. Eventually, he turns to her. "Luna, these men are going to be looking after you from here."
I can't decipher her facial expression because her eyes are obscured by her oversize sunglass. She can't speak either.
Connor reaches for her hand, but Mr. Wright clears his throat. "Can I suggest that goodbyes are kept to a minimum? Who knows who's watching and recording right now? Luna needs to maintain distance."
As Connor's hand drops to his side, my heart feels like a missile dropped from the belly of a plane. We're not even going to be able to say goodbye properly. I'm never going to feel the soft press of her lips on mine or the gentle touch that told me I was enough.
"Luna, we wish you all the best with the rest of the tour. If you need anything, please call any one of us anytime." Connor's voice is flat and defeated, and I get the urge to shout the words from his tattoo: Tada gan iarracht. There's never been a moment in our lives when it has meant more.
Nothing without effort. It would take effort for us to fight to be together. Luna would lose the most. She'd have to give up her career and the wealth that it's set to bring her. It's a lot, but we've never asked her how she feels about us. We've never given her the chance to make a choice.
I want to step forward and give her that choice right now, but if she says no, if she chooses to walk away, I don't think I could take it.
It's not kind to force her into a corner, not kind to her or kind to us.
Sometimes the end of a situation is the best thing for everyone. Fighting doesn't always lead to victory.
Luna nods at Connor's best wishes, wrapping her arm across her body in a way that seems as though she's trying to hold herself together but could just be impatience.
I thought I felt the emotion behind her kisses and in her fingertips, but we never made each other promises. Now I wish I had the courage to tell her how much better my life has been with her in it. Maybe it would sound selfish, or maybe just pathetic.
"Anytime," Asher says.
We all mumble our agreement because it's the only thing left to do.
She brings her hand to her lips, kisses it lightly, and blows it; then she breaks out of the protective circle that we've gotten too used to forming around her and into the circle of new bodyguards.
They're an older group than we are. Maybe Adam at Blueday selected them because they'd be less of a temptation. Still, if Luna was really driven only by her physical urges, maybe she'll indulge in the same kind of arrangement with her new security team.
I feel sick at the thought and sick with myself for imagining she'd think so little of us.
Luna's a great person. Kind and thoughtful. Bright and bubbly. Confident yet vulnerable.
I'd trust her with my life, just as I trust my Steel 7 brothers.
I'll keep the memories of our time together wrapped up tightly next to my heart.
As Luna disappears through the doors, we stand frozen for a few seconds. We have no purpose now – no reason to be in London at all.
"We should have told her," Asher says softly as we gather our luggage and make our way to the exit.
"Told her what?" Hudson shrugs, his huge frame carrying the air of the defeated. "That we love her? I told her that in a hundred kisses and touches. She knows, Asher. It just wasn't enough."
As I step into the London rain, I have no idea what to believe.
But either way, none of it really matters anymore.
26
LUNA
As soon as I switch on my phone, I am bombarded with messages. The screen lights up with icons that tell me my voicemail box is swamped, and WhatsApp has gone mental.
In the back of the limousine, surrounded by strangers, I feel so alone. I can’t face listening to the ranting of anyone who cares more about money than they do about me, so I ignore everything apart from the messages from my friends and family.
Jordy is first. What the fuck, girl? You look like you’re living some different dreams from the ones I expected from you. Seven bodyguards, eh? I would call you Snow White, but those hulking dudes look nothing like dwarves. Can you call me or something? I mean, I’m sure this radio silence breaks the bestie code in some way. Shouldn’t I be the first one to know your gossip? Or should I say, shouldn’t I be the first one to hear the juice. Sex gossip is definitely bestie territory. Did I say call me? Call me!
Damn, I want to hear my friend’s voice. I want to joke with her about guy stuff like we used to. I want everything to feel less like it’s shattering my insides, but there is no way I’m making juicy confessions surrounded by my new bodyguards, and anyway, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t mention the names of the men she’s seen me with in the pictures without breaking down.