Page 4 of Veiled

“Gee, thanks,” I say but can’t help the smirk. I’m being an idiot. I’m a manager for musicians. They are finicky fuckers. They come and go. I know this, and I don’t know why I’m so damn hurt by Justin ghosting me. Hell, he ghosted the rest of the world too. They’re fine, with the exception of some very dramatic preteens and diehard fans.

Of course, they probably don’t know exactly what he sounds like when he comes and probably haven’t kissed his sweet lips, but still. I’m not special. I know this.

I’ve had so many hookups over the years, I don’t even remember all their names. But this is the one that’s getting to me?

Why the hell my brain is choosing now to be all needy and clingy is beyond me. It makes no sense.

But I cared about Justin before the Incident, and damn it, I still care now. I need him to be okay. That haunted, lost look the night I left his place can’t be the last time I see him.

I, however, can’t stop worrying about the man.

“He’s gone. But he won’t be gone forever. You know he’ll be back. Probably when he can’t figure out how to use the Uber Eats app and is starving to death. Or when he has to fill up his own car with gas.”

I laugh, but he’s not helpless, and he can do all those things with no problem. He’s not a child. He’s nearly thirty. Still, she does have a point. He was a member of Immoral—a wildly popular band. He’s had the privilege of money for well over a decade and hasn’t had to do much on his own for a long time. “He’s been gone for months. Surely he’s figured it out.”

“Hey.” Her voice softens and so does her attitude, which is pretty weird for Jenny. “He’s fine. He’s doing some damn diva bullshit—probably off on a wild vacation, partying and being a dumbass—but he’s totally fine. He’ll come back.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell me he was going to do that?” You know, other than me being a total dumbass and putting my hands and lips on him, even though I know I shouldn’t have.

“That I have no answer for, other than he’s a thoughtless shithead.” I wince at that because she doesn’t know what happened between us. Why? I’m not totally sure. We’ve always shared our disastrous hookup stories before. And our triumphant ones. But for some reason, I just couldn’t tell her what happened with Justin.

The sliding glass door slides open, and there’s Grady wearing a Santa hat on his head and a jovial smile. “Jen-Nay! Where did you go?”

“I will smother you,” she says with a dead-eyed stare I know isn’t full of hatred the way she wants it to look. She’s grown awfully fond of Grady over the years. Don’t tell her I told you that though.

I smile to myself as Grady stumbles out and wraps his arm around her small shoulders. “You’re freezing.”

“You’re drunk,” Jenny says, and again, she doesn’t sound nearly as annoyed as I’m sure she wanted to.

“Nah.” He waves her off easily. “Just festively tipsy.”

That actually gains a smile from Jenny as she shoves him off her. “What do you want?”

“We’re going to play charades. You’re on my team.”

“Goddammit. Why do I always draw the short straw when it comes to you?” she asks with a smile she lets slip, and I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re on our team too, Waylon, my boy,” Grady says happily, and I can’t help feeling some of that festive joy he’s spreading. The kids went to bed shortly after the dinner Ryan and Grady had catered, but some of the adult guests are still lingering.

“Sounds good. Who else do we have?”

“Okay, if we’re going to discuss teams, I’m going inside. I’m freezing my tits off,” Jenny interrupts and pushes past Grady, walking into the warmth of the house.

Grady and I follow as I tuck my phone into my pants pocket and remove my coat and gloves. Grady answers my question while pulling the door shut. “We also have Sebastian, Dawson, and Royal.”

I look around the fancy living room—that still seems really homey, despite the price tag of it all. “So that leaves, Axel, Maverick, Ryan, Cooper, and Soren on the other team?”

Grady grins. “Yup. And if we lose, Ry will never shut up about it. So we have to win.”

I shake my head at him. Ryan is a nice guy, but the dude played professional baseball for years and is competitive as fuck. And most of the other guys here are professional racers—somehow even more arrogant and competitive than any other sport I’ve seen.

So who wins is anyone’s guess.

“I need more wine,” I say, walking over to the bar in the living room.

“Me too,” Soren says, sauntering over, and I wrap my arm around his shoulder.

“Good to see you, by the way,” I say happily as I give my cousin a squeeze. I was thrilled when he fell for the Hotshot, I gotta say. Having my cousin at every social event I attend has been really damn nice.

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