“Do… um, do you think something will happen today?” she asked cautiously, sounding like she was hiding out in a bathroom by how her voice echoed. “Like another attack?”
I gave up on my tie and grabbed my blazer from the hanger. “I have no idea, Thorn. Part of me thinks it’s inevitable, with us all being in the same place, in public, for the first time since…” Since Flo’s death. “But then I really hope there was another reason for it all. Maybe, I dunno... What if the farmhouse attack was all just a big mistake? What if Brenda’s godparents were the target and we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
Billie gave a sad laugh. “Imagine that. Someone puts out a hit on an anonymous old couple and instead finds a mafia prince, his pregnant mistress, an ex-gang enforcer, a badass guitarist with a fake name and mysterious past, a girl with mountains of bad debt, and… Jace Adams.”
“Yeah,” I agreed with a chuckle. “Some things are too coincidental.”
She sighed. “You never know. Nothing is impossible.”
Jace rapped his knuckles on my door, then let himself into the room without waiting for a response. “You ready to go? Brenda said our car will be here in five.”
I snatched up my phone, quickly switching it from speaker to handset before Billie spoke, but his expression darkened faster than a thunderstorm rolling in. He knew who I was talking to.
“Thorny Rose, I’ve got to go,” I told my girl. “I’ll see you there?”
“Of course,” she replied. “I… um, yeah. See you soon, Zepp.”
I smiled at the nickname, then ended the call before shooting Jace an accusing glare. “Just because you’re refusing to forgive her doesn’t mean I’m going to freeze her out. I care about her, Jace. A lot.”
He grimaced. “I can see that. But remember how it felt when she walked away last time? You’d only been fucking for, like, two weeks then. Imagine how you’ll feel when she does it again, if you don’t cut her out of your life soon.”
I shoved past him, heading for the door. Flo’s funeral was in an hour, and Jace was still attempting to drive a wedge between me and Billie, same as he’d been doing all fucking week since we got home.
“That drug spiral wasn’t about Billie,” I muttered as Jace caught up before I got into the elevator. We lived on the penthouse floor; no one else had access to our level. So the car was empty when we stepped in. “Not just about her,” I amended.
Jace shrugged. “I know. I’m just saying…”
I shook my head. “You’re jealous. You just can’t admit it to yourself, let alone anyone else. So you think that if you can’t have her, no one can. It’s fucking messed up, Jace, and you need therapy.”
The words were harsh, but it wasn’t news to him. I’d already told him the same thing a hundred times over the last week. He didn’t actually hate Billie; he hated himself for not hating her enough, particularly after her revelation in the forest that day.
As badly as Jace was hurting, he was also a decent enough human that he had to have some empathy for the position she’d been in all those years ago. She’d been a child making adult decisions, and she got it wrong. But she was the one who’d lived with the consequences while Jace went on an eight-year temper tantrum, turning their story into platinum records and rubbing her face in it.
Wisely, Jace shut the fuck up after that.
As Brenda had said, there was a town car waiting out the front of the building, but there were also several photographers lurking like vultures, waiting to snap pictures of the grieving boys of Bellerose. Soulless bastards, the lot of them.
We rode in silence across the city to the massive cathedral where Flo’s funeral was being held. She hadn’t been a religious person at all, but Brenda had informed us that with the impact Flo’s death was having on our fans, this was the type of grand location they expected. Anything less might be seen as us disrespecting or diminishing how important she was to our band, neither of which was true.
The plan was to arrive well in advance of the ceremony, but as our car drew closer, we saw how badly we’d misjudged how the day would go. People were crammed along the street, all in black, with thousands of placard signs with heartfelt messages to Flo or to the rest of the band.
It shook me, and I found myself choking back tears as I saw someone holding a huge poster of Flo’s smiling face. It was a picture taken on tour, the night before I’d met Billie. It seemed like we’d lived whole lifetimes since that night.
“This is bullshit,” Jace muttered as fans knocked on our blacked-out car windows, trying to see through the privacy glass. “This feels like a publicity stunt from Big Dick.”
I swallowed the hard lump of emotion in my throat. “It is,” I agreed. “But it’s also the sort of farewell Flo deserved. Especially seeing as…” Especially seeing as we’d covered up what really happened to her, and those responsible were still out there, walking free.
Jace blew out a breath, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You’re right. She’d love this, too.”
I nodded, staring out the window as our driver edged forward, waiting for fans to move aside as even our police escort was having trouble clearing the road. “Flo always thought she was the least popular member of Bellerose, you know? Like she was just a backup musician. She never thought of herself as famous like the rest of us.”
“She was, though.” Jace fidgeted with his cufflinks, his expression pinched like he was holding back tears. I knew the feeling all too well.
A few minutes later, our driver got us through the secured gates of the cathedral, and we both pulled on our brave faces as we got out of the car. Actually, fuck that. I pulled a pair of sunglasses from my pocket and slid them onto my face instead.
“Good idea,” Jace commented, following suit. We were still rock stars, after all.
An usher directed us up the main steps, and we didn’t hesitate to get out of sight of the screaming, sobbing fans. I loved that they were showing their grief for Flo—she deserved it—but I could have done without the attention, myself.
Brenda was further into the enormous cathedral, handing her baby off to her husband, Humphrey, and loading him down with an enormous diaper bag.
“Boys, you’re on time,” she greeted us with a sigh of relief. “Thank fuck for that.”
Humphrey scowled and covered the baby’s ears, like the kid could understand cursing already. “I thought you were supposed to have another six months of leave,” he told Brenda in a pissy tone, barely even glancing at Jace and I. He was firmly not a fan of our music, more of a classical jazz fan. Weirdo.
“Yes, well, that was before someone murdered one of my artists, Daniel,” she replied. She always called him by his surname because she said Humphrey was an old man’s name. “Take care of our little monster; I’ll be home as soon as I can.” She showered kisses on her baby, then smacked a quick one on her husband’s lips before effectively dismissing him and turning to us with her manager face firmly in place. “Where’s Gray?”
“On his way,” I said before Jace could be an asshole. “Should be arriving any minute.”