Page 14 of Follow the Rhythm (Fairview City Omegaverse #2)

A fter giving Jess a new phone and a sincere apology, I vowed to keep my distance. She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested, and I would have to live with that.

But she was everywhere. Anytime we met with her and Ursula over the following two weeks, Jess studiously ignored Ellis and me.

Charlie, the tour manager, was also given the cold shoulder as far as I could tell.

It felt like being back in year eleven, knowing I’d see the girl I had a crush on in our music composition class, but not having the balls to talk to her.

Even worse, her perfume had sunk into the seats of my car, so I made more and more excuses to drive it and torture myself.

Worst of all, she’d invaded my dreams.

My flat had always been a sanctuary, but I didn’t even have that anymore. I carried her with me everywhere, and I woke most mornings hard and aching for her.

Rehearsal should have been a welcome distraction, especially when we’d had a string of great ones, but Ellis was up to his old tricks.

“Grace, I swear to god, if you don’t stop fucking crashing those cymbals on the two, I’m going to throttle you,” Ellis snarled.

“Relax,” I said warningly, a hint of bark in my voice. I’d never truly used my bark against Ellis, but I was fairly certain I could bring him to heel if I needed to. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said. “It’s a habit; I’m doing my best to break it.”

“This isn’t your shitty punk girlie group or whatever you call it.” Ellis started pacing.

“Fuck you, man. At least I can admit when I’m wrong. You’ve forgotten half the fucking words to your songs.”

“Enough,” I growled. Since when had I become the de facto peacekeeper?

“No, let’s hear what Riot Grrrl Barbie has to say. I’m sure it’s riveting,” Ellis said venomously.

Grace stood up, irate. “That’s rich, coming from the walking stereotype. Sorry, but you’re not talented enough for this whole temperamental genius act.”

Ellis laughed derisively. “And you think you are? The only reason you’re here is because of the label. You are utterly replaceable in every way.”

“Then replace me, asshole.” Grace stormed off the stage.

She slammed out the door like she had the last time Ellis had gone too far. I didn’t blame her. This couldn’t become a pattern. I didn’t have the patience.

“You’re out of order, mate,” I said. “Apologize. Now.”

“I have nothing to apologize for,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“What the fuck is going on with you?”

Ellis just huffed in response, still wearing a tread across the floor.

“You’ve always been a bit of an arsehole, but this is a new low. Michael would be ashamed of you,” I said.

Ellis froze, and his ice-blue eyes flicked to mine. I expected him to fight back, but he seemed to crumple in on himself. “You’re right,” was all he said before quietly leaving the studio.

I collapsed into a folding chair on the side of the stage and scrubbed my hands across my face. We had two days until the first show. When Ellis could hold himself together, we sounded great, but none of this boded well for the tour itself.

I’d only agreed to do it to keep a lid on Reward , the album we’d finished recording right before Michael died.

No one was going to hear that album if I could help it, especially not Michael’s family.

At least that was something Ellis and I could agree on.

The songs were dark, in a way that felt sinister in hindsight, and I couldn’t bear to release them.

But I couldn’t tell Michael’s mums, Deb and Claire, the truth. They were like my mums, too. After my nan died, they’d taken me in and treated me like part of the family. So I let them think the tour was to honor Michael’s memory. Everyone was happier that way.

I took a deep breath and texted Grace, apologizing on Ellis’s behalf. I’d fix that situation first, then get Ellis in a room and figure out how to keep him from imploding everything.

I tried to call Johnny, but it went straight to voicemail. I growled in frustration. He had disappeared yet again - a more frequent occurrence since Michael’s death. I’d thought the promise of some tour revenue would keep him around more often, but apparently not.

“You’ve left me a fucking mess, mate,” I whispered. I hadn’t talked to Michael like this in a while, not since the first few months without him. I just had to get through the tour. I could do that for him, and then I’d finally be able to move on. Whatever the fuck that meant.