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“I’m fine,” I managed, but my grip on him didn’t loosen.
He stroked his hand up and down my spine. “I always knew that would be good,” he mused.
I pressed my cheek into his collarbone, feeling the sweat cool between us. “I didn’t,” I replied.
“I know.”
“I’ve figured it out, though.”
“Fucking finally,” he said, which made me laugh against his skin.
Since we were diffusing the tension, I said, “You better not have given me anything. Or knocked me up.”
That made him bark a quick, surprised laugh. “Jesus, Brit. I told you I’m shooting blanks. And I’m clean. I suit up every time. Or I did, until my dick decided to join a monastery.”
“I’m clean, too,” I said, because it seemed like it needed to be said. I’d had myself tested after leaving L.A., because I couldn’t be sure Pierre hadn’t cheated on me. He was secretive, and it seemed like something he would do. I didn’t tell Axel that part. I never wanted to think about my ex-boyfriend again.
“Good,” Axel said.
“You don’t want kids?” I asked. He seemed in no hurry to move, and neither was I.
“I don’t,” was the answer. His hand stroked my back again, and I could tell he was choosing his words. “It’s just how I am. I decided after Neal got Raine pregnant by mistake. He’s good at being a father, despite the obstacles they had. That isn’t me. I got the vasectomy a long time ago, but I still don’t regret it. I never will.”
I thought that over. It made sense. “I never think about having kids,” I said. “I literally never think about it. I think that if I wanted to have a kid, it would have at least crossed my mind before now. Considering where my life is at, that’s probably smart.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Axel said.
It was easy not to think about my real life—if you could call it that—back home while I was on tour, but I couldn’t avoid it forever. Camped out at Aunt Ellen’s, with no prospects, working for Axel at The Corner. At least I would have some money when the tour was over. But what did I plan to do with it?
Go back to L.A.? No, never. Go back into salon work? Start my own salon all over again? The money wouldn’t be enough for that, but if I played my cards right, I might be able to get a bank loan. Maybe Aunt Ellen would cosign.
No—I couldn’t ask Ellen for more than she’d already given me. I should probably give her all of my earnings from the tour as a gesture to repay her for all she’d done. Which would leave me back at the bottom again.
For the first time, I let myself revisit the conversation Axel and I had, when he suggested that Pierre owed me money. Was he right? Was I even capable of going after Pierre? Did I want to?
“I don’t think I’ll ever want kids,” I said, and it felt like the truth. After years buried in work and suffocated by Pierre, I didn’t feel like I’d lived my own life yet on my own terms.
“Maybe.” For the first time, Axel sounded a little uncertain. “But in the meantime, Brit, while we’re doing whatever this is, I don’t have anyone else. I promise.”
I propped myself up to look at him. I didn’t know what we were doing, or where this was going. Axel was a rock star, and every show on this tour was sold out, and presumably there would be more tours after this one. He wouldn’t always be mine.
But right now, he was. As I leaned in and kissed him, that felt right. For once, I wouldn’t let myself worry about tomorrow.
TWENTY-SIX
Axel
We got called to a meeting the next morning. Dan Daniels wanted to see us in the hotel conference room. It was still raining. Neal was mad at Stone—really mad, though I didn’t know what about. Stone kept sending death glares back at Neal, because he knew why Neal was mad and they hadn’t resolved it. Denver was irritable. I kept thinking about last night with Brit, and at first I’d remember how fucking great it was, and then an uncomfortable edge of fear and dread would set in, a gut feeling I had no time to think about.
Our show tonight had been rained out because the venue was flooded, so we had nothing to do. Then we got a talking-to about improving our shitty attitude, as if we were office employees at a performance review. Too bad. If you don’t want to deal with moody assholes, you shouldn’t do business with a rock band.
The final update from Dan was that the venue for our New York shows had changed. Instead of playing a small club, we were going to play Madison Square Garden.
In all our years together, the Road Kings had never been big enough to play Madison Square Garden, but we were going to play it now. Four times.
It was the kind of news most bands dream of getting. And yeah, it was great. But the clang of dread rang louder in my gut, and when I looked at my bandmates, I knew they felt it, too. Playing the Garden meant that things were changing, and fast. We’d never been hugely popular, selling out stadiums and topping the charts. We’d always had a loyal group of fans, and we’d done whatever the fuck we wanted, played the shows we wanted, wrote the songs we wanted.
A band that played four shows at the Garden wasn’t that kind of band. So if we weren’t the band we’d always been, then what kind of band were we?
