“True.” He knew damn well he should sleep on it, think about it, really grill himself over it, but what was the point? He’d been hoping for something like this for too long to think twice. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “Okay. If they’ll agree to keep me on through the next tour, I’m in.”

  “Oh my God.” Kristy released a long breath. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much you’re saving our asses.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “There is one other thing, though.”

  Of course there was. “Yeah?”

  “We need you back, but . . .” She fell silent for several seconds. “Keeping you on for the next tour and everything? I’m sure I don’t have to spell out for you that part of the arrangement is contingent on everyone behaving.”

  He glared up at the ceiling. “I assume ‘everyone’ means me in this context?”

  “Yes. Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart. I’m grateful and the band will be too. But after last time . . .”

  He cringed, guilt pressing down on his shoulders. “Yeah, I follow. I’ll stay out of Connor’s way if he’ll—”

  “Perfect. I’ll make sure he toes the line too.”

  Good luck with that.

  “Where are you guys now?”

  “Some godforsaken town in the Bumfuck Egypt Midwest.” She paused. “I’ll text you with our stops. They’re not performing again until we get to Des Moines, and that’s on Wednesday.”

  Jude coughed. “You’re aware that today is Monday, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And . . . are you expecting me to be onstage in Des Moines on Wednesday?”

  “Um . . .”

  “Kristy, I—”

  “They’re the opening act, so they can afford to bail on one show. Maybe the one in Omaha the next night. But more than two in a row, and we’re fucked. The headliner’s manager doesn’t have a lot of patience, so I guarantee he’ll be bringing in another opener if we bail more than twice.”

  He swallowed. “Where are you after Omaha?”

  “Denver. On Saturday.”

  “Okay.” His heart sped up, and the cigarette pack crinkled between his twitchy fingers. “I’ll meet you guys in Omaha. That should give us some time to rehearse a bit.” A tiny bit. Not nearly enough. Jesus, what was he doing?

  “You’re a lifesaver, sweetie. I’ll see what the band says, and assuming everything’s a go, I’ll book you a ticket and we’ll see you in Nebraska.”

  “Yeah. See you in Nebraska.”

  After they hung up, Jude collapsed back on his mattress.

  Panic and excitement mingled behind his ribs. Everything about this seemed reckless and stupid and . . . right.

  Like it was the first time he’d made the right decision since before he’d quit. After that, he’d had about a week of feeling like he’d done the right thing, before spending the next eighteen months wallowing in regret.

  Maybe this would blow up in his face. Maybe it wouldn’t. But it was a change. At this point, he’d take any opportunity to get out of this bullshit rut he’d gotten himself into.

  Even if it meant being in close confines with the ex-boyfriend and band he’d screwed over.

  Chapter 2

  A.J. fidgeted in a chair beside the rickety table in the band’s motel room, tapping out a nervous rhythm on the armrest. Everyone was wound up, waiting for Kristy to come back in. Nobody in the group was thrilled about their manager’s long shot of an idea, but without any better ideas, they all waited impatiently for the verdict.

  When the door opened, every member of Running with Scissors sat bolt upright.

  Kristy stepped in from the motel’s breezeway, cell phone in hand, and shut the door behind her. The band members exchanged glances. A.J.’s heart pounded—he was pretty sure he didn’t hear anyone breathing, and he was holding his breath too.

  “Well?” Richie fidgeted against the headboard of one of the beds. “What’d he say?”

  She exhaled hard. “He’s not in a good spot to drop everything and leave for a handful of shows.”

  That prompted a few frustrated sighs and some whispered swearing. Someone thumped a fist on something.

  “But.” Kristy held up a hand. “And you all need to hear me out on this one. He is willing to come back for a semipermanent position.”

  “Semipermanent?” Shiloh cocked her head. “Meaning?”

  Kristy ticked the points off on her fingers. “The duration of this tour. The upcoming album. And the headlining tour. After that, we’ll have to play it by ear.”

  Beside Richie, Connor muttered a few curses.

