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 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.”

  “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.

  “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 keep a handle on a half dozen rowdy kids who refused to stay in line. That was probably how she felt too, especially since she was sometimes the only thing that kept Running with Scissors from imploding.

  She adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “You’ve got about half an hour, depending on where they decide to go get food.”

  With that, she walked out, letting the door slam behind her.

  For the first time in a year and a half, he was alone with Connor, and the air between them was as fraught as it had been the last time. Connor didn’t get up. Jude stayed where he was, standing in the middle of the orange carpet like an idiot, wondering what the hell he was supposed to say. Finally he managed, “It’s, um, been a while.”

  His ex’s lips pulled tight. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “Come on. Don’t start. It’s been long enough. We can—”

  Connor snorted derisively as only he could. Then he got up from the bed and came around the foot. Face-to-face, he and Jude locked eyes again. “Long enough? Maybe for you.”

  Jude gritted his teeth. “Listen, everything that happened was in the past. Can we . . . I mean, we’ve got to work together. Is there any way we can put the past behind us?”

  “The past was behind us,” Connor snapped. “And now, here you are.”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  His lips twisted. “What I want and what the band needs aren’t the same thing.”

  “Glad you finally understand that.”

  “Oh, fuck you.” Connor’s lips pulled back across his teeth. “You’re the last man alive who can get on that high horse. After you—”

  “What do you want me to say? Kristy called me. It wasn’t the other way around. You guys need—”

  “We need a fucking bassist who knows our music. Just because you’re bailing us out doesn’t mean you didn’t fuck us over in the past.”

  Jude exhaled hard. “Okay, look. I messed up back then. I know I did. And I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah? For which part?” Connor narrowed his eyes. “The part where you screwed over the band? Or the part where you screwed me over?”

  Jude winced. “All of it. I—”

  “It really doesn’t matter.” He stepped closer, still looking Jude right in the eye. “Let’s be clear about one thing. As far as I’m concerned, you’re here to fill in until we find someone to sign on permanently. If that means through the next tour, fine. But don’t think for a minute that you’re a part of this band anymore.”

  “Connor, I—”

  “There’s nothing else to say.” Connor set his jaw. “You had your shot. You’re nothing but a touring bassist now, and the minute we find someone to—”

  “I get it,” Jude ground out. “But the fact is, we have to be onstage together.”

  “Yeah. We do.” Connor raised his chin. “And the stage and rehearsals are the only places we need to cross paths.”

  “Is that right? Because I heard tour buses are pretty tight confines.”

  “They are.”

  Jude shifted uncomfortably, running his thumb back and forth along his fingers as if they were guitar strings. “I don’t know what you want me to say. We’re stuck together for a while.”

  “Yep.” Connor shrugged. “And Kristy can try to make us kiss and make up all she wants, but this is the best you’re getting from me. Personally, I think it’s a hell of a lot better than you deserve.” Another shrug. “Pity you can play the bass, isn’t it?”

  Jude rolled his eyes and exhaled. “Jesus, Connor. I fucked up back then, but don’t you dare act like you didn’t—”

  “Like I didn’t what?” Connor got right up in his face. “Like I didn’t deserve for my best friend and boyfriend to go off and fuck someone else just for spite? Are you saying I did?”

  Jude didn’t back down. “No, you didn’t. And I’m sorry. But don’t act like you didn’t walk all over me for a year leading up to that.”

  Connor blinked. Genuine hurt flickered across his face, cutting Jude right to the bone, but it was quickly replaced by fresh anger. “If you were that miserable, why didn’t you just man up and break up instead of—”

  “I tried. Several times.”

  Connor laughed humorlessly. “Well. Guess it worked the last time, didn’t it?” He stormed past Jude, clipping his shoulder as he went by and muttering “motherfucker” under his breath. Before Jude could stop him, he snatched his wallet off the table, threw open the door, and stormed out.

  The door banged shut. Jude’s shoulders dropped.

