Page 40

Don’t hate it, either way. Don’t mind a girl with a bit o’ fight in her—this could get real fuckin’ fun, know what I mean?

She crinkles her nose. “Well, but they’re not your shadows.”

My jaw goes tight. “They fuckin’ are tonight.”

“If anything …” She tilts her head, casual as you like. “They’re Fallow’s …”

Grit me teeth. “ I am Fallow .”

She lets out this little laugh—dunno why, but it proper twists the knife.

“You are… so conceited.” Shakes her head.

Fuck me, I love her head. “Joah, you’re part of Fallow—” And get this—she turns to Fletcher, yeah—?

Drops her voice a bit but not enough to stop me hearin’.

Wants me to hear, she does… “He doesn’t even write their songs.

” She pulls a face, like she’s fuckin’ embarrassed for me.

And you know what? Fuck her. How the fuck does she know that?

I never fuckin’ told her—don’t fuckin’ tell anyone that, do I?

“Be nice,” whispers the greatest footballer alive, way too close to the ear of the girl I’m fuckin’ wrecked over.

“No,” she says, lockin’ eyes with me, all defiant and shit.

I shake my head at her, feel me chest burning, then glance ’round wildly.

“Who the fuck let you in here—?” I look for Mick. “Find out—Mick!—” Scrambles towards me, he does. “Find out and fire them—”

Whip back ’round to her, waving at the exit. “You two can fuck off.”

“Nah,” my brother pipes from behind me. “They’re my guests.”

I freeze. Turn ’round, slow. “What?”

He shrugs, all casual-like. “I invited them.”

Shake me head. “No, you fuckin’ didn’t…”

Rich just smirks, leaning into his mic, the absolute prick. Ignores me completely. “Manchester, are you having a fuckin’ night! ” he shouts to the crowd. They go mental.

Then he looks back at me, smug and calm as ever. “I did.”

I take a sharp breath, tryin’ not to lose it completely. “You invited my ex-girlfriend to my show?”

He pulls a face, like he disagrees with the basic fuckin’ premise. “I invited your ex-girlfriend to my show…”

I hear Chops mutter to Fry, “Right, so apparently we’re not in the band anymore…”

Like—piss off with that. Read the fuckin’ room; it ain’t the time.

I glare at Rich, teeth clenched so hard it hurts. “Why?”

He shrugs again, like it’s nothin’. “We’re mates, me and her…”

And then—I dunno—somethin’ snaps.

Don’t even think about it, don’t choose to do it, I’m just doin’ it… Reckon my fist was in his face before the words were even out his mouth proper, and Rich staggers back, grabbing the mic stand to stop himself goin’ down.

The crowd goes mental, screaming like it’s part of the show. For about a half a second, Richie looks stunned. Then his expression shifts—everyone reckons I’m the fuckin’ hothead. Like, yeah, I’m impulsive, but Richie? He fuckin’ stews. His anger’s well deep, like volcanic.

He shoves me hard in the chest. “You’re a fuckin’ child, you know that?”

“And you’re a fuckin’ snake,” I shoot back, going for him again, grabbing his shirt this time.

It’s all a blur after that—Richie swingin’ for me, me landin’ a proper good shot at his ribs. People in the back shouting, the crowd screamin’ louder. The boys stop playin’ entirely about now.

Rich is on me like a dog with a bone, though. We crash to the floor, fists flying, elbows cracking against the stage. Feel a sharp sting on me mouth—taste blood—don’t stop, but. Can’t, can I?

Neither can Rich, I don’t think. Hard to, once you start, you know—? Neither me or him, we ain’t never been good at sayin’ when.

And then Freddie dives in, draggin’ Rich off me. “Oi, boys—! That’s enough—”

Richie tries to lunge at me again, but Freddie’s got him, proper struggling to hold him back, but cos when Richie’s on one, he’s fuckin’ on one.

“You’re a fuckin’ headcase,” Richie pants.

“And you’re a cunt,” I spit back—promised Ysolde I’d stop saying that word, didn’t I? Ah, well. I wipe me split lip with the back of my hand—blood smears across me knuckles, but I dunno—I don’t know if I’m done fightin’ him yet.

“Come over here and say that to my face,” Rich snaps, staring me down.

I step towards him, fists clenched, and then—Ysolde—she jumps in front of me.

“Jo, stop!” she pleads, eyes wide, all urgent. Hand on me chest, warm and firm, and for a second—because I’m a fucking div—I forget how to breathe.

Forget the fight altogether, don’t I?

All I can see is her face—eyes wide, starin’ up at me, pleadin’—and somethin’ else there, too. Uneasy, maybe? Is she scared of me?

Maybe.

But for different reasons, I reckon.

Looks worried, she does. I hate that. Fuckin’ hate it when she’s worried.

“Get them off the fuckin’ stage!” someone shouts from the wings. I feel security movin’ in, their hands all over me. Can hear the boos startin’, ripplin’ through the crowd, louder and louder, right up until Rich and I are fuckin’ manhandled, shoved off into backstage.

And do you know what—? Still, all I can think about is her hand on me just before—fuckin’ calming me, steadying me, anchoring me to the goddamn planet, I reckon.