  Shiloh shot him a glare and then turned to Kristy. “He’d really come back for that long?”

  Kristy nodded. “It’s the only way he can justify leaving his job on short notice. And quite frankly, I can’t blame him.”

  “Then maybe he doesn’t want the opportunity after all,” Connor said through his teeth. “He did quit, remember?”

  Kristy narrowed her eyes. “He did, and he also knows the music as well or better than anyone in this room.”

  A.J.’s chest tightened. Jude’s command of music was legendary, but A.J. wasn’t too sure he liked the idea of having him around, especially in the long term. It would be great for the band as a whole, of course. But not necessarily for him.

  Not that he—or the band—had any choice.

  “So.” Kristy folded her arms loosely. “What’ll it be? Do I book him a ticket? Or do we keep looking?”

  “I say bring him back,” Shiloh said. “I know things are tough between Jude and Connor, and yeah, it was a dick move on Jude’s part to leave like that, but let’s face it—we’d be stupid to let him go again.”

  “What she said,” Vanessa chimed in. “Jude can eat shit and die for all I care, but we don’t have a choice. We don’t have to like it, and we don’t have to like him, but we need the jerk.”

  The rest of the band gave nods and murmured affirmatives, aside from Connor. He definitely wasn’t thrilled.

  “I don’t believe this,” he grumbled. “He’s the reason we almost didn’t get signed!”

  “But you did get signed,” Kristy said in that tone that meant her patience was wearing thin. “And I assume you want to stay that way, so it’s either bring in Jude, or pack your shit and go home while another opening act takes over, and kiss your headlining tour good-bye.”

  Every head turned toward Connor, the unspoken question thrumming in the air: Is that what you want?

  His lips pulled tight as he glared up at Kristy. “There’s no way Jude’s going to be ready to go onstage in Denver. No fucking way.”

  “Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you and Wyatt—”

  “I get it,” Connor snapped.

  “Somehow I don’t think you do. Look, nothing can be done about Wyatt, and Jude is the only one who can get in here and save your collective asses. Connor, look at me.” When he met her gaze, Kristy said, “Unless you want to go back to playing for double-digit crowds who just want to drink with a little background music, I would suggest you and Jude leave your bullshit in the past.”

  Connor scowled. “It is in the past. I’m over it.”

  A.J. and Richie exchanged incredulous looks. If Connor was over Jude, then that had happened in the past fifteen seconds or so. Hell, one of the first things A.J. had learned upon joining Running with Scissors was that if you wanted to fuck with Connor, all you had to do was mention Jude. And if you fucked with Connor, you’d be on your way out of Running with Scissors on a moment’s notice. That had been a bone of contention that helped drive Wyatt away.

  Over Jude? My ass.

  Kristy didn’t look convinced either. She folded her arms and arched a thin eyebrow.

  Connor sighed, deflating a little. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Jude is bailing us out big time. We just need the two of you to get along, and everyone—everyone—to let the past go and be adults about this. All right?”

  More nods. More murmurs.

  Kristy lowered her arms and rolled the visible tension out of her shoulders. “Bottom line is our problem is solved, at least for the foreseeable future. I’ll have Jude meet us in Omaha, and from there you guys are going to need to find any time and space you can, and rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. He knows the music, but he’s going to be rusty, and none of you have played with him since he left. If anyone wants to hash out any bullshit, suck it up and wait until we aren’t in hot water if someone walks out. Got it?”

  Connor muttered something A.J. didn’t understand, and no one asked him to repeat it.

  “Everyone get some sleep.” Kristy started for the door. “We’re on the road bright and early tomorrow.”

  She left, and after the door had closed, Connor sagged back against the chair opposite A.J.’s. “This is bullshit.”

  “It’s the only option we have,” Richie said.

  Connor rolled his eyes. “You don’t think I could go on Craigslist right now and find a desperate bassist who—”

  “Oh, save it.” Vanessa shook her head. “Running with Scissors doesn’t need a random desperate bassist. We need someone who knows our music and won’t make us all sound bad. Like it or not, that’s Jude.”

