Jude gazed down at him. “How are you holding up?”

  He shrugged, his shoulders tighter than they usually were even after a long, grueling show. Beyond that, he was just tired. Numb, in a weird way. “I don’t know. You?”

  “About the same.” Jude gnawed his lip. “Listen, um . . . we shouldn’t keep doing this.”

  Somewhere beneath that layer of numb exhaustion, Jude’s admission probably hit him someplace painful. Or brought some panic almost close enough to the surface for him to feel it. But the only thing A.J. really felt was more weight on his shoulders. He sighed. “We probably shouldn’t have started doing it in the first place.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Maybe . . .” A.J. chewed his lip. “Maybe there’s some way we can reason with the group.”

  “No. Not a chance.” Jude shook his head. “Not after Connor and me, and not after Connor and Wyatt.”

  That bit in beneath A.J.’s skin. He arched an eyebrow. “Seems like the common denominator there is Connor, not us.” Not me.

  “True. But he’s still part of the band. And so are we.” Jude shifted uncomfortably. “I’d . . . kind of like to keep it that way.”

  A.J. didn’t know what to say to that. His heart sped up.

  No. There has to be another option. We can . . . I mean, the band has to understand that . . . Jude . . .

  Exhaling, Jude folded and unfolded and refolded his arms. “Look, we agreed in the beginning not to let this interfere with the band.”

  A.J. nodded. “I guess I didn’t think it would be this hard to let it go if it came to this.”

  Nothing registered on Jude’s face. Nothing at all. After a moment, he broke eye contact. “This is probably the only thing we can do. I mean, the sex is great, but it is it really worth losing all of this?” He gestured at their surroundings. The luxury tour bus. The instruments. The empty seats around them as they hashed this out alone.

  You really want me to answer that, Jude?

  He swallowed. “You tell me.”

  Jude met his gaze but only for a second.

  A.J. gritted his teeth. “You had no problem with me risking my place in the band by getting in Connor’s face.”

  “I don’t think this really compares. Do you?”

  “Kind of seems like the only difference is whether it’s my career or our careers on the line.”

  This time, Jude held his gaze. “That’s not what’s going on here.”

  A.J. lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes. “Well, since you seem to know what this is versus what that was, what do you want to do?”

  “It’s not about what either of us wants.” Jude looked at him again. “It’s about whether I can afford to take any risks right now. This band is all I have, A.J. Up until recently, I didn’t even have that much. If I piss away this opportunity, the only thing waiting for me is the guest room in my parents’ house and a whole lot of job applications for places that probably won’t give me the time of day.” He swallowed. “If I fuck up with the band, I’m done. I have nothing.”

  A.J. gritted his teeth. “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, if you don’t piss it away, they’ll probably kick me out so you can play the drums again anyway, so basically, I’m just sitting here waiting for you to make up your goddamn mind about the band and about me, assuming you can spare a thought for me since I think your priorities are pretty fucking clear right now.”

  Jude put up his hands. “You know what? I think we’re done. And I need a fucking smoke.”

  “Need some air?” A.J. ground out.

  Jude glared at him. “So I’m like Connor now?”

  “I don’t know.” A.J. folded his arms. “In this case, I think I have more in common with Connor, since I’m the one getting dumped by you.”

  Jude winced, and A.J.’s gut tightened. That was too far. Way too far.

  “Jude, I’m—”

  “Forget it.” Jude took a step toward the stairwell. “I’ll . . . I’ll see you at sound check.”

  A.J. stood, ready to beg him to stay and finish talking this thing over, but before he could get the words out, the door slammed behind Jude, leaving A.J. alone on the otherwise empty bus.

  He dropped back into his chair.

  Well, the last twelve hours or so had been some of the fucking best of his career. A pissing match with Connor. A reassuring but ill-timed kiss. A sleepless night alone. A look at Jude’s real priorities.

