Page 47 of Forbidden Lyrics

“He can call Hawthorne, but that’s it,” Gibson murmurs, giving in, though his corded muscles are just as tight and as ready to spring into action as before.

“Okay.”

“I don’t want him here, though,” Gibbs clarifies. “And I sure as hell don’t want him to be the band’s manager. Ever. I don’t care what kind of bullshit connections the bastard may have. As far as I’m concerned, Donny Hayes is dead to me. We clear?”

My breath hitches as I register the name.

Donny Hayes?

How?

The guy is right up there with the freaking Beatles in the music industry. But that’s not possible. It doesn’t make any sense. Not after everything Gibson told me about his father and how much of a loser he is. I don’t understand.

Both heads snap in my direction, and the blood drains from my face. Their scrutiny acts like tiny needles pricking every inch of exposed skin on my body, but I can’t run and hide. It’s too late. They know I’m here. They know I heard.

“What are you doing here?” Gibson growls, his fury palpable and now directed at me.

My terror spikes, and I open my mouth to defend myself but close it just as quickly.

There’s no excuse. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have been listening. This had nothing to do with me. I need to get out of here. But I can’t move. I’m paralyzed. Not in fear. In shame.

This is Gibson’s secret. And he had a right to keep it to himself. But I stuck my nose where it doesn’t belong, and now, I’ve ruined everything.

“I’ll give him a call,” Fender mutters. He strides out of the room and steps around me at the last second, disappearing down the hall and out the back door while leaving me desperate for air. Because right now? I feel like I can’t breathe. Not when Gibson is looking at me like this. With disdain. And frustration. And maybe a little bit of hurt too. That I would betray him like this. That I would eavesdrop on a private conversation.

What is wrong with me?

“What did you hear?” Gibson snaps.

I shake my head and hide my hands behind my back, tangling my trembling fingers together and squeezing with all my strength. “Nothing.”

“Good girls don’t lie.” He steps closer to my frozen body in the middle of the dark hallway. Everyone else has already left. “Tell me the truth.”

I swallow and lick my lips but stay quiet as I take in his stone-cold expression glinting in the fluorescent light hanging in the storage room.

“Did you hear his name?” he demands.

“What name?” I lie, my lower lip quivering.

He quirks his brow and closes another two feet of distance between us. “Hawthorne was right. You’re a terrible liar.”

I grimace.

“Do you know who Donny Hayes is?”

Of course, I know who Donny Hayes is. Everyone knows who Donny Hayes is.

He takes another step toward me.

Again, I gulp but don’t bother to answer him.

Still, Gibbs reads me like a book and closes the last bit of distance between us, meeting me in the dim hallway. The darkness does weird things to me. Shrouding us both in shadows while managing to make my senses dull yet hyper-focused at the same time. He’s close. Too close. And even after my sister’s warnings––heck, after the stranger’s warning in the bar all those nights ago––I can’t make myself move. If anything, I’m fighting my instincts to lean into him. To wrap my arms around him and make him feel better.

Which is a terrible idea.

He’s pissed at me right now.

And I don’t blame him.

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