Look over at her, clock she’s gettin’ shoved about by security too.

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch her!” I yell at the dozy cunt hangin’ on to me girl’s arm. I’ll have his fuckin’ job for that.

And then there’s a finger in me face. “Don’t you fuckin’ start—” Mick is well livid.

We’re backstage now, yeah—? And I’m dead serious—I ain’t never seen Mick redder in his motherfuckin’ life.

“What the absolute fuck is wrong with the two of ya?” he growls. “Have you lost your fuckin’ minds?”

And me—? I know I proper fucked up here, so I don’t say a thing—neither does Rich.

You know who does, but? Ysolde.

“I—” she starts, voice all quiet, shaking a bit, that’s there. “It’s my fault, I think—”

Mick spins on her, wild-eyed, tone he’s got no business using. “You don’t fucking say?”

And it’s quick as owt, you know—Freddie yanks her behind him, squarin’ up now for a fight himself, but me—? I’m already yellin’—

“YOU DO NOT TALK TO HER LIKE THAT!” My voice fuckin’ rips outta me—Ysolde jumps, you get me? That’s kinda loud.

“Fuckin’ fuck off,” Rich spits at Mick, proper venom in his voice. Then he turns to Ys, softer now. “It wasn’t.”

And that’s fucking annoying, too, innit?

“No—” I shove him again. “Piss off—you don’t talk to her.”

Rich snorts, like he thinks I’m playing, but I ain’t.

“Fuck you, man—for real, like—proper fuck you,” I snap, shakin’ me head like mad, pointin’ at her. “You don’t get to fuck ’round with her, Rich. You don’t get to use her against me—”

“Why not?” Rich quips, brows up, darin’. “You use everyone else, don’t ya?”

“Cos she is the fuckin’ love of my life, isn’t she!?” I yell and it cuts through the air like a blade.

That whole back area goes quiet as a fuckin’ church. Mate—you could hear a pin drop.

Richie’s got this look, sorta smilin’, like he’s well pleased with himself or summat—dunno why.

Ysolde—she’s still as owt, eyes wide like it’s fuckin’ news to her.

You know what? S’pose it’s news to me too.

Mick rubs his tired eyes, mutters summat under his breath, and walks off, sighin’ as he pulls out his phone.

Freddie Fletcher, the jammy bastard, sniffs a laugh, like he thinks all this is a joke.

He claps a hand on me brother’s shoulder. “That was fun—” He nods at Rich. “I like you…”

Rich sticks his hand out—they shake, like they’re fuckin’ best mates.

Then Fletcher turns to Ys, cups a hand ’round the back of her head, pulls her in close—fuckin’ hate that—he kisses the top of it.

“I’ll catch ya, Ys.” Gives her this look, like he knows her…clocked her game or summat. “Well played. I’m in London next week. I’ll call ya—”

She nods, smilin’ a tiny bit. Looks embarrassed. Bit cute on her but.

Then he turns to me, tilts his head. “See ya, man. Sorry for—” He nods towards Ysolde, grimaces like it’s all just some big misunderstanding.

Then he fucks off.

Ysolde and I just stand there for a good few seconds in total fuckin’ silence, starin’ at each other.

Grab her hand, drag her into my dressing room—yank her inside, door slamming shut behind us as I press her up against it.

Kiss her like I ain’t never fucking kissed anyone.

Like, life-or-death shit, you know what I mean? I reckon she could be the death of me.

Dunno how long it lasts, do I—? Could be seconds, could be two fuckin’ hours. Could be forever, for all I care. I’m just…lost in her—willingly too, recklessly, fuckin’ happily lost. Don’t matter where if she’s there, know what I mean?

It’s her that pulls back a little—course it is.

“You’re bleeding,” she says, voice soft.

I shake me head. “I’m fine.”

“No,” she says, firmer now. “You’re bleeding .”

“I said I’m fine ,” I say, louder, more annoyed.

Guess me and her fight now, ey?

Stares at me, eyes big. Don’t like to be talked to like that—not used to it, I s’pose. She wipes her mouth, then—feels like a knife twisting in me chest—like she’s fuckin’ wipin’ me off her.

She straightens up, all calm now. “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” I tell her.

“Are you sure?”

Shove my hands through me hair, start shakin’ my head. “That was bad.”

She nods once. “Yes.”

Blow out a long breath, try not to let on that I’m about to fuckin’ shit it. “How bad?”

“Um…” She purses her lips, tilts her head slightly. “Uh— quite. ”

Gesture back to the ghost of fucking Freddie past. “What’d you fuckin’ bring him for?”

And then like, the fuckin’ balls on this girl, man I swear—she stares over at me like I’m daft. “…To torture you.”

“Aye.” Glare at her for that, don’t I? “Well done.”

“Thank you.” She nods once, looks too fuckin’ pleased with herself for that—catch her fightin’ off a smile. Dead pleased with herself.

She grabs my wrist, drags me to the settee, shoves me back onto it. Then she kneels up, tissues in hand, hovers over me as she dabs at my busted lip.

