Page 104 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

It’s impossible to sleep with Riot prowling back and forth behind closed doors. Even when he finally stops, and the whole bus is asleep besides the driver, I can’t find sleep.

The rain, and the hum of the engines in our convoy, as we get closer to our next concert location provides a backdrop to my messy emotions and pained thoughts.

How long until he works out that he was going to be a dad? How long until I have to fill him in on why I kept it to myself? That he isn’t a father. That we don’t have a child. All we have is heartbreak.

Perhaps it’s too cruel to start that conversation this way but finding the words... making him believe them when he doesn’t trust me... seems impossible.

If he would have believed me, when I told him I didn’t steal the money, I might have had cause to believe in him. Even though my desire to break a guitar over his head has waned and I could have that conversation reasonably, I have doubts about how he would take the truth.

Cracking thunder overhead makes me jump. It rumbles over my already stretched tight nerves. Dragging the covers up to my chin, I huddle deeper as the rain turns heavy.

I’m not scared of a little thunderstorm. The ominous sounds, the rain that drowns everything out, or the dark shadows that creep all around.

My heart isn’t beating fast. My feet don’t want to run. There’s another crack, this one short and sharp like a gun being fired.

“Jailbait.”

My stomach lurches. It was lightning, not a gunshot. I’m not scared of storms.

Did the covers over top of me move, or is that creepy sensation the hairs on my legs standing on end?

“That’s it. Fight me, jailbait.”

Marco’s voice is in my memories. In my head. He’s not here on the bus where I am surrounded by strong men and security. I’m a grown ass woman. I should not be scared of storms.

“Go ahead and scream. No one will hear you.”

My breath comes in shallow gasps.

Another crack of thunder has me scrambling up the bed into the corner, a scream escaping me. I slap a hand over my mouth to cut it off.

“Kelsey,” Riot says, warning me he’s there before he draws the curtain back.

He keenly assesses every inch of me before his gaze locks on mine. “It’s the storm, right?”

My pulse starts to slow.

“Are you coming down? Or do I need to—”

I scoot out of the corner to the edge of the bunk where I wrap my legs and arms around him.

He draws me out of the bunk, his arms banding tightly around me. He squeezes the back of my neck with one hand.

“Is our girl okay?” Bronx’s sleep-gritted voice reaches me.

He’s aware I hate storms. So is Golden. None of them know why.

“Yeah. I’ve got her,” Riot tells him, carrying me to his room.

It smells sweet in the small space. There’s half a joint in an ashtray on the nightstand and the window is open.

He stands next to the bed with me in his arms. “You want to climb under my covers on your own. Or you want me to put you there?”

“Put me there.” I stroke his chest, my lips seeking the side of his throat. Needing to feel anything outside of my memories. Needing the distraction from the monsters in my head.

“On top or on bottom?”

“Bottom.” I need to be under him. I need his weight crowding out the weight of the man in my nightmares. I need him to keep me in the here and now where Marco isn’t.