Page 54 of Forbidden Lyrics

“Yeah, well, I screwed up, and he’s convinced I need a babysitter to make it to the shows on time.”

“Then hire a damn babysitter, Fen. I’m not that guy.”

“I promised I wouldn’t miss a show, but he made it a stipulation, man. I need you. We’ll get you out of singing, okay? Let’s get the contract signed––”

“Singing?” Gibson bellows, charging toward his brother like a freaking bull. “Are you kidding me?”

“Look, it’s not my fault Hawthorne thought you and Dove had chemistry––”

“So, you were serious about that?” Gibson motions to the tiny girl in the corner of the kitchen. AKA me. “He wants her to come, too?”

“I told you––”

Gibson’s scoff cuts him off. “You told me Hawthorne liked her performance. You didn’t say she had to tag along.”

The fact they’re talking about me like I’m not even here makes me want to throw something at them, but I’m too invested in the conversation to do it. This is absolute insanity. Perspiration clings to the back of my neck as I tuck my hands under my thighs on the barstool and act like a fly on the wall.

“It wasn’t a firm stipulation,” Fen hedges, glancing over at me. “More like a strong suggestion. But yeah. He liked her. And I liked her, too. She has it, Gibbs. The spark.”

Gibson’s gaze finds mine. His jaw tightens as he takes me in. Every flaw. Every insecurity. Every tiny detail that I keep hidden from the world is laid out on a silver platter with a single scrutinizing look. And I hate how easily he sees through me, especially when he’s already rejected me for it.

His nostrils flare. He tears his attention from me and turns back to Fen. “She’ll be eaten alive on tour.”

Ouch.

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Fender argues.

Another scoff escapes Gibbs as I fold my arms and rest my head against the kitchen wall, defeated.

“Says the guy who needs a babysitter,” Gibson points out. “I thought you wanted me to invite her to the meeting so you could thank her for saving our sorry asses. I didn’t think you would drag her into this.”

“Yeah. Well. I am. I think having her on tour would set us apart––”

“Did you ever stop to ask what she wants?” Gibson growls. “Maybe she doesn’t want to go––”

“And maybe we should ask her,” Fender spits, his chest heaving with pent-up frustration.

They both turn to me. Waiting for me to say something. But I’m still so freaking lost.

“What do you want, Dove?” Gibson demands. His tone is sharp, though I can’t decide if his frustration is with his brother or me.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I lick my lips and whisper, “Okay. Let me get this straight. Hawthorne liked my performance at SeaBird. He initially said no to the tour because he thought Fen was too flakey but has decided to extend the offer on a certain set of conditions. Am I right so far?” I ask, holding Fender’s gaze while avoiding Gibson’s.

He nods.

“Okay,” I repeat. “And those conditions are Gibson tagging along on tour to babysit Fender and to make sure he doesn’t miss any shows. Right?”

“Yeah,” Fen grits out, obviously offended at Hawthorne’s proposition.

Unfortunately for him, I can definitely see Hawthorne’s logic on the topic. I’m not sure Fen recognizes how much Gibson looks out for him and keeps him in check. Fender’s a loose cannon, and it’s only a matter of time until someone else gets caught in the crossfire. Not that I’d point it out to Fen, but still.

I clear my throat and continue. “And he also wants Gibson to sing on stage, but you think you can talk Hawthorne out of that one. Right?”

“Yeah,” Fen answers, though he’s a little more hesitant this time as his gaze darts to his brother.

Interesting.

“And then there’s me. Hawthorne is suggesting,” I emphasize, “that I tag along for the tour? And maybe sing?”

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