Page 26 of Never Say Die
Georgia flapped her lips. “Oh, easy.”
Shay returned, credit card stuck between his teeth, fiddling with his wallet. He jutted his chin toward the elevator. “All right, we’re good. Who’s staying with who?”
“I’ll bunk with Georgia,” Dylan said.
“You and me then,” Shay said, and glanced at Aiden, lifting a brow.
Aiden walked backward into the empty elevator. “Poor me.”
The rooms were on the same floor. Georgia and Dylan walked left while Aiden and Shay went right, following placards beside each door until they found their room. Anxiety still gripped Aiden by the throat, squeezing whenever he thought about Thomas hovering over him and the awkward breakfast he’d shared with Shay as the sun broke above Echo Park. Shay hadn’t asked what was wrong. He’d asked, specifically,what happened?As if somethinghadhappened, insinuating what Aiden had experienced was real. Aiden hadn’t found the courage to tell him the truth.
Seeing one—just one—king-sized bed neatly arranged in the middle of their hotel room made him wonder about dreams and nightmares, and whether he could keep his mind at ease if he slept next to Shay. He glanced into the sparkling bathroom and nodded. He could fit in that bathtub. No. Hewouldfit in that bathtub.
“I tried to upgrade us to a suite, but they were booked.” Shay sighed, propping his suitcase next to the dresser. “They offered to send a bottle to each room, though.”
“I doubt Georgia’ll be down to party tonight.”
“We’re in Vegas,” Shay said, matter-of-factly.
Aiden dropped his backpack. “Uh huh. And we have a show tomorrow.”
“We’ll sleep in,” he said, shrugging. He knuckled at his eyesand rubbed his palm over his cheek. He looked pale—freckles dull, skin ashier than usual. Tired, almost. Like someone who’d shaken off a recent bender.
Aiden catalogued him. Glanced from Shay’s drawn face to his twitchy hands. “You’re hungry,” he said accidentally, and clamped his mouth shut.
Shay stared through the floor. “I’m fine,” he said, and it meantenough. “Get changed. I made reservations at the sushi bar.”
“Shay, we need to?—”
“I’mfine,” he snapped. He stripped off his shirt and busied himself with the zipper on his suitcase. “I’m tired, okay? I haven’t been sleeping and that whole thing with Kelly threw me for a loop, but I’m. . . I’m fine, I’ve got it under control. Let’s get some food, order a few drinks, go to a club or something—I don’t know.”
Aiden considered pressing, but Shay had closed like a vault, digging through folded clothes, mouth set and shoulders tight.
“Okay,” Aiden said through a sigh, and took his backpack into the bathroom. He changed into marginally nicer jeans and a Coheed and Cambria tank. Raked texturizer through his hair and traded the silicone plugs in his earlobes for silver tunnels. He looked like actual garbage, but he didn’t have the energy to conceal his dark circles or shave the patchy, barely-there stubble darkening his jaw. If his instincts were correct and the sickly gleam clinging to Shay was any hint, he’d be scrubbing blood off himself sooner than later, anyway.
Shay met him in the hallway, dressed in a gray button-down shirt and tailored black pants. Foundation and eyeliner brightened his face. Georgia walked around the corner with Dylan, and they took the elevator to the lobby. Aiden was hyperaware of every movement Shay made. His expensive dress shoes clickingthe floor, his soft smile as Georgia fell into step beside him, how his eyes flicked around the room, following wobbly women, belligerent men, stumbling someones.This is Animal Planet shit,he thought. Like watching a leopard stalk an impala.
In front of the red-painted doorframe outside the sushi restaurant, Westley and the rest of Hail the Haunted loitered with their entourage. Westley straightened in place, eyes resting on Aiden as he held his hand out to Shay, initiating clasped forearms and friendly laughter.
“You guys lookin’ for the secret pizza place, too, or what?” Westley asked. His oil-slick hair matched the obsidian chain dangling between his collarbones.
“Sushi, actually,” Shay said.
Georgia smiled coyly, gaze lingering on the same groupies from San Diego, standing in a shoulder-tight circle, fingering through a paper sack. “Already got a fan-club?”
Aiden watched that odd girl—Laura—pull a mangled yellowish bone from the take-out bag. She turned the miniature femur over in her naked palm, chatting frantically with the other wide-eyed Queen of the Damned rejects. A different girl, all willowy limbs and brunette extensions, looked at Shay with hungry, black-rimmed eyes, long middle finger poised over the bone in Laura’s hand.
Aiden shook his head.Fuckin’ white people.
“Yeah, they’re cool. One of ‘em, Clyde, knows our bassist from way back when, like, elementary school, I guess. They bounce around, do their own thing, tune our instruments.” Westley flashed a stage-bright grin. “You guys goin’ anywhere tonight?”
“We’ve got a table at the Marquee,” Shay said. He shrugged toward the sushi restaurant. “Our manager’s waiting, but meet us there—kick-back, have some drinks. I’m pretty sure Steve Aoki’s spinning.”
Westley relayed the invitation to the rest of his band. “We’ll be there, Bennett.”
Aiden ignored the way Westley’s tongue darted across his lip, and took his leave, digging out his phone as Knight’s Blood made their way to a table, already stocked with four elaborate sushi rolls and their impatient manager.
Aiden Moore: you’re not okay
