And why did he just think of Jace as an outsider? He was a part of the band just like the other guys. Just because he’d only been with the band two years…
“Do we make you feel like an outsider?” Sed asked.
Jace dropped his gaze to the table. After a long moment, he said, “Not exactly.”
“If there’s anything I can do—”
“Where’s your girlfriend?” he interrupted.
“I left her back at the hotel. She pissed me off.” Actually, she’d hurt him, but it pissed him off that she could do it so easily.
“You want a ride back?”
Sed sighed, annoyed by his own weakness. He should just stay away from her. It would make things easier. He knew she’d lashed out at him because she was hurting. He wasn’t sure how to take that hurt away, but he had to try. “Yeah, if you don’t mind, but I need to do something first.”
He pulled his lyrics journal from under the cushion of the bench seat and started to write. It would help to get these feelings out of his head, where they churned incessantly.
He labeled the page: “Used.”
He then scrawled beneath the title, in barely legible script:
You don’t see me.
Blind to the real me.
I’m not who you think I should be.
But I can’t be someone I’m not.
He paused, chewing on the end of his pen.
I’ll try to be who you need,
what you need,
I fail again
tear me, cut me, make me bleed
if it opens your heart to me.
Just don’t leave me with nothing.
Less than nothing.
Like the last time.
Use me.
It’s better than existing without you.
He closed the notebook and shoved it back under the seat.
“Are you writing lyrics?” In his enthusiasm, Jace looked younger than his twenty-four years. Brown eyes wide with eagerness, his typical cool veneer slipped aside for at least three seconds.
“Just a few lines as inspiration strikes.” Sed slid out of the bench. “Are you ready to go?”
“Huh? Oh yeah. So do we have enough for an entire new song yet?”
“Several, actually. I’ve got most of the lyrics down, but I’ll need Eric to get the arrangements worked out.”
“Eric?”
“Fucking gifted with arrangements. He’s got a golden ear. He can take a bunch of disjointed riffs, solos and lyrics, and like magic churn out a song, complete with one of his amazing drum tracks. Have you ever seen him compose?”
Wide-eyed, Jace shook his head and followed Sed off the bus.
“He and Jon Mallory used to work well together. They’d disappear for a weekend with a stack of music—Brian’s guitar work, my lyrics—and return with fifteen or twenty new songs, ready for the recording studio. They wrote the entire last album that way. Not sure how he’ll do now that Jon is gone.” Sed scowled. That might turn out to be a problem, actually. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment. “Eric will just have to compose with me this time. And you.”
“Me?” Jace sputtered. “I don’t know a thing about writing music.”
Sed laughed. “Me neither, but that won’t stop me.”
Jace grinned. “I’ll try to stay out of Eric’s way, but I would like to see him work.”
Sed had never recognized it before, but Jace admired Eric. Even though Eric treated him like a kid and continually picked on him about his size. Weird.
Without warning, a blinding light hit Sed in the face and a microphone appeared under his chin. “Sed Lionheart, every music fan out there wants to know, is this the end of Sinners?” Bright flashbulbs went off all around him. Damned paparazzi. How did they know he was here?
Sed lifted a hand to block the glare from his eyes. “What?”
“With Trey Mills out of commission, will the band break up?” the reporter shouted.
“What? No. Trey will be fine. Jesus, give him a few days to recover before you start talking about the band breaking up.”
“I see. And do you often engage in public sex with prostitutes and then post the videos online?”
“Prostitutes?” Sed was too stunned to do anything at first. His next instinct was to kick some ass. “Jessica isn’t a prostitute, you ass**le. She’s… she’s…” What was she to him exactly? He wasn’t sure, but he did know what he wanted her to be. “She’s my fiancée!” Sed tried to take a swing at the prick, but Jace grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms to his sides.
“Don’t make this worse, Sed,” Jace said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“If you write anything bad about her, I’ll f**king kill you, do you hear me?” Sed yelled at the journalist as Jace forced him to move in the general direction of his motorcycle. Several roadies and the head of Sinners’ security came out of the pigsty bus. They quickly diverted the journalist and gang of photographers so he and Jace could make their escape.
Jace climbed onto the Harley and started the ignition. It roared to life between his thighs. “Let’s go.”
Sed preferred to go kick that reporter’s ass for referring to Jessica as a prostitute, but somehow he pulled it together enough to climb on the motorcycle behind Jace and not fall off as they sped away.
As the surge of testosterone and adrenaline in his blood stream began to wane, he realized he’d told the reporter that Jessica was his fiancée. That would fix a few things, wouldn’t it? God, he hoped so.
“You okay back there?” Jace asked.
“Yeah. Just get me to the Bellagio.”
They took some less-traveled road that ran parallel to the Vegas strip and Sed found himself standing behind the hotel within minutes. “Thanks for the ride. Are you going to go see Aggie again?”
“Maybe.” Jace shrugged. He drove off before Sed could blink.
Sed had planned to ask Jace if he wanted to have a drink with him while he avoided returning to the hotel room. He wondered how pissed Jessica would be because he’d left without saying a word. If he had to guess, he’d go with excessively pissed. He stopped at a blackjack table on his way through the casino. Played a few hands. Drank one watered down Jack and Coke after another. He still wasn’t ready to return to the room. He wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at, and he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to stop caring. By the time he was drunk enough, it was close to two a.m. He cashed in his chips, surprised to find he was a couple grand ahead, and took the elevator back to their floor.
