Matt unfurled himself from the position against the wall and disappeared into the van without another word.

And Izabel followed his lead by hurrying into the safety of the apartment building.

She closed the door and leaned back against it, breathing a sigh of relief as the van’s engine roared to life and faded into the distance, taking a piece of her heart with her.

* * *

There were a handful of rules Matt had set for himself when performing live, and as he quickly looked down at the setlist taped to the floor, he realised he’d broken just about every one of them tonight. While he’d like to blame it on the coke and vodka pulsing their way through his blood stream, working their magic on his stage fright, he knew the two white lines and alcohol weren’t the reason.

“‘Champagne Nightmares’, fucker,” his brother yelled in his ear. Jase loomed near him, a scowl on his face.

Matt rolled his eyes. He knew and strummed the intro chords, trying to get his feet back beneath him.

The first rule was to never lose his place on the setlist.

The second rule, to not lose connection with the audience.

The third rule, leave real life off the stage.

The fourth rule, perform like every night is the first night.

The fifth rule, leave everything on the stage.

The sixth rule, remember you’re getting paid to do your job. And tonight, the gig in Wigan would net them a grand.

But he’d just fucked the first rule. And he’d definitely broken the second because he’d no recollection of any faces on the first few rows of the arena. He glanced down and saw a bunch of people totally into their music, and one woman who was eye-fucking him. He winked at her, and she licked her lips. Yeah. Easy lay if he wanted one.

And he’d broken the third rule by mentally bringing Izabel Bryson onstage with him.

Making good on his fourth rule, he got back into his groove, rocking out with Ben who gave him a glare that said, “What is wrong with you?”

Matt jumped onto Luke’s drum platform and shook some energy into his performance so he could make good on rule five.

Despite his best efforts, Izabel came back to the front of his mind. She’d looked tired, and he hated that. He’d been there when Luke had thrown a punch at the stuck-up twat of a banker or investment guy, or whatever Harry was, for fucking Izabel over. And if the bouncers of the club hadn’t been heading their way, Matt would have got a kick in too. But Luke wouldn’t have stopped, and Matt didn’t want to have to explain to Izabel why after nearly twenty-plus years of knowing Luke, he’d not been able to keep him out of trouble.

When he heard they’d split, his heart had expanded a little in hope. But then he’d remembered his promise to Luke to keep his hands off his sister ... and what Jase had done. And as much as he wanted Izabel for his own, to love and protect from the Harrys of the world, he couldn’t go where his brother had already gone.

Even if it had only been once.

Even if his brother had walked a very dubious line of consent, even as Izabel had stuck up for him and assured Luke she’d agreed.

Images flashed into his brain. Jase’s lips on Iz’s smooth skin. The two of them naked, moving together. Uttering words Matt had longed to whisper in Iz’s ear.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He kicked the drum platform, then kicked again. Numbed by everything he’d taken just to get onstage, he could barely feel it. He kicked it harder, over and over until he was certain his toes bled and the images of Izabel naked in his brother’s arms were gouged from his mind.

Alex looked over at him, and he shrugged the glare off.

Jase ripped his shirt over his head to the delight of the screaming crowd, and Matt looked back at Luke who mouthed, “You okay?”

Matt nodded and finished playing.

His anger dispersed as the crowd roared into focus.