It’s fine.
Everything is ... fine.
Chapter Three
Thorne
Everything is not fine.
I can tell.
It’s our last show for the US tour, finishing where we started in LA, but something’s wrong. The spark Seb usually brings to the stage is missing.
Seb’s fingers move expertly while he plays his guitar, he sings the right notes, but he’s not himself. To the unknowing eye, he’s doing his thing, and he’s killing it. But it’s as if he’s dying on the inside while he does it.
That’s not Seb.
I’m watching from my usual spot—in the wings, always on Seb’s side.
The band finishes a song, and I lift my fingers to my mouth to let out a loud whistle. He hears me, and his dark eyes meet mine. There’s always arrogance shining in them, but tonight, it’s missing. All I see is a cautious and timid person.
I don’t want to be insensitive to whatever he’s going through, but I have to wonder if there’s something more than the photo. The fallout today hasn’t been that bad. Tonight’s concert started with wolf-whistles and mockery, which wasn’t great. Some of the crew have made snarky comments, and there’s been some online chatter and sharing. But a lot of the fanbase and industry people have come to Seb’s defense, blasting those on social media who have shared the image.
The thing I’ve noticed with working in this industry for fifteen years is fans don’t understand that famous people are human too. They’re not hard shells who can drown all the negativity out, and when their privacy is violated—which it is a lot—they’re told to suck it up and stop being so sensitive.
Thick skin is a requirement, definitely, but everyone has weak moments. Everyone. And in the four years I’ve been working for this band, Seb hasn’t broken once.
I want to be his rock.
Spending the night with him, just holding his hand and falling asleep next to him has blurred that professional line more than ever before.
I’ve been so good for so long, but watching Seb struggle, it’s taking every ounce of strength I have to hold myself back. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep this wall between us these next two weeks while we’re holed up in the snow.
Last I heard, Jasper and Greg are planning to bring groupies with them to fill the time. Cash will have Locke.
Seb and I …
Shit, I can’t break my rules no matter how much I want to.
Last night when he inched his way over to my side of the bed and cuddled into me, I let it happen even though I shouldn’t have. He was asleep and not aware of what he was doing. Nothing about it was sexual, but it was more intimate than any sex act I’ve ever experienced, and now my ridiculous obsession with him is moving into dangerous territory.
I know how easy it would’ve been to turn it into sex. I’ve thought about how many different ways I could break my rules. I’d know exactly what to say and how to say it. I’d know what to do to get him into bed because, let’s be honest, it wouldn’t be that hard.
Hell, I’ve seen him exchange a single look with a fan and then got the text later to kick the guy out of his room for him. He’s easy, to put it mildly, but I don’t want to be just some fuck to him.
If I was to ever put my job on the line, it would have to be for more than one night of sex. I’d want him to become mine.
The set is almost finished, and in between songs, some jackass down the front yells at Seb to take off his pants. He ignores them and plays like the professional he is, but my heart hurts for him.
The guys finish their setlist with the usual pyrotechnics that go off at their finales. They love ending a show with a bang, and this tour is no exception. In fact, I’m pretty sure this is the most expensive fireworks display any band has ever done in the history of rock, and that’s saying something. There are fire balls, and all sorts of shit flying around the stage. I’m honestly surprised no one’s been hurt yet.
But whenever I’ve tried to tell Cash that maybe it’s a wee bit too much, he puts on his dramatic voice and says, “It’s theater, darling.” Then laughs because he thinks he’s so damn hilarious.
After the over the top display, Seb pushes past me like a man on a mission, taking his guitar with him even though the case for it is right by my side.
“Seb?”
He waves me off.
“What about the encore?” I call after him.
He doesn’t stop.
Cash steps in front of me. “Is he okay? He was out of it for half the show.”