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Despite the fight my dad made sure I knew was in the Jones’s blood since before I could conceptualize the reason that might cause a need for it, I stand there and stare as Jeremy spews hatred right in my face in front of a crowd of strangers.
Where did my caring boyfriend go?
The boy that drew me pictures and took me to the park for walks?
That same face that hovered over me for the first time, took my virginity, is now so distraught with misplaced rage that I’m actually afraid he might hurt me for real.
“Yo, dickweed.” Jeremy’s nostrils flare—a sure sign that he’s beyond reasoning—and he squeezes me harder with bared and gritted teeth.
“So he’s coming to rescue you now?” he sneers at me, his breath washing over me and turning my stomach enough that I might actually vomit on him. “Fuckoff,” he yells in my face, making me jump.
“I saidhey.”Large hands land on Jeremy’s shoulders and spin us, his grip breaking free in time for the fist to land square on his nose and send him careening to the floor.
This time, no one catches him.
No one helps keep him on his feet like they did me.
In fact, the horde separates for Jeremy’s landing against the sticky concrete, then closes in around him like he’s not even there.
I watch in shock and horror as bodies and feet move and Jeremy doesn’t get up.
“So, you wanted that autograph?” I lift my teary eyes from the floor where my boyfriend is engulfed in the growing crowd and meet a set of blue eyes that sparkle beneath a lifted brow. Fin flips his handy Sharpie between his lifted fingers much like my stomach does, that smirk tight, but lifted in the corner of his lips.
I do want the damn autograph.
I really, really do.
For myself.
And I think he knows it. Because he sticks the cap end of the marker between his teeth and tugs the writing end free.
I let the Saltwater Skull’s guitarist gently brush my long black hair back from my shoulder and spin me until he can rest the heel of his hand just above my shoulder blade and the swipe of his marker tickles my skin beneath the shirt I spent two weeks allowance on.
“Just … say…” he narrates as he scribbles. “No … to…”
Drugs. Great. He’s writing stupid shit on my shirt.
Goddamnit. This whole thing was a mistake.
I jerk away from the guitarist’s stupid joke and spin to see where my boyfriend ended up in the crowd, only to be blocked by a hard chest clad in a Stones’s tee.
“Jerks …” I sigh at his words and let my sight trail up Fin’s frame to meet his chiseled features, where I find the jerk winking and capping his marker. “Like that one.” He thumbs over his shoulder, but steps into my path when I go to walk around him. “I suggest you forget about that asshole and call a friend. He’s not coming back.”
Chapter One
Fin
Afour-daymusicfestivalis the last official stop on the Road Trip tour Leo cooked up for us.
For now.
That and a damn wedding.
TheWedding of the Century,if you ask the press. Or the fans. Or happen across it on every social media platform from here to the other side of the globe. So much so that it has drowned out all the other shit the band has been through in the last year—including the scandal, the independent label our manager Leo started when our band leader fired the last guy, and the complete destruction of a record tycoon.
Because As Above’s beloved eternal bachelor—Rexmother fuckingThompson—is getting married.
To a normal chick.
