Page 22 of Resist

His tear-filled eyes lock on me as he wraps himself around my arm. “Stay with me tonight? Please?”

“Ry—”

“Please, Fox,” he whispers. “I can’t sleep without you here. I don’t want to.”

Doesn’t that echo my own thoughts? I remind myself that the alcohol addled his brain.

“Okay,” I agree despite knowing it isn’t in my best interest, and I scoot up the bed, letting him curl into my side. He begins snoring within seconds, wrapped around me tightly, like he’s scared I’ll run away. In reality, he’s the one running as far and as fast as he can from me and our band, wrecking everything we worked for.

I don’t understand Ryker anymore. Why is he acting like this all the time?

He isn’t the same man I fell in love with, or even the one I joined the band for.

He’s different, and I wish I knew what changed him. Was it the fame, the pressure, or something else?

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out with my free arm, reading the text.

Team: I hope you got home okay. I mean it, rock star. I’m here whenever you need me.

I glance from the text to Ryker, wondering why the fuck I can’t just let him go.

ELEVEN

Fox is gone when I wake up, and I understand how he must feel when I do that—used and annoyed. My head aches like a son of a bitch, though, drowning out everything apart from the annoying ringing of my phone, trying to wake me up.

For a moment, I can’t remember why until Po’s words come back to me.

Early interview.

Grabbing my cell, I toss it at the wall and drape my arm across my face to block the light, but I know if I stay here, I’ll sleep, so I roll to my feet. My skin feels hot and sticky, and my legs are weak. Stupid fucking hangover. Noticing the water on my nightstand, I down it and toss the pills back before stumbling to the shower and turning it on. I shudder when the freezing cold water touches my skin, but it does the trick and wakes me up.

Unfortunately, it also brings back last night’s events, and I rest my forehead against the tiled wall in shame. Why the fuck would I act like that? I practically fucking confessed to him, not that he cared. Hitting my head into the wall, I try to beat some sense into myself.

I wasn’t jealous. I was just being me, acting out for attention. That’s why I got drunk. That’s the only reason. It wasn’t because that stupid blond fuck was all over Fox. I was just in a mood.

That’s what I tell myself over and over as I dry off and dress before second-guessing myself. If I go down there, I’ll have to face Fox. He might continue our conversation from last night or, worse, demand to know why, and I’m not ready for that. I can’t hide up here all day though. They are already annoyed with me, and being late for the interview I promised not to be late for won’t help my cause.

Plucking up my courage, I head down to the kitchen where I hear them. I stand at the door and look them over.

Act natural, Ryker, act natural.

No weird acts, no showing yourself up.

Natural.

“Good day,” I call, and I instantly want the ground to swallow me whole.

Good day?

Good fucking day?

Dash’s and Strike’s eyebrows rise as they echo my thoughts. “Uh, good day?”

Fox nods, his eyes glued to his phone, and I hesitate, expecting him to demand we finish our talk that I am so not ready for. I don’t want him to reject me, not when I already feel this shitty. I might enjoy some pain when I fuck, but not the kind where my heart gets crushed. That doesn’t really do it for me.

Choking? Yes. Heartbreak? No.

I might be a masochist, but the love of your life pissing on your feelings is a little too much for me.

---