  Maybe he should’ve kept that cubicle job after all.

  Chapter 4

  To keep the peace, Jude roomed with Kristy that night while Connor stayed with Richie and A.J. For a while, Richie tried to talk Connor down, but eventually gave up and put on his headphones, leaving A.J. to listen to Connor ranting and sniping about Jude.

  A.J. kept his mouth shut. There was no point in trying to reason with Connor if the subject was Jude. He couldn’t blame the guy. From what everyone had said, Jude had left them all in one hell of a lurch back then, and he’d hurt Connor. Though the lead singer was a volatile son of a bitch, and maybe not the easiest person to live or work with, A.J. couldn’t imagine he’d deserved to have his heart stomped on and his band left hanging in one night. A.J. didn’t envy the situation he was in now.

  But the show had to go on, and they’d be on the road at the crack of dawn, so despite Jude’s presence next door, they settled in to grab some shut-eye.

  Not surprisingly, it was one of the worst restless nights he’d had so far on this tour. It didn’t help that Connor spent most of it tossing and turning. In the next bed, A.J. was wide-awake because even when Connor was still, his frustration was so palpable, it might as well have been feedback through an amp—constant, shrill, impossible to muffle or ignore. Great. The rest of this tour was going to be like living in his parents’ house during the final weeks of their marriage.

  He sighed into the taut silence. No wonder Shiloh had lost her shit the night she’d realized Connor and Wyatt were sleeping together. A.J. had thought she was overreacting—so what if two adults in the same band were dating? Who cared?—but she must’ve known what the aftermath would be. The inevitable breakup. The three excruciating weeks of Wyatt and Connor gnashing their teeth at each other. A screaming match that almost killed Connor’s voice an hour before a show.

  She’d probably seen all of that coming, but A.J. doubted even she had imagined that Wyatt would pack up and walk out. None of them had expected that. Not from the band member who’d been most vocal about his resentment toward Jude. And now, like an evil prophecy coming to fruition, Wyatt was gone, Jude was in his place, and Connor was losing his mind.

  A.J. shifted beneath the covers, doing his level best not to wake Richie. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. The guitarist could’ve slept onstage during a show. Lucky bastard.

  A.J. swore into his pillow. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried like hell to go to sleep.

  Kristy sent them all wake-up texts at six fifteen, including one to A.J. to remind him to wake Richie. At six forty-five, she was at their door, making sure everyone was out of bed.

  “You guys can shower tonight if you have to, but we need to get on the road. Let’s go.”

  Richie rubbed his eyes. “The bus is here already?”

  “Yep.” She gestured over her shoulder. “And it’s leaving as soon as you all get your butts on it.”

  A.J. glanced past her, beyond the breezeway’s railing. Below them the tour bus took up a sizeable chunk of the parking lot, its diesel engines idling while Vanessa and Shiloh shuffled toward it, dragging their suitcases behind them.

  “Let’s go,” Kristy said again, and left the room.

  A.J. bit back a string of curses. Connor didn’t. Awesome. It was going to be one of those days when everyone within earshot would know exactly how displeased the lead singer was. That would make the bus ride through corn-covered plains just fly by.

  Trying to stay out of everyone’s way, A.J. dressed, gathered his things, and left the room. Brushing his teeth in the parking lot with an ice-cold bottle of water was a bit more “roughing it” than he liked, but it kept him from being underfoot.

  He rinsed his mouth and toothbrush and then joined the others on the bus. Richie was sprawled across the sofa, seat-belted and snoring. Still no Connor, but he was always the straggler. This morning, he was probably in even less of a hurry than usual.

  Outside, with his back to the bus, Jude rocked from the balls of his feet to his heels, a cigarette between his taped fingers. Through the tinted window, A.J. couldn’t see much of Jude’s face—even when he turned, his baseball cap and sunglasses kept his eyes in shadow.

