Chapter 2

“Please tell me you’re dressed and… What the actual fuck, North! Reese is gonna be here any minute!”

Pulling a pillow over his head, North Beauregard groaned and did his best to ignore Annette’s shouting while his brain did its best impression of a demolition crew smashing through a wall. The wall being the inside of his skull. His stomach turned as the stench from the furnace at his side reached his nose and he tried to push away from it.

Only to have his hand slide against a sweaty chest right before he tumbled out of his bunk.

Who the fuck is that? North stayed on the floor of the XVI Hours’ new tour bus, blinking up at Annette who was staring at him, her lips twisted with disgust. Gorgeous, with wavy auburn hair, big green eyes, and a hardcore attitude, the backup singer for XVI Hours had looked at him with longing for the longest time. They’d had fun together. Stood by one another when life threw fucking shitstorms their way.

Now that Annette was married, that comfortable outlet he’d once had was gone. If he still had her, if he still had anyone, he wouldn’t be feeling like utter trash now. But because everyone abandoned him, he was left with randos he found at the closest bar, who may or may not kill him in his sleep.

Nice try, idiot. You did this to yourself. Now make sure you used a fucking condom.

His stomach lurched again as he tried to sit up. At least he was wearing boxers, but that didn’t mean a damn thing. He felt blindly around the mattress, a harsh white flash of pain blurring his vision.

“What the hell are you doing?” Annette put her hands on her hips. “North?”

“Looking for a used condom.”

“Lovely.” Annette sighed, grabbing his elbow and trying to pull him to his feet. “You need coffee and a shower. Damn it, North, you smell like you took a fucking bath in cheap whiskey.”

Shuffling from the other side of the bunk stilled her. She tightened her grip on North’s arm as the man in the bed threw his legs over the side and stood.

“There’s no condom.” The man glanced down at North as his blood ran cold. Then let out a bitter laugh. “You passed out. I fell asleep waiting to see if you’d wake up. Waste of my fucking time.”

“Waste of your… Dude, I don’t even remember talking to you, never mind…” North rubbed a hand over his face. “How did we get here?”

Doing up his jeans, the big blurry stranger snorted. “You told me to bring you here. You were pretty wasted at the bar, but desperate to be fucked. I would have given you exactly what you wanted if you hadn’t been laying there like a goddamn corpse.”

Annette’s eyes narrowed. “Get. Out.”

“I’m going, don’t be a fucking bitch about it.” The man sneered. “It’s not my fault you can’t keep your man happy.”

“No, it’s your fault you tried to take advantage of someone too drunk to give consent.”

“Get the fuck out of here. ‘Consent’?” The man stepped up to Annette, baring his teeth. “Offering to suck my dick sounds like consent to me.”

“Leave. Now.” Annette didn’t back down, but North could feel her trembling from the hand still latched on to his arm.

She was scared and it was his fault. He’d brought this man here and he had to get rid of him. He tried to stand, catching Annette just as the man shoved her out of the way.

An angry shout tore through his skull as Connor Phelan, Annette’s husband, grabbed the man by the throat and muscled him to the front of the bus. The sound of a fist slamming into flesh quickly followed.

“North, we have to stop him!” Annette didn’t wait for North’s response. She rushed into the front room. “Connor, don’t!”

The rush of adrenaline was just enough to get North moving, but he swayed as he pushed past the curtains, pulling Annette away from Connor and grabbing the big guitarist’s arm himself. Which was stupid, Connor was too far gone in his rage to control himself, but at least the elbow he jabbed back didn’t hit his wife.

North lay on the ground again. Stunned. Warmth spilling over his bottom lip as he tried to get his brain to function.

Why the hell did I drink so much?

He decided moving wasn’t necessary as a familiar voice stopped the punching noise and got Connor to release the man he’d been beating on.

“Connor, look at me. I need you to stay here with Annette.” The soothing voice of ‘Ballz’—Winter’s Wrath’s head of security and the third in Connor and Annette’s relationship—brought the world back into focus. A real grownup was here to save the day. “And you, whoever you are, I suggest you come with me. Not. Another. Word. You’re trespassing.”

While Ballz dragged the man off the bus, ignoring his protests, North did his best to focus on Connor and Annette. Figure out how much trouble he was in.

Connor let out a tight laugh and held out his hand, helping North off the floor and onto the couch beside him. Holding Annette close against his other side, Connor studied North for a moment, then shook his head.

