Page 10 of Accidental Baby For My Brother’s Best Friend

Locke

The Albuquerque show goes off without a hitch, despite all of us being nearly late to our own first concert after oversleeping at the hotel.

We’re all bleary eyed and exhausted after the show but we keep up appearances, signing albums that we’d recorded last year and never sold.

I have no idea how many we are selling now, but it seems like a lot, with Gemma sitting at a table in front of the stage with a cash box. She’s barely looked at me all night, but I feel oddly comforted that she hasn’t much looked at Axel, either, or anyone but Jackson, for that matter.

I’m too tired to question why it matters to mewhoGemma Arden is looking at, and it’s a little relieving not to stress about it.

I don’t see Gemma again until hours later, around three in the morning.

I stumble into the elevator without paying much attention, having snuck out early since Axel had talked Jackson into drinking with him after the show. I’mwaytoo tired for Axel’s constant ordering of shots.

Gemma slumps against the back of the elevator, her head tilted back, head resting against the wall, and since her eyes are closed, I let myself appreciate the long lines of her thighs in the fishnet stockings she is wearing, her muscled calves in her stilettos.

I shake my head to clear it and step into the elevator, too tired to take the stairs and trusting myself to behave.

Gemma opens her eyes and they widen as if she’s surprised.

“Locke?”

Her voice sounds as if she thinks she might have fallen asleep and it makes me chuckle a little.

“Sorry to disappoint you, little bit.”

Gemma hums in the back of her throat, a habit she no doubt picked up from her brother. The Ardens usually make that noise when they don’t know what else to say, but I don’t mind a comfortable silence, and since Jackson always tries to fill it, I wait to see if Gemma is the same.

“Not disappointed,” Gemma mutters, but that’s all she says, so I lean back against the elevator railing next to her.

Our hands touch and I don’t bother to pull away and neither does she, and the elevator trip up to the eleventh floor seems longer than it did before, my heart beating a lot faster than it had when I was riding up with Axel earlier.

Gemma is two floors above me and she smiles at me as I step out into the hall, giving me a little wave. I realize that she’s had her nails done, a deep crimson red that compliments the auburn in her hair.

“Good night,” I say, and Gemma just nods at me before the elevator doors close.

In the shower, I keep rubbing my pinky and ring finger as if Gemma had burned them with her slight touch on the elevator rail.

Exhaustion washes over me in a wave and I’m unable to keep my mind from drifting when I lie down on the overly firm hotel mattress, my eyes slowly closing as I wonder what Gemma would have done if I’d grabbed her hand instead of just brushing it, if I’d brought her knuckles up to my lips.

* * *

I wake from a dream that I can’t quite remember when my alarm goes off and I groan, chucking my phone off the nightstand. Luckily for my wallet, it’s hooked onto the charger and just bumps softly onto the ground instead of shattering against the wall.

This phone is the third I’ve been through in just a few months, so once my head feels a little clearer, I pick it up and scan through my notifications.

I’ve got an indecipherable drunk text from Axel and I squint down to see the timestamp: 6:07 AM. Jesus Christ, he’s been out all night, I guess, and I figure I should call and see if he needs a ride home.

Axel can take care of himself, but I guess I feel a little responsible for the wellbeing of all the members of the Spades—maybe because I’m the oldest, but more likely just because they’ve become family to me over the past couple of years. Even Axel, as much as he can irritate me.

Before I call, I see another text, this one from Gemma, and bring the phone closer to my face.

My ex used to tease me and tell me that I needed glasses but was too cool to get them, and I guess, in the end, she’s right, because here I am, still squinting to see the text on my phone, even though I’ve increased the font.

I push that memory away, not wanting to think about Janis this early in the morning—or at all, if I could help it.

Gemma’s text lists an itinerary for the rest of the tour in the group chat, noting in bold that there’s been a change in order: the next city we’ll be performing in is Las Vegas, and I groan.

Anine-hourdrive on that tour bus? I feel sweaty and gross just thinking about it. There’s dead silence in the group chat. I suppose everyone else is still passed out.

---