Her body furiously rebelled against her as wetness pooled between her legs.
She wanted that.
No, she didn’t.
And, shit, he was right. She was confused too.
“But here’s the thing, flower. I’m not the only one so fucking deep in mixed messages, and memories, and needs right now. At least own that shit.”
Willow turned her head, his lips so close to hers she could almost taste them. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It is confusing. All of it. I thought the rules would make it easier, but they don’t, do they?”
“No. They don’t.” He pressed off the fridge, then ran a fingertip along her nose. “But we’ll figure it out. Just don’t be offended and instead talk to me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Now, go post your stuff while I make dinner. We could probably do with a bit of time to cool off, yeah?”
Unable to speak, she simply nodded and returned to her room, wondering what she could do with the rage of emotions flooding through her veins.
“Hey, Matt,” Luke shouted as he jogged along the street to catch up with him. Ahead was the studio and a day of rehearsing, playing around with songs until they were happy with the concert arrangements.
“Morning, mate. Ready for today?”
Luke caught up to him. “Yeah. Can I chat with you about something first? Before we go in?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I’ve been getting to know Willow, and been rehashing shit about my life. She asked me about why I thought we were so tight that none of you would tell anyone what we were doing.” They stepped into the studio building and headed to the elevator.
“What did you say?”
“That we’re family. Dysfunctional, obviously. But family first. I miss writing songs with you. I felt pushed out when Jase began to step up.”
The elevator doors opened, and once inside, Matt hit the button. “For real?”
Luke nodded. “Suddenly you guys didn’t need me. The last three songs on the album are now yours.”
Matt tugged a hand through his hair. “That was never the intention. Fuck. I don’t know why I keep fucking things up between us. Iz, then this.”
“About Iz. It’s time I pulled my head out of my ass. I’m glad she’s happy. And I know you’ll look out for her.”
Matt stared at him. “For real?”
“Yeah. I’m glad you have each other.”
When they stepped out of the elevator, Matt pulled him into a hug. “Thanks, brother.”
The pressure on his chest lightened a little.
“Hey, guys,” Cerys said, as she passed through reception.
Beyond the fact that meeting Cerys had totally chilled Jase out, making him a borderline likeable person, it was hugely to their advantage that she ran the production studio that belonged to her father, Jimmy Bexter, a famous American producer.
It was light and bright. And thankfully it came at a discount, although he’d noticed his paycheck from the band had doubled that month which would . . . wait, he had a million fucking dollars coming his way soon.
Not that he intended to spend any of it.
“What you just said . . . It’s going to make this easier,” Matt said, opening the rehearsal space they’d been allocated.
“What is? And why is no one ready to play?” Luke said, as he sat at his drum kit.
“Because we want to talk to you,” Alex said.
“I’m fine and I want to play,” he said.
Matt took his sticks out of his hands. “We’ll play, but first we talk.”
“That was quite the bomb you dropped on Thursday.” Ben leaned on the windowsill; arms folded. “You don’t just get news like that and then be fine. Sorry, let me correct that. Some people would be fucking ecstatic. But you’ve made it clear that marriage, kids, anything that you think ties you down is off the cards. So don’t give us the ‘I’m fine’ bullshit.”
“Look,” Jase said. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to about this shit. But I’m worried about you regardless. Everything was on tilt before this. But now . . .”
Luke’s chest tightened. His breathing shallowed. Fuck, he bit down on his jaw until he was at risk of cracking his own teeth. “Honestly, I’m fine.”
Jase huffed. “You’re fine that a gorgeous woman is asking you to pretend to be in love with her so she can save her career, then fuck off back to America and take your kid with her?”
Luke glared at Jase. “What do you want me to say, Jase? It is what it is?”
Matt stepped over to Jase and put his hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes, life sends you what you need, Luke. Not what you want.”
“Keep the mysticism or whatever the fuck that was to yourself. I didn’t need this, and I don’t want it. I had plans to take a trip before the album comes out in a couple of months. Did you know that? Wasn’t going to plan it. Was going to show up at the airport and look at the board. See where I could go. And you know what, I’ll have more fucking money than I can poke a stick at, and not be able to do anything with it. A million dollars isn’t fucking pocket change.”
“A million dollars?” Alex asked. “You mean pounds? Did you win the lottery or something?”
Fuck.
He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He’d deliberately left the money out of the conversation with the band.
“Whatever. We all got paid more than normal. I was…”
“She’s paying you?” Jase asked, guessing what he’d meant.
Ben looked from Jase to Luke. “For real?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Luke said. The walls of the studio were closing in. Trapped. Fuck, he was trapped at home, trapped here. How had everything become so volatile. How had he gone from honesty with Matt to this? The world started to go out of focus. Stars began to spin in his peripheral vision. He reached for his water, but his hands shook.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
“That can’t be right. She’s not, is she?” Matt’s voice sounded muffled.
His heart raced faster.
What the fuck?
He couldn’t catch his breath.
Words continued. He couldn’t hear them. They got farther and farther away, as if his head was still under his duvet cover or his pillow over his head.
“Luke?” Ben’s hand on his shoulder made him jump. “You’re sweating, man.”
“Did he really take money from her to do the right thing?” Alex shouted.
“Alex. Shut up a fucking minute.” Ben glared at his brother. “Luke’s having a panic attack.”
Luke gasped as the words rocketed through him. He was torn between tearing his drum kit apart and falling to his knees in tears. The world suddenly seemed too small; his own skin too tight.
Oxygen was in short supply as he sucked in air. There wasn’t enough. His breathing became more uneven.
Panic’s icy fingers closed around his throat.
He was going to die on a plywood platform.
“Breathe,” Ben said as he shoved his head between his knees and rubbed circles on his back.
Luke focused on Ben’s hand. Inhale for a circle, exhale for a circle. Slow and steady.