Page 30 of Beyond the Stix

“Is John there?” Danny asks, then he continues. “Put me on speaker.” The anger in his tone has my spine straightening.

“I’m here,” I respond.

“What’s going on—why are you mad?” Connor darts a worried look to me.

“Ron called.” That’s Tobias. “He needs the band back to San Fran.”

“Why?” Connor challenges. “Don’t I get a few more days?” He rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“The execs are giving us only a week to finish the album,” Danny grates out. “I can’t fucking believe those bastards. Have they ever lost a loved one?”

Apparently not. I want to protest on the drummer’s behalf. It’s bullshit, that Connor has to cut short his time with his mother. Especially when they just laid his father to rest today. But I keep my mouth shut.

Instead, I look to Connor, who’s frowning, and ask him, “Are you okay with that?”

He shrugs. “I’m assuming I don’t have a choice.”

“Not really,” Danny replies, as groans from their bandmates echo in the background.

“Then we go tomorrow,” Connor says with finality.

“We’re coming to pick you up at nine, so be ready,” Tobias conveys before Danny ends the call.

“I guess I should break the news to my mother.” Connor folds his father’s second letter and slides it back in the envelope. He drops it in the box, then closes the lid. “I hope my mother is okay with this.” He picks up the box and without a glance, leaves me alone in the living room.

“What about dinner?” I ask, before glancing down at my watch. It’s almost six in the evening.

“I’m not hungry.” Connor disappears around the corner.

“Me either,” I whisper back, my mind too focused on the drummer.

After a good two hours of doing nothing but standing outside and keeping an eye out for Jessup or any paparazzi, I lock up the house, draw the curtains closed, and head into the spare room.

After stripping down to my boxers, I lie on the queen bed in the guest room, with the light still on, as sleep eludes me. Everything that happened today rumbles through my head. Thefuneral, the paparazzi outside the gates, and the confrontation in the bathroom with Jessup.

Connor finally broke down, which eases some of my worry for him. Though having Jessup back in his life creates a gnarled ball of anxiety in my gut and I can’t focus on anything but that.

I stare up at the ceiling, like it holds all the answers, but it isn’t working. “This is ridiculous.” I reach over, ready to turn off the lamp, when a creak from the hallway catches my attention. Before the door cracks open, I know it’s Connor.

He’s standing in the threshold, eyes red and watery, and shaking. It’s déjà vu—except for the tears.

“Can I come in?” he asks unsteadily. “I had a nightmare.”

I hesitate, not sure this is a good idea. As much as I want to wrap him up and protect him, I have to keep what we have professional. It’s the only way, or I’ll lose my sanity around Connor.

“John,” Connor pleads my name in a whisper, and all my stoic plans are shoved out the window.

Even though he didn’t verbally ask to join me in the queen size bed, I move over, my back and ass edging the side of the mattress.

Connor glances at the empty space for all of two seconds before climbing in.

With a good foot of space between us, he doesn’t cover his trembling body with the comforter I offer him.

His bloodshot eyes are red and a bit swollen. There are remnants of wetness across his long, thick dark brown lashes. I want to kiss each lid, but refrain from touching him altogether, keeping my right hand tucked under the pillow and my left at my side.

My protective need to shelter him rises to new heights. I can’t hide him away from the world, but I can make sure to be the barrier he needs me to be.

“I’m here. Talk to me,” I say, keeping my attention on his expressive green eyes, but the way his lips thin, shows that Connor’s hesitant to talk to me.