  A.J. couldn’t help wondering how much of his smoking was due to nicotine addiction and how much of it was nerves. He’d heard Jude step out of the room next door, and in the stillness, he’d been able to make out the click of a lighter. At least once, Jude had either been playing with the lighter, or he’d smoked two cigarettes in rapid succession. Yet he didn’t have the voice or cough of a chain-smoker. And when he’d smoked in the parking lot yesterday before meeting up with the band, his hands had gotten progressively shakier, where most people’s would’ve steadied after getting their fix.

  Jude turned, and his spine suddenly straightened. A.J. followed the trajectory of his gaze toward the motel and wasn’t at all surprised to see Connor walking across the parking lot, a duffel on his shoulder and a coffee cup in his hand. Both guys wore dark sunglasses, but the lenses did nothing to temper the poisonous glares that passed between them.

  Then they quickly broke eye contact. Connor sipped his coffee. Jude took a drag off his cigarette. Neither looked the other’s way again.

  Connor boarded the bus. He stashed his duffel and took a seat at the table. Shiloh was sitting opposite him, playing on her phone, but neither spoke. After he’d fastened his seat belt, Connor gazed out the window as he nursed his coffee.

  A moment later, Jude boarded. Connor’s gaze stayed fixed on something outside. For his part, Jude focused straight ahead as he continued into the back of the bus where the racks were. Something unzipped, and something else rustled, and then Jude returned, a pair of earbuds in his hand. He found a seat that put some distance between himself and Connor—a deliberate choice, no doubt—put in his earbuds, and pulled his cap over his eyes.

  The engines groaned, and the bus eased into motion. As the bus rolled down the interstate, most of the band members dozed, and thanks to the motion and the steady hum of road noise, even A.J. drifted off.

  The next thing he knew, the bus was decelerating and nosing down an off-ramp. His bandmates were stirring too. He sat up, yawning as he rubbed his stiff neck, and looked out the window. They were somewhere in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but a gas station and a junkyard to break up the monotony of cornfields.

  “I’m going in for more coffee,” Shiloh announced as the bus pulled into the gas station. “Anybody want anything?”

  Everyone raised a hand. A.J.’s temples were already throbbing. Coffee? Yes, please.

  “Of course,” she grumbled, and as soon as the bus had come to a stop, she headed inside. One by one, the band followed. They browsed the racks for junk food, caffeine, and cigarettes before they paid and got back on board. Richie and Jude both smoked, then joined everyone.

  Sitting at the table across from Connor, Shiloh cleared her throat. “So. I guess we should get rehearsing.”

  Vanessa groaned. “I haven’t had nearly enough caffeine for that.”

  “You’re not the one who needs to rehearse.” Shiloh shot Jude a look. “How about you? Had enough coffee yet?”

  “I’m good.” Jude sat up. “My bass is in one of the compartments under the bus, though.”

  “Well.” She nodded toward the door. “We aren’t moving.”

  Jude chuckled. “All right, all right.” He rose, throwing over his shoulder, “Back in a second.”

  Richie went with him, and the two returned with their instruments. This wasn’t the best place for rehearsing, but their opportunities were going to be limited and they were short on time, so this would have to do.

  Connor stayed in his seat, playing with the edge of his coffee cup, while the rest of the band gathered in the cramped living area, belting themselves in and making the most of what little space they had. Since A.J. wouldn’t be much use during this rehearsal, he sat across from Connor and stayed out of the way.

  He watched uneasily as Jude tuned his bass. Desperate or not, this was madness. They were performing tomorrow night. A little over twenty-four hours from now, they’d be taking the stage in Denver, playing for a crowd that was already impatient for Running with Scissors to get the fuck through their set so they could see Schadenfreude like they’d paid through the nose to do.

  Jude rested his bass on his leg and positioned his hand on the neck. He absently warmed up, plucking his way through a few scales. The medical tape was gone now, revealing raw fingertips, but they didn’t seem to hinder his ability to play.