Page 38 of Beyond the Stix

“Where?” Danny questions.

“Text me the location.” Tobias raises his cell phone.

“The house is in the Pacific Heights area.” Dante sends the address to Tobias, and soon after my phone pings, along with the rest of the security team’s phones. I glance at the screen and a link to the place is visible.

“Apparently, this place has a sound studio with all the equipment you need in the basement. Use it before you head toBlack Rock. And don’t worry about disturbing the neighbors, it’s sound proof. No one will hear you.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound ominous.” Rafe chuckles.

Dante purses their lips at the guitarist and shakes their head. “Anyway, use the time wisely.” They pass the keys to Tobias.

“Will you and Ron be joining us at Rocktoberfest?” Bobby asks as he drops a chewed-up pixie stick into the small garbage can.

“Not sure,” Dante says with hitch. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With those parting words, they walk out the door.

I glance at Connor, who’s focused on his cell phone. He’s texting someone. His fingers are rapidly tapping, while his face holds a grim determination.

Jealousy creeps in, and I want to know who he’s talking to. His mother? A hookup? But I stay quiet and cemented in place, until Connor finally looks around and catches me watching him. He quickly looks away and shoves his cell in his jacket pocket.

Red floods his cheeks, and I don’t know if the blush is because of me, or what he texted.

Stay put.He’s not yours.I tell myself.

Right before the band walks out of the building, Tobias reaches my side. “Stay close to him,” he whispers to me in warning. I nod.

Tobias takes the lead, and we follow him outside. We pile into the same two vehicles and leave for the new house. The air in the vehicle feels heavier than a two-ton weight, but neither Tobias nor I break the silence in the limo.

I glance over my shoulder to the back seat and see that Danny is tearing up, but Connor has a blank look on his face—it’s like looking at a plain piece of paper. Until he glances down at his cell phone, where his expressionless face whips into one of frustration. Now more than ever I want to know who he was texting.

TWELVE

Connor

We makeit to the house—no. Not a house, but a fucking giant mansion on a steep hill. The place is in the Pacific Heights area, a well-to-do section of San Francisco.

When Tobias opens the double doors into the place, I decide there’s no way an owner would offer up a home like this to strangers—especially to a rock band. This place must belong to someone Ron knows personally.

And holy shit, I’m gob smacked at the pretentious sight. To compare this place to the modest home I grew up in is like equating night to day. My parents’ entire house could sit inside the open-ended living room.

From what Tobias read from his cell, it’s over thirteen thousand square feet, with ten bedrooms, thirteen bathrooms—who the hell needs that many toilets to scrub? Two kitchens, three sitting areas, and a shit ton more.

Forget all that, what I care about in this moment is the sound room.

My sour mood started back at the studio when I got a text message from Jessup. Since I didn’t get the new number I requested, I was going to ignore the message and block him. However, he immediately blew up my phone about how he’s worried about me and he wants nothing but the best for me and the band. And I should forgive him… even if he hasn’t done anything wrong.

Right fucking there lies the confusion.

For the umpteenth time I told him to fuck off, but he said he wouldn’t give up and will keep texting me until I talk to him.

Since telling him to fuck off and ignoring him wasn’t working, I finally asked what he wanted. That was when I caught John angrily staring at me. That was the first time I had seen my bodyguard show outward emotions—outside the bedroom—and I promptly shivered, then shoved the cell in my jacket pocket. From then on, I’ve been ignoring the vibrations coming from my pocket… until now.

After a fuck-ton of unread messages, I need to beat out the rage and frustration charging through my system. But first, I need to block Jessup from my phone.

Right before I hit the garbage icon, another message comes through. He said he heard from my mother that I had to leave early to finish the album, and that if I need anything, to call him.

I shake my head. Jesus. Why can’t I just take Jessup’s word, that what had happened was all a misunderstanding? Why can’t I believe him and move on?

Because you know why.