  “Connor, please.” Shiloh touched his shoulder. “We all know this is going to be hard on you. None of us are thrilled about the idea either, but we don’t have any other options. Can you guys just, you know, get along until—?”

  “We’ll be fine.” Connor shrugged away from her and pushed himself to his feet. “I need some air.” He stormed out of the room and slammed the door so hard it rattled the whole building.

  In silence, everyone stared at the door as if Connor might suddenly come back in. Yeah, right. One of the other first things they’d all told A.J. was that when Connor said he needed some air, let him go. He’d be back—eventually—but for the love of God, do not go after him.

  Shiloh turned away. Folding her arms, she leaned against the wall beside the brown burlap drapes. “Why am I suddenly hoping they’ll get back together?”

  Every head snapped toward her.

  Richie’s eyes got huge. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  Shiloh scowled. “Well, if they were fucking again, then they wouldn’t be trying to kill each other.”

  A.J. sat up a little. “That might—”

  “You’re probably right.” Vanessa pursed her lips. Then she sighed and shrugged. “Part of me wants to choke them if they even look at each other, but I can’t really argue with you, to tell you the truth.”

  Richie grunted in agreement. A.J. couldn’t argue either. Connor was easiest to deal with when he and his guy du jour were on speaking terms and sleeping together. But God help them all if there was even the slightest lover’s quarrel. Bringing an ex—especially that ex—into the picture was going to make things interesting.

  Vanessa cursed. “Well, Connor’s going to be easy to live with for a while.”

  A.J. sat up a little. “Maybe we’d—”

  “Can you blame him?” Shiloh asked. A.J. gritted his teeth. Why he tried to interject in these conversations, he didn’t even know.

  “Uh, yeah,” Richie said. “Actually, I can blame him.” He sat back against the headboard, lacing his hands behind his head. “He has nobody to blame but himself for this shit with Jude, and he fucking knows it.”

  “That wasn’t entirely Connor’s fault,” Vanessa said. “Remember? Wyatt quit, and so did Jude.”

  Richie huffed. “Connor brought that on himself—and us—both times. If someone treated me the way he treated Jude, I’d cheat too.”

  “Wouldn’t you just have broken up with Connor before things got so ugly?” Vanessa said. “I mean, why bother sticking around until it’s that bad? They were both idiots for dragging it out, just like Wyatt was an idiot for thinking Connor was over Jude.” Rolling her eyes, she added, “And Connor is an idiot for being hung up on that jackass.”

  Shiloh scowled. “Enough. Come on. Jude’s not a bad guy, and neither is Connor. They just suck at relationships, and Connor’s super protective of the band. Fact is, we wouldn’t have gotten this far without either of them.”

  “Yeah, they got us really far,” Vanessa said. “And that almost didn’t matter since Jude decided to fuck us after he was done fucking Connor.”

  “Okay, yes.” Shiloh shrugged. “And Wyatt quit, so—”

  “So I’ll smack him if I ever see him again,” Vanessa said, “but I have to work with Connor, and now Jude too. I’m pissed at all of them, but those two are going to be here.”

  “True,” Shiloh said. “But the fact is, Jude’s just here temporarily. It was his choice to do what he did, and he knew what was at stake. If he and Connor don’t get along this time, we all know who’s getting the boot.”

  A murmur of reluctant agreement rippled through the group.

  “Well.” Vanessa stretched her arms as she stood. “Kristy’s right. We’re on the road early tomorrow. I’m going to call it a night.”

  Shiloh nodded. “Same here. Let’s go.”

  The girls left. Connor hadn’t returned yet, so the tension in the room had eased, at least for the moment. Richie went out for a smoke, leaving A.J. alone with his thoughts.

  A.J. sat back and stared up at the ceiling. His fingers kept time with his heartbeat, tapping softly on his leg, and his other knee bounced as his heel tapped out the piece he’d been practicing earlier. Try as he might, he could not get comfortable. Even though the bassist crisis was averted, and things weren’t as up in the air as they’d been since Wyatt’s departure, A.J. didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.

