Running with Scissors (5 page)

tonight, though. All the way here from California, his

stomach had been in knots that those twelve-dol ar bottles of

booze on the plane hadn’t been able to touch. His bandmates

had every reason to want nothing to do with him. Kristy had

undoubtedly warned them against giving him shit since he

was bailing them out. That didn’t mean they’d be thrilled to

see him.

28

Kristy pulled into a parking space outside one of those

cheap motels where people either got knocked up or

murdered.

He craned his neck, scrutinizing the decrepit clapboard

shithole beneath a faded sign. “Record company’s really

making you guys travel in luxury, aren’t they?”

Kristy sniffed. “Yeah. If Schadenfreude’s bus had broken

down, they’d be staying in the goddamned Four Seasons. But

whatever. It’s only until after this show.”

He turned to her. “What’s wrong with the bus?”

“Plumbing issues.” She dropped her keys into that giant

ever-present purse. “If the mechanics value their lives, we’ll

have it back by the time we hit the road tomorrow, and y’all

will be sleeping in it in Denver.”

“Great.” He swallowed. “Do I need to sleep with one eye

open?”

She laughed uncomfortably and patted his leg, something

she only did when she was trying to sell somebody bullshit.

“Oh come on, honey. It’s all in the past.”

“Yeah. Not-the-very-distant past.”

She sighed. “You’ll be fine.”

“At least let me have a cigarette first.” He paused. “You got

a light?”

Kristy rolled her eyes and then dug through her purse.

After a moment she found a cheap BIC lighter and handed

it to him. “Do we need to have a talk about your smoking?”

“Not if you want me to get through this tour without

turning into a nervous wreck.”

She scowled but shrugged. “Okay. When the tour’s over,

we’re—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

29

“I know you do.”

They got out of the truck, and Jude lit up a cigarette before

he helped A.J. unload what little luggage he’d brought along.

He’d been itching for a smoke for hours, especially since the

Denver airport, where he’d spent a way-too-fucking-long-

layover, had cruelly eliminated its smoking lounges. Now he

needed two or three in a row, not only to kill the craving but

to settle his nerves. There was no telling how this was going to play out, but he wasn’t all that optimistic.

He extinguished the cigarette beneath his heel. Kristy

pushed herself off the truck, which she’d been leaning on, but

A.J. didn’t move. He stood beside her, and he studied Jude,

holding his position as if he knew without a doubt that Jude

wasn’t stopping with a single cigarette.

Smart kid.

Jude pulled out a second smoke.

Kristy glared at him but didn’t say anything. She probably

wanted to get this over with as much as he did, but she was

apparently willing to cut him some slack this one time.

Through the thin cloud of smoke, Jude surreptitiously

watched A.J. The drummer was playing on his phone now,

so those intense eyes were focused elsewhere, giving Jude a

chance to stare for a minute. And checking A.J. out was easier

than thinking about what awaited him behind one of those

numbered doors, so he damn sure took the opportunity and

stared.

Drummers always developed gorgeous muscles in their

arms and shoulders, and A.J. was no exception. His biceps and

shoulders stretched the limits of his tight T-shirt, and even

the subtle motions of his fingers skimming across the phone

sent subtle, mouthwatering ripples up his toned forearm.

I wonder if he takes his shirt off when he’s performing.

30

Jude coughed and looked away, hoping A.J. hadn’t noticed

him choking on his own smoke. Or staring at A.J.’s arms.

It wasn’t just that Jude couldn’t help drooling over what

drumming did to a man’s physique. He also missed the effect

it’d had on his own body before he’d stopped drumming.

His tattoos masked some of the new softness, but it was still

obvious to him. A constant reminder that he was trading a

life of percussion for the slow onset of carpal tunnel.

The carpal tunnel was a moot point now, though. He

had his wrist splints with him in case he needed them, but it

wasn’t like he was spending forty hours a week at a keyboard

anymore. He might shred his fingers on the strings or strain

his muscles and tendons a million different ways onstage, but

the days of plunking data into spreadsheets and wearing the

numbers off a ten-key were behind him.

Yep. It’s behind me.

Whether I like it or not.

As he blew out some smoke, he fidgeted. His skin itched,

as if reality were pushing itself in through his pores. There was no turning back, was there?

“We’re sorry to see you go,”
his boss had said without an ounce of sincerity.
“Are you sure you can’t give me a full

two-week notice, though?”

“I wish I could. This came up kind of . . . suddenly.”

“I see.”
The look—piercing eyes over wire-rimmed

glasses—had told him in no uncertain terms this resignation

was a one-way ticket.
Don’t even try to come crawling back in
a few months when you’re done playing wannabe rock star with
people who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.

“Jude?” Kristy’s voice startled him. “The band’s waiting,

honey.”

31

He swallowed. There was nearly three-quarters of an

inch of ash on the end of his cigarette after he’d let it burn

unnoticed for . . . however long he’d been lost in thought.

“Right. Yeah.” He tapped the ashes, took another drag, and

then crushed this butt beside the first. Then he picked both

up and, since there was no ashtray nearby, tossed them in the

gravel where they wouldn’t ignite anything. “Okay. Let’s do

this.”A.J. picked up Jude’s duffel bag, and Jude took the bass, and they followed Kristy up to the second floor breezeway. At

the door of room two twenty-one, she paused and turned to

him. “You ready?”

“Not really.”

A thin eyebrow rose. “Jude, are you—”

“I’m never going to be ready.” He nodded toward the

door. “Let’s just . . . get this part over with.”
Before I decide to
stand out here and smoke every cigarette I have left.

His skin prickled, and he glanced at A.J. Their eyes met

briefly, but the drummer quickly lowered his gaze.

I hope you aren’t this timid onstage, kid.

