Page 53 of Forbidden Lyrics

“And we’re glad he did,” Phoenix replies, nudging my shoulder. “You rocked it, Dove.”

My cheeks feel like they’re on fire as I press my cold fingers to them in hopes of keeping my blush at bay. “Uh…thanks.”

“Get to the point, Fen,” Gibson growls, clearly more tense than the rest of the group, though I can’t decide if it’s because of my presence or if it’s because he can see how much their attention is making me uncomfortable and couldn’t help but intervene.

Hoping it’s the latter, I give him a tight smile of gratitude. He lifts his chin in response, then turns to his brother.

“The point is because of her, we’ve been invited to open for Organized Chaos while they’re touring the East Coast this summer, and Hawthorne wants her to tour with us.”

Their cheering rings in my ears as I attempt to register what the heck Fender just said, but it’s no use. There’s no way I heard him correctly.

Hawthorne wants me to tour with Broken Vows this summer?

What?!

Phoenix pulls me into an awkward side hug, nearly pulling me from my own stool while Stoker nods his approval with his skinny arms crossed over his chest. But Gibbs hasn’t blinked. Hasn’t moved an inch. Heck, he hasn’t even twitched. And I can’t decide if he’s mad at me or if he’s simply as confused as I am.

What the heck is happening right now?

“Phoenix, back the hell up and let her breathe,” Gibson barks after a few tense seconds.

His touch disappears instantly before he pulls a pair of drumsticks from his back pocket and starts twirling them between his fingers while my spine straightens in my seat, though I’m still as lost as before.

“There was one more condition,” Fender adds, his voice more solemn than before. “Sonny, man. We need you, too.”

We need you too? For what? I want to scream, but I pull my lips into a thin line and stay quiet. I’m pretty sure I’ve never been more lost in my entire life.

Gibson scrubs his hand over his face, his shoulders hunching in defeat as he register’s Fender’s request. “I can’t, man.”

“You don’t have a choice this time,” Fender returns.

Gibson’s fists tighten at his sides, glaring at Fen with more wrath than I ever thought possible. But he doesn’t reply. And Fen doesn’t push the subject. They stare at each other, their muscles coiled for action. The combination leaves me dizzy with questions as my gaze bounces back and forth between the two brothers.

So, Broken Vows got invited to go on tour, which is great, but why wouldn’t Gibson want to tag along, even if it’s only to stay behind the scenes? That sounds like an amazing opportunity, doesn’t it? But he doesn’t look happy. In fact, he looks pissed. Which I kind of get, but not really. And what do I have to do with it? It doesn’t make any sense.

I feel like I’ve walked onto a stage in the middle of a three-act play, and I have no idea what’s going on. But at least I’m not the only one. Apparently, Gibson wasn’t fully aware of the scenario, either, if his tight jaw and narrowed gaze is anything to go by. The guy is freaking intimidating and looks like he’s going to lose his crap at any second.

In fact, I have a feeling it’s going to be in three, two––

“We’ll, uh, give you two some privacy,” Phoenix mutters before tucking his drumsticks into the back pocket of his jeans, stands up, and offers me his hand.

“No,” Gibson barks. “She stays.”

“But––”

“I need to talk with her.”

Phoenix’s hand drops to his side. “Okay. Come on, Stokes. Let’s go.”

The sound of their heavy boots echoes down the hall as they make their escape.

When the front door swings closed a few seconds later, Fender starts, “Sonny––”

“No.”

“You have to. It was one of Hawthorne’s requirements.”

“That I go? Why? I don’t do the tours, remember?”

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