I nod, but my shoulders rise and then fall in an almost imperceptible shrug of uncertainty.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispers and then smiles in a way that encircles my heart with warmth.
It’ll be okay.
I don’t remember anyone ever saying that to me before. It’s the kind of thing that a mom and dad should say when you fall over or fail a test or get picked on by the class bully. It’s the reassurance that lets you know that you’re not traveling through life alone.
Elijah has shown more care in that one sentence than my father ever has, and I glance around the table at the seven men who make up my security detail. They are seven friends who’ve been through the toughest times together and still find ways to focus on others.
Last night, Jax spoke about how worried he is that life will pull them apart in the future, and maybe it will.
Maybe there’s another way, my internal voice whispers.
But I stuff that thought back down because everything Hudson said is true. An alternative lifestyle might work for Tyler and his friends, but they’re not in the public eye. They don’t have the press hounding them at every turn. They don’t have the weight of contractual expectations resting on their shoulders. A relationship isn’t on the cards for me.
As the men of Steel 7 Security hustle me onto the bus and travel with me on a journey to the biggest stadium I’ve ever played, I let my mind wander over what it might be like to be the center of their world because it’s only reality that can be damaging.
Fantasies can’t hurt anybody.
At least, that’s what I hope.
5
ELIJAH
Luna has been practicing the entire dance routine for the past two hours. Her tank top is damp with sweat, and her hair, which is pulled into a messy bun, is cascading around her face in wet tendrils. Her chest is rising and falling with exertion, and I’ve never seen a woman look fiercer.
“Again,” Lucas, the choreographer, shouts. The music is paused, the four female dancers revert to their starting positions, and Luna stops, putting her hands on her hips, the picture of frustration.
“We’ve got this,” she yells.
“You’re missing that last beat,” Lucas yells back. “This is the first night. It has to be perfect.”
“It will be perfect,” she hisses. “At least, it will be if I’m not totally fucking exhausted.”
Lucas’s fists ball at his sides, and instinctively I take a step forward. On the other side of the stage, Jax does the same. “This guy is pissing me off,” I say onto our comms channel.
“He’s just doing his job,” Jax mutters. “But I know what you mean. I hate the way he’s riding her.”
“She can hold her own, but if he goes any further, he’s getting a warning.”
“I need a break,” Luna says, then without waiting for Lucas’s approval, strides across the stage toward me. There’s a table holding all the things on Luna’s rider; the brand of water she prefers at room temperature, dark chocolate, apples, date bars, nuts, and her nutritionist’s approved salad pot that seems to contain chicken, rice, and avocado in addition to enough greens to feed a hutch of rabbits. I don’t understand it, same as Connor. She must have burned off two thousand calories this morning. She needs more than this healthy regime. She needs steak and mashed potatoes or meatloaf with gravy. The girl needs more meat on her bones.
She gulps down a whole bottle of water, tossing the empty plastic container in the trash. “Did you ever kill anyone?” she asks, completely out of the blue. Before I can shrug of my shock, she carries on. “Because I always thought that it was something beyond my capabilities but now, I’m starting to seriously think that I could snap that asshole’s neck with my bare hands and not break a sweat or prick my conscience.”
“He definitely has a death wish,” I chuckle, relieved she’s not really inquiring about my military service. There are things I barely ever talk about, even to the men who know everything that happened during combat. I certainly wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about it backstage with Luna.
Forgive me. The words that follow any thoughts of my active service whisper in the back of my mind.
“You should eat something,” I say to block out my conscience as Luna flops into a chair. She reaches for the salad and begins to shovel it into her mouth like a hungry animal.
“This is good, but I could murder a cheeseburger.”
“Me too,” I say. “With curly fries and slaw. And some chicken wings on the side.”
“Mmmmmm.” The sound she makes vibrates in her throat, and her bottom lip is drawn into her mouth as though she’s physically savoring our imagined meal.
“Luna, we need to get the dances wrapped up,” Angelica shouts from behind the huge speakers at the side of the stage. “Lucas might be busting your balls, but it’s for a good reason. We’re on the clock.”