Page 120 of Tortured Tones

“Everyone wants a piece of your ass, bro,” Slip teased, handing Cole a beer.

“I’ll gladly give the psycho fans to you.” He passed the tablet back to me and swiped the beer from Slip.

“This situation had a good outcome. Not all do.” Wells folded his arms. “Ava and Beckett wouldn’t have raised concern for no reason. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“So true.” Cole nodded but his voice lacked any conviction. He took a sip of his beer then waved the bottle toward his band. “So let’s forget about it and have a fucking good show?”

“Hell yeah.” Flint clapped his hands. “We’re gonna rock this joint tonight.”

But the worry never left Cole’s eyes, nor the nausea from my gut.

After Orlando, the band traveled north doing shows in Nashville, St Louis, Chicago, Indianapolis, and Detroit. There was no other sighting of the blonde, but more fans and photographers met us at every stop. It was hard not to get caught up in the fevered excitement. The guys’ shows were electric, and they rocked up a storm every night.

Keeping my distance from Cole proved impossible. The spark between us flickered to life when we were in the same room. Our morning yoga, meditation, and running sessions in the hotel’s gym ended in fits of laughter. At every after-party, he mingled and flirted with the guests but never disappeared with a girl or took one back to his hotel. His excuse had been that he was obeying doctor’s orders and taking it easy. I didn’t believe that. Not when his eyes were on me as much as mine were on him. I wanted him to enjoy himself. I had to be restrained—not him. He was Cole Fucking Tanner. He could be with whoever he wanted. He had to stop giving me heated glances. We couldn’t be together, no matter how tempting it might be.

After their show in Cleveland, the band caught up with Lewis’s brother, Lee, and his partner, Mateo. In a bar near the hotel, the alcohol flowed into the early hours of the morning. But each time Cole drank a shot of vodka, he’d pin me with his gaze. He licked his lips slowly, sexily, then raised one eyebrow. Every time, a jolt of heat shot through my core. I’d had that tongue between my legs. It had been three weeks since we’d slept together. He wasn’t making this easy. But I refused to give in.

My court hearing was five weeks away; I couldn’t afford to put one foot wrong.

But as the tour headed to Buffalo, a new alert arose. A Black, male photographer followed our route. Paparazzi were often locally based but this man tailed us to Toronto, Ottawa, and Quebec. He’d stayed at one of the same hotels we did and loitered around the bar in the next city. But after the band had a few rest days and I’d returned once again from seeing Josh, when we regrouped in Boston at the end of January, there was no trace of him.

Thank goodness.

Cole had received no threats, no crazed fan letters—nothing out of the norm. There was no link between the incidents. But something about this didn’t sit right. I hated that I hadn’t been able to work out what.

The guys’ shows in Boston would be two of their biggest concerts on US soil. More than thirty thousand fans would see them each night. As we drove from the hotel to the TD Garden venue for sound check, the guys’ energy was set to max. They jostled and joked and shoved each other around. It was hard not to be caught up in their high.

My team and I met with venue security and the police on duty and made sure all systems were in place. We double-checked CCTV feeds and made sure the gate scanners were working, and everyone walked around the venue and through the auditorium to check for suspicious objects, bags, or boxes. All clear.

As we gathered in the guys’ dressing room, ready to take them to their meet-and-greet session, Hannah arrived with Charlotte. They hadn’t been to any of the shows since Christmas, but Hannah had insisted on seeing this one in front of the huge crowd. She loved the guys and was one of their biggest fans.

Charlotte clutched onto Barney, ran over to Cole sitting on the sofa, and jumped into his lap. “Are you going to play the drums?”

“Yes. Later.” He hoisted her higher on his legs. “Are you gonna watch the show tonight?”

“Yeah.” She swung her feet back and forth. “But can we play them now?”

“No, I have to go to work.” He straightened her puffy jacket on her shoulders. “How about tomorrow at sound check we can have a hit?”

“No. Now.” She pouted, thumping Barney into her lap.

“Char.” He remained patient and soft. “Tomorrow.”

Charlotte pushed out her bottom lip and pounded her fists against Cole’s chest. “Now.”

“Hey?” Cole caught her hands and pointed at her. “Tomorrow. I have to go meet some fans, and you have to stay with Hannah.”

She slid off his lap, rushed to Hannah, and buried her face into her grandmother’s skirt. She spun to Cole, poked out her tongue, then turned away again.

Cole’s eyes glassed over. I felt his heart rip from where I stood by the door. I knew how much it crushed your soul when your child wanted to do something, and you had to say no. It was even worse when your kid said they hated you, wanted you to leave, and never wanted to see you again. Josh used to say those things to me when Luther and I’d first gotten divorced. Now, he cried and begged to stay with me and never wanted to let me go.

Soon, Josh. We’ll be together very soon.

“Charlotte, that’s not nice.” Hannah pried Charlotte’s face out of her skirt. “He has to work. You, missy, have to have dinner before we watch the band play. Okay?”

Slip jutted his chin at Cole. “Dude, it’s not like you to leave a woman unsatisfied and upset.”

“Fuck you.” Cole stood, walked over to Charlotte, and squatted. “Hey? You be good for Ma. I’ll see you before the show.”

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