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The doors slammed shut, but then I heard someone pounding on the window. The glass was tinted, so all I could see were vague shapes.
Then Lennie’s earpiece crackled.
“Step away from the vehicle!” Dawson yelled out.
The door opened, and Dawson jumped into the passenger seat.
“Go!” Dawson ordered our driver.
We peeled out of the airport and headed for the highway.
“Everyone okay?” Dawson asked.
“We’re good,” Brodie replied. “Man, that escalated so fucking fast. Not sure why, but that kind of thing still surprises me.”
The ringing in my ears had ceased, but my heart was still pounding away. I reached inside my denim jacket with a shaky hand to grab my cigarettes, then realized that smoking probably wasn’t the best idea since Brodie was in the car with me. No smoking around our lead vocalist, or he would justifiably take my head off.
“Holls?” Dawson asked and turned around.
“Fine. I’m fine,” I answered with a quick smile.
I wasn’t. I hadn’t had a panic attack in years. Make that fifteen. Fuck.
“Next time, let security decide whether it’s a good idea to stay and sign autographs.”
Dawson’s comment had me snapping out of my headspace, and I finally made eye contact with him.
His gaze didn’t waver from mine. He knew. He goddamn knew how shaken up I was.
Why could I fool everyone but him?
Surprisingly, Dawson reached back and gripped my knee.
The reassuring touch didn’t help my racing heart in the least.
CHAPTER 7
DAWSON
Iwas always calm in a crisis, but that mob at the airport had fucked with my steadfast control.
My heart, too.
An hour later, even after we’d checked into the hotel, it was still beating hard and fast.
I’d been in worse situations, so why the freak out?
Iain.
I sure as fuck noticed Iain’s sudden panic when the band drew more attention, the crowd swelled, and a few fans became aggressive.
My only thought had been to get him out of there as fast as possible. Get all the boys in the band out of there, but, yeah, Iain was my priority.
I trusted the rest of my team to do the same.
Everything turned out all right, thank fuck.
Regan was waiting for us at the hotel, and I gave her the rundown. She wasn’t happy at how I’d given in to Brodie and Iain’s demand. I knew better, and yet, I felt bad because I knew that the fans meant so much to them. They weren’t like other asshole rockstars I’d worked with before. The boys of WaywardLane were always approachable. Or as approachable as we’d let them be.
