Page 123 of Forbidden Lyrics

“Tell me,” Fen demands. “I wanna know––”

“You already know the answer,” Gibson growls, dropping his voice low. People are starting to stare. Heck, some have their phones whipped out and are already filming.

“Look, can we please talk about this later?” Gibson pleads.

Fen’s attention shifts to the cell phones pointed in our direction before giving Gibson a grudging nod. “Fine.”

“If you need me, text Dove.”

Fender doesn’t bother to respond as he pushes up from the couch and disappears into the other room, leaving nothing but his sizzling temper in his wake.

I’ve never seen him like that. So unhinged. So close to the edge. So close to throwing away everything he’s worked for. But Gibson’s right. He can’t control Fender. And no matter how hard it is to watch him spiral, it’s Fender’s choice as to whether or not he actually will.

A beat of silence passes as the crowd shakes off the heavy tension they’ve witnessed and gets back to drinking their alcohol and grinding against each other like the party is a soon-to-be orgy.

“Is he going to be okay?” My quiet voice is barely loud enough to break through the thumping base that surrounds us.

Shaking his head, Gibson tightens his grip around my hand. “Come on. I need a drink.”

We weave between the growing crowd to the back of the giant mansion before finding a bar lined with mixers, hard liquor, and beer bottles. Gibson reaches for one of the crystal glasses and pours himself a healthy shot, throwing it back. His expression sours for an instant before he pours another.

“Gibson––”

“I’m fine.” He sets the glass back down. “Do you want me to make you a drink?”

I shake my head.

“You sure?”

“I’m okay,” I mumble. “Thank you, though. Is Fender going to be okay?”

“Fender’s ego is fragile, Dove. He might put on a cocky façade, but he’s more like an abused puppy who wants to get adopted, ya know? He’s a good guy. But he puts too much pressure on himself to be perfect. To be the life of the party. The star of the show. And if what Phoenix and Stoker said is true, especially after Josh’s offhand comment, Fender’s ego took a hit tonight. And he doesn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right. He doesn’t. He’s been nothing but supportive of both of us. The fact that he even invited me to tag along on this tour is amazing.”

“He’s one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met. Until he isn’t. And then he’s a selfish bastard who will light his entire life on fire just to watch it burn.” He hangs his head.

“It’s not your fault, Gibbs––”

“Debatable,” he grumbles under his breath before reaching for another bottle of amber liquid.

Helpless, I watch him pour another shot and set my hand on top of his to prevent him from bringing it to his lips. When his gaze meets mine, he frowns and leaves the tiny glass on the counter. But it doesn’t erase the worried crinkles around his eyes. If anything, his decision to stay relatively sober only amplifies his anxiety. But if Fen gives in and gets into trouble, he’s going to need our help, and I can’t take care of both Hayes brothers by myself.

“He said he’d be good,” I remind Gibson, cupping his cheek.

He leans into my touch before sighing softly. “Yeah. He’ll be good until someone offers him something to help take the edge off. He might not go looking for trouble, Dovey, but it seems to find him anyway.”

I drop my hand to my side and dig my teeth into my lip as that same overwhelming sense of helplessness threatens to swallow me whole. Because he’s right. This entire thing was a terrible idea.

We should get out of here.

“So, what now?” I ask, peeking up at him.

“Now, we…”––Gibson shrugs one shoulder––“hang out and pretend that everything’s––”

“Hey, man!” a stranger calls, his swagger unsteady as he approaches us. “You guys killed it tonight! I’d never heard of you before, but damn. That was fucking epic, man! You had the crowd eating out of your hands.”

Gibson smiles tightly. “Thanks. It was a good show.”

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