  That last one shouldn’t have been a surprise. He supposed it wasn’t. After all, he’d known from the start that he and Jude were just fuck buddies. No matter how much time they’d spent together in between recording sessions, no matter how many times they’d just lain there beneath the covers and talked in between making out, they were fuck buddies and nothing more.

  Hearing Jude confirm it, though . . . that hurt more than he’d expected. Maybe because it had seemed to come so close on the heels of that tender moment just before Connor had caught them last night. And then A.J. had hit Jude below the belt, and . . . Fuck. This really was a goddamned disaster.

  More and more, he was beginning to understand what had driven Wyatt from the group. His volatile on-again-off-again boyfriend had only been the tip of the iceberg. Working and traveling in close confines with a bunch of artistic types, there was bound to be some friction, and he didn’t want to be one of those divas who stormed out when things got heated.

  And he understood why this band meant so much to Jude. Why it meant so much to the whole group. No one made it in this business without putting their career ahead of everyone and everything else.

  But there was something to be said for not being in the same room, the same bus, and on the same stage, day in and day out, with the person who’d put their career ahead of you—even if you’d known all along that was how things would play out.

  What did you expect, A.J.?

  He sighed, rubbing both hands over his face.

  Ideally, they’d put this behind them and keep working together as professionals. If Connor and Jude were any indication, though, it wasn’t that easy. Granted, those two had a much longer and more painful history. Still, the glares and teeth-gnashing between them didn’t instill much confidence in A.J. about his future as a bandmate with Jude. Or with Connor, for that matter.

  He exhaled. No band had perfect harmony, but this was all rapidly getting out of control. He couldn’t cope with the tension, or the guilt for how much of that tension he’d caused.

  This wasn’t even his band. He was the new guy. The outsider. Hell, the name of the band had been their inside joke since grade school. Whether he liked it or not, he would always play proverbial second fiddle to a prodigal founding member.

  Though it was usually Jude who ran for the hills when things got sketchy, that approach was sounding pretty tempting at the moment. Maybe it was time to pack it up. To get away from all this drama, and from the man who’d gotten way too far under his skin.

  He closed his eyes. He’d walked on eggshells for so fucking long to make sure he didn’t give the band a reason to show him the door, and then he’d gone and handed them one.

  Maybe it would be best if he saved them the trouble.

  As expected, Kristy had gathered the entire band, ordered them to keep all this shit off the stage and out of the public eye. She’d made it clear in no uncertain terms that they would work together and the show would go on, or they’d see a side of her only her ex-husband had ever seen. Then she’d dismissed everyone except for Jude with one last warning to make sure tonight’s show was on point or else.

  A.J. was happy that she hadn’t held him back to chew him out along with Jude—judging by her expression, that was what she intended to do. He’d gotten the hell out of there. In the back of his mind, he was still considering just packing up and saving everyone the trouble, but he wasn’t going to be impulsive about it. He’d see how things went. For now, he did the only thing he could think of—he focused on getting ready for that night’s show. They had their early sound check coming up, so he busied himself backstage. God forbid he fucked up that song again. He’d had enough of Connor’s wrath for one week.

  People moved in and out of the ready room. His drum tech had left a few minutes earlier to take some stands to the stage, and the guitar techs had been wandering back and forth while they all waited for the opening act’s sound check to wrap up.

  So as he pulled a snare drum case down from the stack, he only vaguely registered footsteps coming in behind him. And stopping.

  The silence, though—no movement, no rustling, no speaking—raised the hair on his neck.

  He turned around.

  If looks could kill, he’d have been a dead man.

  A.J. exhaled. “Connor, we have to get set up.”

  “Yeah, and—”

  “Shouldn’t you be on vocal rest?”

  “Shouldn’t you be sucking our bassist’s dick?”

  A.J. clenched his jaw. Whether Connor was keeping his voice down to protect it before the show, or if he’d reached that level of anger where a person couldn’t even shout anymore, he couldn’t tell.