  He’d been at the recent meetings where they’d all panicked over what to do now that Wyatt was gone, but he was fairly sure there’d been conversations behind closed doors too. This group had been friends since they were kids, and Kristy had been their manager since the band’s early days. A.J. had been part of the group for a year and a half, coming in on the heels of Jude’s departure, but he still felt like an outsider.

  What if the band settled their drama and decided to keep Jude after all? And what if they decided he was better behind the drums than he was on the bass, and decided to—

  Easy, A.J.

  He slowly released a breath. Jude was coming back temporarily. He wasn’t going to replace A.J.

  He screwed them over. They’re not going to boot me out and keep him.

  I hope.

  Three days later, Running with Scissors arrived in Omaha. While Schadenfreude prepared to take the stage without their opening act, Running with Scissors settled into a shithole motel on the other side of town. Hopefully their crappy tour bus would be repaired soon—in addition to a volatile lead singer and a missing bassist, the band had been dealing with a bus with no running water for the last week and a half. Because they weren’t at each other’s throats enough already. And yes, they were lucky to even have a shower and a toilet on their bus, but God help them when those things quit working.

  Kristy came into the guys’ room, where everyone was hanging out, and jingled a set of keys. “I’m going to get Jude from the airport. Anyone coming with me?”

  Connor smirked. “He can’t get a cab?”

  “He could, but since he’s saving our asses, I thought picking him up myself was the least I could do.”

  Connor’s lip curled, but he didn’t argue.

  A.J. shifted and then stood. “Do you mind if I come with you, Kristy? Since I’ve never met him?”

  “Not at all.” Kristy smiled. “Let’s roll.”

  He thought he felt some invisible daggers coming his way, but didn’t bother checking if Connor was glaring at him. Or if any of the other band members were. He just followed Kristy outside to the parking lot, and they climbed into a black Ford Explorer.

  “His flight is on time,” she said. “So we shouldn’t have to wait long. I’m going to park, though, instead of waiting for him on the curb. In case he needs a hand with his stuff.”

  A.J. didn’t protest. Neither of them said much while Kristy’s phone directed them from the motel to the interstate. When the first sign for Eppley Airfield came into view, a nervous feeling twisted in A.J.’s stomach. This was it. He was going to meet the legendary Jude. And hopefully—hopefully!—he wouldn’t get replaced by the guy.

  He drummed his nails on the armrest. “So, you really think Jude’s going to be able to perform?” His cheeks burned at the accidental double entendre. “I mean, he hasn’t played in ages.”

  “If it were anyone else, I’d be concerned. I’m not sure I’d trust any other musician to get onstage after so little rehearsal time, but he’s . . .” She was quiet for a moment, and A.J. marveled at how still her hands were on the wheel while she seemed so lost in thought. “Jude was born to be a musician. No two ways about it. He plays by ear, too. Once he hears a song, he only needs to run through it a couple of times before he nails it. He was one of those child prodigies, and if his parents’d had their way, he would’ve gone to Juilliard or something. And if I have my way, he’ll be back in Running with Scissors permanently.”

  A.J. gulped. “As . . . the bassist?”

  “What else would—” She glanced at him. “Oh honey. I’m not looking to replace you.”

  “He’s a drummer, though.”

  “Drumming is his passion, yes. But he’s a musician. In every sense of the word. He could easily fill the shoes of any member of that band except vocals, and even then, he could pull it off in a pinch. The thing is, whether he’s on the drums, the bass, the keyboard, or the damn cowbell, he’s amazing. And personal drama aside, the band is better with him than without him.” She sighed. “I just hope he’ll stay with us this time.”

  A.J. pressed his lips together. If he’d been nervous about Jude before, he was a wreck now. He was good, and he knew he was good, but he wasn’t child-prodigy good. It was just as well the band was still pissed at Jude. Apparently he’d walked out days before a major festival—one that had been teeming with people from record labels—and they’d had to bail on the performance. A.J. couldn’t say he blamed them for the grudge.