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“Do you know how hard that was for me?” he asks quietly. “Seeing you unconscious, thinking you’d OD’d? My little sister almost assaulted because she put herself in a stupid situation.”
I bite back a retort, but he’s right. Somehow, I did and my immaturity shone through for him; arguing with Bryn will reinforce this. “A one off. Slip up. Another chance, Bryn. If I cause problems again, I’ll agree to leave.”
He turns to me, and instead of anger in his eyes, concern marks his tired face. “I’m not upset because you caused problems, Tegan. I’m upset because you were nearly hurt and the reason why. This happened because you’re in this fucked up environment I exist in, and you don’t belong here.”
“And I have people looking out for me,” I whisper and touch his hand.
“Yeah, although some probably have ulterior motives.” He scowls.
Jax. Don’t go there. I rest my head on Bryn’s broad shoulder. “Please? Can I stay?”
“Stop that,” he replies, but a smile flickers across his lips, a return to the Tegan and Bryn we’ve always been. “I won’t be wrapped around your little finger anymore. This is serious.”
“Sure you won’t.” I poke his side and he flinches. “I’ll finish my coffee while you think about it.”
Bryn sighs and stands; my big brother’s hurting because he failed to protect me and doesn’t understand that’s not his job anymore. If I thought staying on tour would cause him more upset, I’d go; but the selfish part of me is determined to stay. I smile encouragingly.
“Bloody hell, Tegan. Come to Madrid, but if anything else happens, you’re out.” I grin but the smile disappears when he adds, “And that includes hooking up with anybody who’s part of the tour.”
He raises a brow in challenge. Nicely played, Bryn, because it doesn’t take rocket science to figure out who he means.
14
MADRID,SPAIN
JAX
We arrive late, heading to the hotel through the dusk. I’m exhausted after last night’s events, physically and emotionally.
I’m not talking to Nate. At all. Will attempted to intervene when I went off at Nate about letting Tegan walk away, but Nate’s claiming memory blanks too. Will’s also tried talking me around, explaining we need to put this behind us for the sake of the band.
Not happening. Not yet. If I channel some anger at him, I relieve some of what I have directed at myself. Hazy images of Tegan dragged up the hallway by Tomas play over in my head, a leaden sickness in the pit of my stomach over what could’ve happened.
Ruby informed me Tegan refuses to believe it was drink spiking, claiming she drank too much. Tegan also point blank refused to be tested or to involve the police. This pisses me off and I’m determined to talk to her about what I witnessed. I might’ve been drunk, but I know what happened.
Our flight was earlier than the Phoenix boys’. As usual, Will whined about getting out of bed early, but I reminded him that at least we weren’t stuck on a tour bus and told him to shut up.
The hotel we arrive at is part of the same chain as the Lisbon one, a few differences in décor but dazzlingly similar with the flooring competing with light fittings for shininess. I barely notice, heading to my room and throwing myself on the bed to catch up on the sleep I missed last night. We have a night off, and a concert tomorrow. Bloody good thing, too.
A couple of hours later, showered and back to the land of the living, I explore the hotel. The petite girl at reception, dark hair scraped from her thickly made-up face, blushes as I ask her where the restaurant is. I don’t bother turning on my charm in response; that’s all too hard right now, and I’m starving.
I could’ve called room service, but the excitement of each new tour hotel hasn’t worn off yet. I bet the novelty will pass by the time I hit the sixth city. Still annoyed with Nate, and not in the mood for Will, I lope off in the direction I’m told. No Madrid nightspots for me tonight.
I stick to a burger and chips, fancier than the fast food version I fill my belly with when at uni, and treat myself to a Spanish beer to wash it down. Well, I should sample one thing from the local cuisine. I drag my phone from my pocket, wishing I had Tegan’s number so I could ask if she’s okay. Instead, I google last night’s concert to see reviews and pictures. I pout to myself when most are of Blue Phoenix, but my — Ruby Riot’s — fan page has a few good shots uploaded.
Man, look at how fucking awesome I am on stage.
“Hey, Jax.”
I drop my phone on the table in surprise when I look up at Tegan. Her face is drawn and colourless, eyes dull, and she’s dressed in blue track pants and a grey hoodie.
“Tegan.” I push a metal chair in her directions so she can sit, but she doesn’t.
“I just wanted to say thanks for last night.”
“No problem. Are you all right now?”
“Mostly. Still a bit hungover.”