  Connor folded his arms tightly across his chest. “You want to tell me what the fuck you and—”

  “I’m not discussing this again.” A.J. turned back to the case and popped the snaps on it. “What’s done is done.”

  “Uh-huh. And what’s done is threatening to fuck up my band.”

  “Your band?” A.J. faced him, gritting his teeth. “Yours? Well, that’s impressive. You’re finally admitting you think this is your fucking band.” His own words startled him—shit, maybe standing up to Connor once had broken the dam completely. Or he was just too damn raw to take any more people coming down on him today.

  “Mine. Ours. Whatever.” Connor shrugged. “I’ve spent my entire life working to get this band off the ground. I’m not about to let you fuck it up.”

  “Yeah?” A.J. stepped toward him, heart pounding and stomach ready to lurch into his throat. “Has it ever occurred to you that you do a fine job of fucking it up yourself?”

  Connor blinked, drawing back. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” Oh God. He did. He heard me. A.J. forced his nerves out of his voice. “You ever thought about changing the name of the band to Walking on Eggshells? Keep Connor Happy? Don’t Cross Connor? Because that’s how it fucking feels around here.”

  Connor’s eyes widened.

  A.J. swallowed. Well, he’d already started. No point in stopping now. “You really want to know why I got involved with Jude?”

  “I . . .” Connor pushed his shoulders back. “Okay. Why?”

  “Because we’re two single guys working closely together, and we have a shitload in common.” A.J. gestured at Connor. “Just like you and Wyatt.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare—”

  “Dare what? Point out the obvious?” A.J. rolled his eyes. “Come on, Connor. We’re all each other’s social circle now. Not that any of you seem to give two shits what I have to say about anything, but we’re traveling together, we’re working together, and yes, sometimes we—”

  “Wyatt and I knew each other forever,” Connor snapped. “You and Jude didn’t exactly wait long to start fucking around.”

  “What we did and when is none of your fucking business. And neither is how we felt about each other.”

  “Oh yeah? Are you saying— Wait, did you say ‘felt’? Like, past?”

  A.J. winced, shifting his gaze away. His surge of confidence vanished, and reality slapped him across the face. Yeah. Past tense. One minute it was there, and the next it wasn’t. He coughed into his fist. “We, um—”

  “Oh really?” Connor folded his arms across his chest. “So tell me again about what you felt for each other?”

  A lump tried to rise in A.J.’s throat, and he forced it back. “What do you want me to say? You all obviously don’t want us together. There. You got your wish. Happy now?”

  Connor blinked. “Oh.” Recovering quickly, he glared at A.J. again. “Good. Because the last thing this band needs is—”

  “Bandmates doing the same fucking thing you’ve done twice now?” As soon as he said it, A.J. regretted it. He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  Connor snorted. “And fucking Jude wasn’t?”

  A.J.’s shoulders sagged. “What do you want, Connor? It’s over. It’s done. I . . .” He tried to throw up his hands, but that took more work than it should have. “It’s done.”

  “Good. Keep fucking up, and you’ll be done too.”

  Connor didn’t wait for a response before he stormed out, leaving A.J. alone with the stacks of instrument cases.

  A.J. pinched the bridge of his nose. This day just kept getting better and better.

  Chapter 23

  Jude knew damn well that breaking up with A.J. wouldn’t fix everything immediately. That things would get worse before they got better.

  And oh, he was right. No one could even look at each other when they arrived for their early sound check. That gathering didn’t last long—Connor was too spun up to provide any constructive criticism, and A.J.’s focus didn’t seem to extend beyond the songs he already had down. Finally they all agreed to just cut the troublesome song and deal with it—and everything else—later.

  The show, however, had to go on.

  Running with Scissors had performed while they were at each other’s throats before, and their experience served them well that night. From a purely technical standpoint, the show was fine. Instruments were in tune. Vocals were on point. While Connor and Shiloh worked the crowd they were their usual charismatic selves, and every band member played their heart out just like they always did.