Kristy swiped her keycard, pushed open the door, and

gestured for him to go inside.

He stepped in. And stopped. And swallowed.

Holy shit, was this weird.

Time ground to a halt, and no one in the room seemed

to be moving or breathing. Everyone just stared at each other.

He absently tapped the tips of his fingers against his thumb,

tape clicking against tape and the dull impacts stinging his

raw, bandaged skin. He couldn’t stop, though. He needed

some sort of release for all this nervous energy, and this was

the subtlest thing he could manage.

Everyone had changed, and everyone was the same.

32

Shiloh’s hair had been almost white when Jude left,

hanging halfway down her tattooed back. Now it was black,

cropped so short it barely reached the edge of her tightly

clenched jaw. Was the third eyebrow ring new? He couldn’t

remember for sure.

Richie was a little heavier. Vanessa was a little thinner. Not

surprising—Jude had heard that touring took its tol . Nobody

made it from one end to the other without wearing the effects

of sleep deprivation, eating like a coyote, and performing

night after night. He wasn’t looking forward to those effects

himself, but he envied his bandmates—
former
bandmates—

for those visible reminders of the past few weeks. He’d have

preferred that form of self-destruction over chain-smoking

his way through a miserable job beneath fluorescent lights.

As they stood in silence, it slowly sank in just how long it

had been since they’d all been in the same room. The people

looking back at him—they were strangers now despite almost

twenty years of history.

Wyatt was conspicuous in his absence—Jude couldn’t

remember a time when the band was all together and Wyatt

wasn’t kicked back in a chair, his fingers moving constantly

across his bass strings like a spider perfecting its web.

And farthest away from Jude, sitting up against a

headboard with his legs crossed and his fingers working

at a loose thread on his laced-up black boot, was Connor.

His blond hair was pulled back, dark eyes fixed right on

Jude, and no, a year and a half hadn’t been enough time to

let bygones be bygones. The time apparently hadn’t done

a thing to temper the anger that smoldered in his eyes just

like the night Jude had come clean. God knew how much

worse it had gotten when Connor found out that Jude had

quit the band—like a coward, Jude had told Kristy and the

33

others, but hadn’t had the balls to face Connor again. The

guilt had been too much then, and it was still too much now.

Jude tore his gaze away from his ex and shook himself.

“Wow. It’s, um, been a long time.”

Connor glared at him, and though he didn’t speak, the

Not nearly long enough
came across loud and clear.

Richie sat up, brushing a few black curls out of his face.

“How you been, man?”

Jude rocked from his heels to the balls of his feet. “Good.

Good.”
I should’ve smoked three.
“How’s the tour been going?”

“It’s been great up until recently.” Shiloh stood. She

glanced at her bandmates, then the floor, and finally met Jude’s gaze, a tentative smile forming on her lips. To his surprise, she stepped closer and hugged him. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.” Jude swallowed, returning her embrace. She let

him go, and no one else got up to offer so much as a handshake.

“Well, um, I’m a bit late, but congrats. On the record deal.”

“Thanks,” each muttered, aside from Connor.

Jude tapped his fingers harder against his thumb, letting

the sting and the percussion ground him. His gaze shifted

from one bandmate to the other, and his stomach sank deeper.

He’d grown up with them, and now they couldn’t even make

comfortable small talk. Fuck—this was going to be a long

tour.Kristy checked her watch. “It’s getting to be about

dinner-thirty, so why don’t you all figure out something

to eat.” She cast a sweeping glance at the band members.

Immediately, Richie, Shiloh, A.J., and Vanessa were on their

feet and heading for the door.

Shiloh slung her purse over her shoulder. “I think I saw a

Chinese place up the road.”

34

“Chinese again?” Vanessa made a face. “Ugh. Can’t we

just get a damn pizza?”

“I think there’s a Subway close by too.” Richie held open

the door. To Kristy he said, “We’ll bring back whatever we

find.”“Good.
Go
.” She shooed them out, and when the door closed, suddenly the room was almost empty. Voices and

footsteps faded down the breezeway, leaving Jude and Kristy

and—

Connor.

Jude gulped.
Fuck.

He locked eyes with his ex, and the hatred written all over

Connor’s face faltered for a second, his features softening just long enough to twist the guilt a little harder in Jude’s chest.

Even as Connor’s cold expression returned, Jude couldn’t

help—for a couple of seconds—seeing the man he’d been in

love with at one time. Had it really been that long since he’d

woken up looking into those eyes? He didn’t miss the Connor

who was sitting there glaring at him. Seeing the other side of

him, though—that “how could you?” beneath the veil that

had briefly lifted—hit him harder than he’d thought it would.

He swallowed, breaking eye contact. This was a mistake,

wasn’t it?

“So, what now?” Connor huffed sharply. “Do you want

us to dance or something?”

“Enough.” Kristy stood between them, arms folded, and

gave them each a pointed look. “All right, you two. Here’s the

thing. I know you guys have all kinds of baggage and shit that

neither of you has let go, and I don’t need a couple of powder

kegs on this tour.”

Connor opened his mouth to speak, but a glare from their

manager shut him up fast.

35

“Listen,” she snapped. “I’m going to step outside, and

you two have until the rest of the band gets back with dinner

to settle this enough that you can function as bandmates for

the next few weeks, and work together on the next album.

You don’t have to like each other, but over my dead body

are you going to make this tour miserable for the rest of the

band. Talk. Get it out of your systems, and then I don’t want

to hear another word about it, or see so much as a dirty look

while Jude is back in the band. Clear?”

Jude nodded. “Yeah.”

“Whatever,” Connor growled.

Kristy eyed them both.

Sometimes she struck Jude as a frazzled mom trying to