“Do we make you feel like an outsider?” Sed asked.
Jace dropped his gaze to the table. After a long moment, he said, “Not exactly.”
“If there’s anything I can do—”
“Where’s your girlfriend?” he interrupted.
“I left her back at the hotel. She pissed me off.” Actually, she’d hurt him, but it pissed him off that she could do it so easily.
“You want a ride back?”
Sed sighed, annoyed by his own weakness. He should just stay away from her. It would make things easier. He knew she’d lashed out at him because she was hurting. He wasn’t sure how to take that hurt away, but he had to try. “Yeah, if you don’t mind, but I need to do something first.”
He pulled his lyrics journal from under the cushion of the bench seat and started to write. It would help to get these feelings out of his head, where they churned incessantly.
He labeled the page: “Used.”
He then scrawled beneath the title, in barely legible script:
You don’t see me.
Blind to the real me.
I’m not who you think I should be.
But I can’t be someone I’m not.
He paused, chewing on the end of his pen.
I’ll try to be who you need,
what you need,
I fail again
tear me, cut me, make me bleed
if it opens your heart to me.
Just don’t leave me with nothing.
Less than nothing.
Like the last time.
Use me.
It’s better than existing without you.
He closed the notebook and shoved it back under the seat.
“Are you writing lyrics?” In his enthusiasm, Jace looked younger than his twenty-four years. Brown eyes wide with eagerness, his typical cool veneer slipped aside for at least three seconds.
“Just a few lines as inspiration strikes.” Sed slid out of the bench. “Are you ready to go?”
“Huh? Oh yeah. So do we have enough for an entire new song yet?”
“Several, actually. I’ve got most of the lyrics down, but I’ll need Eric to get the arrangements worked out.”
“Eric?”
“Fucking gifted with arrangements. He’s got a golden ear. He can take a bunch of disjointed riffs, solos and lyrics, and like magic churn out a song, complete with one of his amazing drum tracks. Have you ever seen him compose?”
Wide-eyed, Jace shook his head and followed Sed off the bus.
“He and Jon Mallory used to work well together. They’d disappear for a weekend with a stack of music—Brian’s guitar work, my lyrics—and return with fifteen or twenty new songs, ready for the recording studio. They wrote the entire last album that way. Not sure how he’ll do now that Jon is gone.” Sed scowled. That might turn out to be a problem, actually. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment. “Eric will just have to compose with me this time. And you.”
“Me?” Jace sputtered. “I don’t know a thing about writing music.”
Sed laughed. “Me neither, but that won’t stop me.”
Jace grinned. “I’ll try to stay out of Eric’s way, but I would like to see him work.”
Sed had never recognized it before, but Jace admired Eric. Even though Eric treated him like a kid and continually picked on him about his size. Weird.
Without warning, a blinding light hit Sed in the face and a microphone appeared under his chin. “Sed Lionheart, every music fan out there wants to know, is this the end of Sinners?” Bright flashbulbs went off all around him. Damned paparazzi. How did they know he was here?
Sed lifted a hand to block the glare from his eyes. “What?”
“With Trey Mills out of commission, will the band break up?” the reporter shouted.
“What? No. Trey will be fine. Jesus, give him a few days to recover before you start talking about the band breaking up.”
“I see. And do you often engage in public sex with prostitutes and then post the videos online?”
“Prostitutes?” Sed was too stunned to do anything at first. His next instinct was to kick some ass. “Jessica isn’t a prostitute, you ass**le. She’s… she’s…” What was she to him exactly? He wasn’t sure, but he did know what he wanted her to be. “She’s my fiancée!” Sed tried to take a swing at the prick, but Jace grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms to his sides.
“Don’t make this worse, Sed,” Jace said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“If you write anything bad about her, I’ll f**king kill you, do you hear me?” Sed yelled at the journalist as Jace forced him to move in the general direction of his motorcycle. Several roadies and the head of Sinners’ security came out of the pigsty bus. They quickly diverted the journalist and gang of photographers so he and Jace could make their escape.
Jace climbed onto the Harley and started the ignition. It roared to life between his thighs. “Let’s go.”
Sed preferred to go kick that reporter’s ass for referring to Jessica as a prostitute, but somehow he pulled it together enough to climb on the motorcycle behind Jace and not fall off as they sped away.
As the surge of testosterone and adrenaline in his blood stream began to wane, he realized he’d told the reporter that Jessica was his fiancée. That would fix a few things, wouldn’t it? God, he hoped so.
“You okay back there?” Jace asked.
“Yeah. Just get me to the Bellagio.”
They took some less-traveled road that ran parallel to the Vegas strip and Sed found himself standing behind the hotel within minutes. “Thanks for the ride. Are you going to go see Aggie again?”
“Maybe.” Jace shrugged. He drove off before Sed could blink.
Sed had planned to ask Jace if he wanted to have a drink with him while he avoided returning to the hotel room. He wondered how pissed Jessica would be because he’d left without saying a word. If he had to guess, he’d go with excessively pissed. He stopped at a blackjack table on his way through the casino. Played a few hands. Drank one watered down Jack and Coke after another. He still wasn’t ready to return to the room. He wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at, and he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to stop caring. By the time he was drunk enough, it was close to two a.m. He cashed in his chips, surprised to find he was a couple grand ahead, and took the elevator back to their floor.