  Jude just hoped that the fans hadn’t caught on to the frosty looks or the very deliberate distance between bandmates. Thank God it was a big stage so they’d all been able to stay away from each other. Tonight, anyway. Some of their upcoming venues were substantially smaller, which meant they needed to get their shit together stat.

  Practice and professionalism had carried them through, fortunately, but the whole time Jude dreaded what would happen once they were out of sight of their fans.

  As soon as the show ended and they were backstage, A.J. disappeared, Connor stormed off, and Vanessa shoved her guitar into a tech’s hands before she left too.

  Richie and Shiloh stayed, though. And Shiloh’s voice was trashed from the show, but that didn’t stop her from letting him have it backstage. “Do you get it now? Do you fucking get why none of us wanted anyone—”

  “Yes. I do.” He raked his hand through his sweaty hair. “Believe me, I get it.”

  “I mean, even you and A.J. were shooting daggers at each other. What the hell, Jude?” She stepped closer, lips pulling tight across her teeth, and her voice grew louder and more strained as she spoke: “Let me guess—you guys broke up, so now we get the aftermath that we all knew would happen if anyone started screwing around?”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asked through his teeth. “For us to—”

  “No! I mean . . . I mean, yes, but . . .” She groaned. “Goddamn it, Jude! We’ve worked our asses off. For years. Then we almost lost our shot because of you and Connor. And then Connor and Wyatt. And now this? Do you guys just, I mean, not give a shit about anything except yourselves? You knew something like this would cause a problem because it’s happened time and time and time again!”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “So, why did—”

  “Do I really have to spell it out?” Though it hurt like hell to look anyone in the eye, Jude lifted his gaze and met hers. “We were attracted to each other. We got carried away. And . . .” He waved his hand, which shouldn’t have taken that much effort. “Look, I’m sorry. It was—”

  “You’re always sorry for something,” Richie snapped. “How about, I don’t know, not fucking up once in a while?”

  Jude exhaled.

  “He’s got a point,” Shiloh said coldly. “Didn’t Kristy tell you and Connor specifically to keep your dicks out of—?”

  “This was not just sex,” Jude growled.

  Richie and Shiloh glanced at each other. Then at him.

  Shiloh tilted her head. “What the fuck was it, then?”

  Jude’s heart fell into his stomach. Yeah, Jude. What was it?

  Well?

  Fuck . . .

  He leaned forward, covering his face with his hands. “Oh God.”

  The feeling twisting in his chest right then was one he’d felt exactly one other time in his life. Guilt, regret, and the certainty that there was no going back—that he’d fucked up hard enough he couldn’t fix it. This was how he’d felt when he’d woken up next to that bartender and realized he’d just hammered the last nail into the coffin of his and Connor’s relationship. And only then, once it had fully slipped through his fingers, had he understood just how much he hadn’t wanted to let go after all.

  But A.J. . . . this didn’t make sense. They were . . . It was just sex. Right? Just some chemistry and some sex to keep each other sane. There wasn’t . . . They weren’t supposed to be . . . They hadn’t . . .

  Oh God.

  They had.

  He had.

  And now A.J. was gone. Still here, still part of the band, but a few knife-edged words and a slamming door had put miles between them.

  “Jude?” Shiloh asked, calmer now.

  He exhaled and met her gaze. “Look, we called it off. We’re not . . .” Oh fuck. A.J., I am so sorry. “We’re not sleeping together anymore.”

  “Mm-hmm. And it’s going to be completely back to normal, with no awkwardness and no weirdness?” Her eyebrow rose.

  “I . . .” Jude swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  “Jesus,” Richie muttered. “Is it really that hard for you idiots to keep your hands off each other? Seriously? And not make it all weird and awkward?”

  “For some of us, no,” Shiloh said. “Most of us are capable of not letting our hormones control us.”

  Jude winced. Oh, he’d done okay when it was just hormones drawing him to A.J. Something else was involved now, though, and ignoring that wasn’t so easy.