Page 43 of Verses Of Us

His head dropped, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I know. I never intended to hurt you.”

Her eyes stung, and she turned away, shoving her hair back. “Well, you know what they say about intentions and the road to hell.”

The words, still wrapped in hurt, needed to be said, but she kept the worst of them back, not wanting to start a fight or pick at her wounds.

“Lex, I—”

“Come the fuck on, Jones!” Clark barged into the room like a yappy chihuahua. “You’re set to go on in five.” When he spotted Alexis off to the side, hidden by the door, he sneered with an exasperated huff, making her stomach clench, before turning to Ciarán once more. “Mate, you don’t have time for…” Without looking at Alexis, he gestured toward her, then left.

Ciarán’s eyes shot daggers across the room, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “Right, well, guess it’s time.”

“Guess it is.” She didn’t bother hiding her disappointment.

They stepped out of the room, the roar of the crowd now thunderous. Clark waited nearby with his arms crossed.

“Thank you for tonight. It was fun.” She stepped closer to give Ciarán a handshake, a hug, or even a kiss, but he leaned away.

“I’m glad you had fun, but you’re not going anywhere.”

“I really have to.”

“You said you’d stay.”

She cocked her head. “I actually didn’t.”

“But you never said no, either.”

“True, but I need to finish the article.” She heard the disinterest in her words.

That line that dipped around his mouth like aCappeared with his smile, igniting memories that were influencing her in horrible ways.

“Lex, you’re staying.” His wink was the gavel that confirmed her choice. She wasn’t going anywhere and there was no use arguing. Not that she genuinely wanted to leave. Deep down, she knew she’d never be able to concentrate on her work if she went home. And the chance for a free show was something she would never pass up. That was why she was staying—the free concert. That’s what she kept telling herself while she walked behind him down the hall, setting aside all her reservations, shoving them deep, deep down.

A group of people stood in a circle at the end of the hallway. They parted when Ciarán stepped closer and then all joined hands.

Ciarán cleared his throat. “We pray to the Gods of music. Please help us kick some ass and put on a great show tonight. Let Gus not fuck up his solos. Let Carl not drop his sticks and, for the love of all that is holy, don’t let me stumble or forget the words.” The group chuckled. “In the name of rock and roll, amen.”

The group echoed his prayer, lifting their joined hands in the air before shouting a loudHallelujah, then they hugged.

Ciarán, smiling widely, found Alexis, his handsome face relaxed and blissful.

“That was interesting,” she laughed.

A faint pink shadowed his cheeks, and he tilted his chin up. “It’s our pre-show ritual. It’s become a sort of superstition.”

Clark shouted at them from the double-doors, shoving people through. The backup singers followed the band out onto the stage, then the dancers lined up, stretching and shaking out their limbs. A pretty brunette with high heels and dark eyes glanced over her shoulder at Ciarán.

“You comin’, love?” she asked, her Irish brogue as thick as Ciarán’s when he got upset.

The woman’s tight smile and glare told Alexis she thought of Ciarán as more than her employer. A pit settled in Alexis’ stomach as a memory came rushing back—Laurel Cohen. She blinked, trying to ignore the resurfacing ache, reminding herself how long ago it all was. It was ancient history.

Ciarán turned, crouching down to look at her, interrupting her thoughts. “Clark will show you where you can watch from.” A small crease grew between his eyes. “And if it’s alright with you, could you stay until the end?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

His nose crinkled, and he shrugged. “I don’t know. I get the feeling I’ll need you here.”

He swept his thumb along her cheek, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Enjoying the way his touch lit her up, Alexis struggled to keep her eyes open.

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