I shake me head, thinkin’ back on it all. “I can’t fuckin’ believe Richie…”

And I see summat flicker across her face—some thought she has but swallows down.

I nod me chin at her. “What…?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“No, what?”

She presses her lips together, trying to decide whether she’ll say it. She clears her throat quietly. “You do know you’re the problem, yes?”

Fuckin’ bullshit.

“Fuck off,” I tell her.

“You are,” she tells me, all matter-of-fact-like.

Give her a manky look. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No…” I scowl.

“ Absolutely , you are.”

I thump my chest. “ I’m the talent.”

She gives me a look. “Joah, you’re both talented.”

“I’m the front man.”

She looks at me, eyebrow up. “So?”

“So there’s a reason you’re fuckin’ here with me and haven’t spent the last two months over at his place suckin’ his cock—” I say well off-the-cuff, all fuckin’ angry that she’s on his side and not mine—it comes out me mouth without a thought and I’ve fuckin’ said it before I even know I’m sayin’ it, and her face like—fuck me, I’m a dead man.

She’s proper ragin’—straightaway, she’s pushing up from the couch to get away from me, and so I grab her wrist, shakin’ me head fast as I can.

“Wait, wait, shit! Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t have—I dunno w—I run my mouth when I’m—”

She bends down close to my face. “I don’t know who you think you are or, more importantly, who you think I am, that would lead you to believe that I would ever, under any circumstance, allow you to speak to me like that, but that is your first and final warning.”

“Yeah, alright.” I nod like a schoolboy. “Fair enough.”

She gives me a steep warning look.

Put my hand on her waist—don’t want her to go anyway.

“See, that’s why I like you…”

She looks at me, unimpressed. “Why?”

“Cos you call me out on my bullshit.”

She shrugs like she don’t get it. “Richie calls you out on your shit and you don’t much like him for it…”

“Yeah but—” I push some hair behind her ears. “I ain’t fuckin’ Rich, which really softens the blow of all that yellin’ you’re doing.”

“Well.” She straightens up, keeps dabbing my bloody mouth. “You’re a prick who frequently deserves to be yelled at. Also…” She pauses. “…I don’t think we’re fucking anymore.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Tilt my head at her. “Just snogging in doorways?”

Gives me a proud, stubborn look. “You caught me by surprise.”

I nod a couple of times. “Should I not have kissed ya?”

She stops with the dabbing, holds them bloody tissues in her hands, brows all bent in the middle like she’s got summat heavy on the mind.

“Well, I don’t know—” She swallows. “Because you called me something out there before in the hallway, where—”

“Oh fuck—” I groan. “Caught that, did ya?”

“Well.” She bites down on them lips—ones I wanna be kissin’, mind. “You said it loud.”

Mouth twists, nod once. “Oh good. Everyone hear that then, or—”

“Yep.” She nods.

“Mint.” I rub the back of my neck with me hand. Fuck. Bit embarrassing. She looks pleased, but—maybe worth it, then.

Nod my chin at her. “Probably should have a chat, ey?”

Her eyes look big again. Hopeful or nervous—? I dunno.

“Where are you stayin’?” I ask her.

“Where are you staying?” she asks back.

“The Midland.”

“Me too,” she says.

“Oh—” Pull me head back in surprise. How didn’t I run into her? “You got a room there?”

She stares at me, eyes unwaverin’.

“No,” she says, and I swallow heavy.

My heart starts poundin’ in my chest again, don’t it—? Fuck, I love her.

She gives me a tiny smile.

We grab my stuff and walk out into the hallway—not hand in hand, but shoulder to shoulder, and fuck it like—take what I can get, know what I mean?

Walk past Richie’s open dressing room and Ysolde pauses, pokes her head in.

She stares over at him, all reclined back on the settee, Loxy tendin’ to him like he’s a fuckin’ fallen soldier or summat.

“You okay?” Ys asks.

Loxy looks at her over her shoulder. “He’s fine.” Tone’s sharp.

Rich gives Lox a look, not havin’ it.

“I’m glad you think so,” Ysolde says, eying her—bit bolder this time ’round, ain’t she? Not faffin’ about bein’ polite and proper. “But I was asking Rich.”

Rich swallows a smirk. So do I—don’t really swallow mine but.

“I’m alright,” Rich tells her.

She tilts her head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He tilts his chin up. “You?”

Ys glances back over her shoulder at me, then back to Rich—does this little smile—Christ, but I love her, don’t I?

“Oi.” I nod my chin at him, slingin’ an arm ’round Ysolde. She shoves it off her straightaway and I don’t miss a beat when I put it straight back there where it fuckin’ belongs. She fights off a smile, but know she likes this shit.

Rich watches us—looks, I dunno—invested?

“You off?” he says to me.

“Yep.” I nod. “Good show tonight.”

“Yeah,” Rich says.

Then we both chuckle. And Ysolde is lookin’ between us back and forth like we’re a tennis match—mind fuckin’ blown.

“You guys are completely mental,” she says, can’t believe it.

I roll my eyes at her.

“Laters,” I say to him.

Gives me a small wink.

She don’t have brothers, so she don’t get it. She don’t need to get it. We get it.