She deliberately avoided looking at Ryder as she handed him his plate, but he was having none of it. “Hey,” he said, blocking her into the corner so she couldn’t take more than one step without bumping her body against his—something she would rather die than do at this point. “You know this isn’t about you, right?”
It sure felt like it was about her. Not that she was going to say that to him. If she did, she was afraid she’d end up crying and that she would not do. Not when she’d already had more than her fair share of humiliation this week.
When she didn’t answer, he said her name all deep and rumbly and determined. If she’d had her way, she would have stood there all night, refusing to meet his eyes until he finally gave up and went away. But she was conscious of the other guys watching them. So she dug deep, put on her breeziest smile and most carefree look. “Didn’t I give you enough ice cream?” she teased gently, knowing his weakness for the stuff.
“Jamison…”
God. Why was he making this so difficult for her? Couldn’t he see she was desperate to get away from him?
“It’s okay.” She reached up and patted his cheek with a playfulness she was far from feeling. “I promise, I won’t attack you in your sleep. Your virtue is safe with me.”
“Damn it! That’s not what I meant.” His frustration was obvious and her knees quivered a little as she wondered what he was going to do next. Which was stupid as there was nothing he could do, not in front of the other guys. And not when Jared had obviously had enough. Her brother wrapped his hand around her wrist and gently tugged her out of Ryder’s reach.
Grateful for the rescue, she went over to sit on the couch next to Wyatt. He was taking up most of the sofa, so she perched carefully on the edge of the middle cushion, then placed a gentle hand on the center of his back. “Come on, sweetie. Don’t you want any dessert? I made your favorite.”
And she had. Partly because the apples she’d brought from home were pretty much the only thing she had to work with and partly because she’d seen the darkness in his eyes the night before and she’d wanted to lighten it, even for a few moments. When she’d been growing up, he’d spent almost as much time at their house as Ryder had and she’d been as crazy about him—but in a totally platonic way—as she’d always been about Ryder.
Wyatt stirred, opened bleary eyes. “Jelly Bean?”
“Come on, sweetie. Why don’t you eat something?” She hated the way she could see the bumps in his spine, the way she could count every rib.
“Not hungry.” He turned his face away, closed his eyes again.
Tears trembled on her lashes, this time for a totally different reason. “How long has he been using?” she demanded, her harsh whisper echoing in the sudden silence of the bus.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” Ryder glared at his fellow bandmates.
Jared held his hands up. “I was as surprised as you tonight.”
Quinn shifted guiltily. “I thought he might have been high the other night, but I wasn’t sure. It’s the only other time I’ve noticed.”
Micah didn’t say anything, which was strange enough that it had all of them looking at him. “What?” he said, around a mouthful of ice cream. “I didn’t know.”
“Really?” Ryder asked. “You sure about that?”
He shrugged. “Okay, yeah, I suspected. Have for a while, really. But I didn’t kno—”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?” Jared demanded. “The fact that our drummer is using again is pretty pertinent information.”
“He’s fine,” Micah answered with a careless roll of his eyes. He seemed a lot more interested in his dessert than he did in Wyatt’s problems. “He’s keeping it together.”
“That’s not the point.” Ryder’s arms were crossed, his eyes a hard obsidian. “We agreed we’d watch out for him.”
“I was watching out for him. I was watching out for all of us! We can’t afford to blow this tour, not now when we’re about to hit really big—”
“Really? That matters more to you than if he kills himself?”
“Don’t be such a drama queen, Ryder. He’s obviously fine—none of you guys even noticed before tonight. Besides, you’re damn right it matters. I’m not in this band for my fucking health, you know. I want to go big, really big and this is our shot.” He shoved another bite of cobbler in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. Then shrugged. “Besides, having a fucked up drummer just gives us street cred. Feeds the mystique.”
Jamison gasped, shocked at the way Micah talked about Wyatt and his very real demons. She glanced around, realized the rest of the guys didn’t look shocked. Just disgusted. Suddenly the gulf she’d sensed between them and Micah last night made so much more sense. She couldn’t help wondering what had happened to him. Or if he’d always been like this and they’d just never noticed before.
Ryder lunged across the short distance between them, got in Micah’s face with a growl so deadly it sent shivers of dread sliding down her spine. “Keep it up, asshole, and the only ride you’re going to be taking is straight back to Austin, one way.”
“Oh, yeah?” Micah straightened up, shoved Ryder in the chest. “And who’s going to make me?”
“Oh, I am.” Ryder hadn’t so much as flinched under Micah’s assault, but when he shoved him back, the bass player stumbled. Would have gone down if he hadn’t managed to catch himself on the kitchen counter. “If you don’t start looking out for the band instead of number one, I’ll fucking ruin you. And I won’t even think twice about it.”
Jamison was shocked at the anger that throbbed between the two, wondered what had caused it. Ryder, Wyatt, Micah and Jared had been close friends for well over fifteen years. Quinn had come along a little later—just about ten years ago—but he’d fit in seamlessly and it hadn’t taken long before he was a close-knit member of the group. But when she looked at Jared and Quinn, they both looked as disgusted with the bass player as Ryder was.
Before she could say anything to diffuse the tension, Wyatt rolled over and shoved himself into a sitting position. “Jeez, I was just having a little fun. Nothing for any of you to get so bent out of shape about. Relax, will you?”
“It doesn’t look like much fun from where I’m sitting,” she told him softly enough that the others couldn’t hear, before moving to stand up.
His hand shot out, pulled her back so that she was cuddled into his side. “Don’t go, Jelly Bean.”
Surprised, she glanced into his face. Saw those damn demons prowling behind his eyes no matter how carefree he sounded. Relaxing against him, she murmured, “I’m not going anywhere, Wy.”
“Good.” He draped an arm over her shoulder.
“But you’ve got to eat for me.” She held up a spoonful of the apple crumble. “You’re way too skinny.”
“You sound like my grandmother.”
“Obviously a wise woman.”
His smile, when it came, was a little off, but the darkness in his eyes had dissipated some. It dispelled more when he leaned forward and she slid a bite of dessert into his open mouth. “God, that’s good.”
He allowed her to feed him a few more bites before he buried his head in the curve of her neck and rubbed his nose back and forth against the sensitive skin there. Jamison laughed at his tickling, then shoved at his head in response. “You smell like cinnamon.” He sniffed deeply before rubbing his face against her again.
“And you smell like dirty sweat socks.” She poked him in the ribs, tried to wriggle away from him. He responded by putting the plate aside and tickling her in earnest.
“Oh, yeah? I’ll show you sweat socks.” He wrestled with her, doing his best to get her face into his bare armpit.