“I was gonna ask how you’ve been doing, but it’s pretty obvious.” Connor sighed and raked his fingers through his sweaty brown hair. Wincing, he brought his hand down to examine his busted knuckles. “Brave’s gonna be fucking pissed I’m starting the tour with a messed up hand. Again.”

North’s brow furrowed as he eyed the bloody mess. Not bad enough he’d put Annette in danger, he might have just ruined the tour for the headliner, Winter’s Wrath.

Why isn’t Connor punching me? I fucking deserve it.

“Tell him it’s my fault. Or better yet, I’ll tell him.” North jaw hardened. “No way in hell am I letting you take shit for the mess I made.”

He pushed to his feet.

The guitarist jerked him back down. “Brave’s got no right to judge you, he’s done worse. Besides, I owe you for not letting that guy bust my head open in the cafeteria.”

Pressing his eyes shut, North dropped back against the sofa, recalling the one time he’d actually felt fucking useful. He and Connor had spent almost a month in an Italian prison for attempted murder, set up by a crazy stalker who’d been after Winter’s Wrath’s drummer…Tate.

He ground his teeth, refusing to let himself think of the man who’d torn out his heart, crushed it under his boot, then spat on the pathetic lump of flesh.

Connor was the one who’d been there with him behind those cold cement walls, surrounded by guards and criminals, just as uncertain as North about what the future held. Sure, North had grabbed some big skinhead who’d been about to hit Connor in the head with a tray, giving Connor a chance to defend himself. Was nothing compared to all the times Connor had his back.

“I didn’t do mu—”

“Don’t argue, North. We both know Brave has it in for you. If Connor can get the man to be cool about this, let him.” Annette stood, crossing the small sitting area and stepping behind the counter in the kitchenette. She pulled something out of the freezer and tossed it to North. “Pass that to him so he can get the swelling on his knuckles down, the go put some pants on. I’m making you some coffee.”

North’s stomach didn’t much like the idea of coffee, but he knew better than to argue with Annette when he was this fucked up. The fact that she hadn’t hit him yet was nothing short of a miracle.

You really want someone to hit you again, just wait. It’s still early.

The rich aroma of coffee brewing filled the bus, the scent alone steadying him a bit as he managed to pull on a pair of jeans and get his sorry ass back to the sofa. He whispered thanks to Annette when she brought him a mug, turning all his attention to taking slow sips as she fussed over Connor. He’d be jealous if he didn’t like the man so much, but Connor deserved all the love and attention he could get.

Love and attention Annette had tried to give North once, when she’d been crushing on him hard. He’d kept things casual when they’d started XVI Hours, indulging in his lust for her while trying to keep her from getting attached. Hadn’t worked out that great at first, but she was a tough chick. Figured out she wanted more than he’d ever offer.

Annette might be the ‘official’ backup singer for the band, but in truth, she was just as important—if not more—than he was. And damn it, he loved seeing her so happy.

He just had to make sure he didn’t ruin things for her by pulling stupid shit like he had last night.

“Annette, I’m sorry about…” He gestured vaguely toward the bunks. “All that. I shouldn’t have brought anyone back here.”

“Without security to keep an eye on you? No, you shouldn’t have.” Ballz climbed up the steps at the front of the bus, fixing North with a stern look. “With the threats Annette’s been getting, taking that kind of risk is unacceptable. If you won’t consider your own safety, consider hers. And your other bandmates’.”

North stared at his bare feet, the nauseous twist in his stomach from guilt overpowering what remained from the whiskey he’d tried to drown in. He’d forgotten about the threats. Hell, he’d drunk enough to forget his own name.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded like a fucking loser, repeating those words again. He didn’t know what else to say.

Reaching over Connor, Annette patted North’s arm. “Hey, we’re getting a new tour manager and security. There won’t be so much pressure. We’ll all be safe. And you’ll be good once we’re back on the road.”

Will I? North nodded, forcing a smile so Annette wouldn’t worry, but no way could he be all optimistic like her. Ever since XVI Hours finished writing and recording all their songs for the new album two months ago, he’d been…lost. Wandering aimlessly through every goddamn day, hating the quiet, hating the ‘break’ the band had taken so Annette could move to Detroit with her men and put in her application for dual citizenship.

Back in Canada, where he and the rest of the band shared an apartment in Hamilton, he’d tried to keep himself busy. Spent days writing down songs no one would ever hear because the lyrics were filled with depressing, sappy shit. Spent nights trying to erase the pain behind the words he’d jotted down.

Found guys and girls to take home, then changed his mind. Every. Single. Time.

From literal whore to fucking celibate.

His whole existence had become a joke.