Page 25

“Are you sure?” he asked, tears shimmering in his eyes when he peered up at me, a cautious, guarded look on his face.

“I promise,” I replied, stepping closer so I could hug him again.

Just standing there, hugging him, nose pressed to his clean hair, was already making some of the ache fade.

“I can help,” Tony murmured. “I-I learned massage after Bowie’s accident, ‘cause he wouldn’t touch his scars, and someone needed to make sure they didn’t get stiff.”

“Little Wren, I’d welcome any help you offered, but finding a place to stretch out right now that would leave you the room to work is going to be next to impossible.”

“No, it won’t be.”

He’d gone from cautious to certain, steel in his voice now, instead of the hesitation I’d heard when he was afraid he’d hurt me. My brain was a tornado of questions, the first being whether he’d been afraid that I was going to hit him in response. I swear to fuck, if I ever learned that father of his had hurt him for being affectionate, back to that whole Masterson’s bail fund wouldn’t save me bit.

When I turned him loose, he took my hand and started leading me toward the band’s bus, but I needed a moment, despite the ache that shot up my back when I dug in my heels.

“Hey, go ahead and close her up, we’re good to roll!” I bellowed to my crew.

One waved, while two began closing the doors on the back of the equipment truck.

“Now, I’m done.” I said.

“Perfect. Now we can work on making you feel better,” he declared before leading me onto the bus, where Scythe was seated up front beside the driver.

“Wolf, are you riding with us?” Kingston, their driver asked.

“He is,” Tony declared before I could do more than nod.

Talk about having the tables turned on me. My boy was firmly in charge right now and giving off vibes like there would be hell to pay if I decided to argue with him.

Pressley was in the corner of the bus that had been set up like a makeshift office, still conducting business, despite Imminent’s show ending hours ago. I doubted that folks on the outside of the business realized how much went into providing them with the entertainment they loved.

Bowie sprawled across one couch, Tibby on another. There was no sign of Claude, while Harley was seated at the kitchenette table, menacingly sharpening knives.

Talk about a bullshit deterrent.

As soon as Bowie spotted us, he scrambled off the couch and moved to the other one, Tibby sitting up to make room for him, which just meant that the pair wound up flopped against one another like puppies as they stared at the opening of the movie they had on.

“Thanks, Bowie,” Tony said, flashing a grin at him.

It really was a beautiful friendship to behold. Seeing them communicate without words, touching base with one another whenever the vibe around them shifted still surprised me after all these months. They called each other out on their bullshit too, one of many things I admired about them.

“Get comfy, but you have to take your shirt off first.” Tony said.

“Everything good?” Pressley asked, head popping up like a meercats as he turned to peer at us.

“Daddy hurt his back so I’m gonna give him a massage,” Tony declared.

“Lucky! Tony gives the best massages,” Bowie declared.

I got comfortable, sprawling in a way that would let me enjoy whichever of the Friday the 13th movies they were about to enjoy. These guys hadn’t come to us as a band. They were the first in what they’d jokingly dubbed the build-a-band experience. Tonight though, the bus’s living space felt as cozy as a family den, even when Claude quietly emerged, hair soaking the shoulders of his t-shirt. He glanced around and spotted no other places to sit, went and parked himself across from Harley and his knives, lips pressed together like he was having a hard time keeping his mouth shut.

At least they were all present and accounted for without drama tonight.

“I gotta grab my oils,” Tony said, before disappearing into the back.

“Do we need to think about bringing another crew member on?” Pressley asked.

“No, we’re good,” I replied. “It’s me that messed up. I forgot I was supposed to be supervising and started hauling stuff around like I was still in my twenties.”