Page 20 of Give Me What I Want

Snapping back to reality, now that the sun was hanging gloriously in the sky, I stretched, and dragged my ass out of my chair. I had pretty much claimed the deep, grey armchair as my own, and no one bothered to argue that. I plodded along past the kitchen towards my bunk and slid open the drawer at the end of it. Inside I found a pair of baggy basketball shorts and a matching tank. The perfect comfy outfit for forcing myself to go for a morning run. I fired off two texts, one to Garth, out of habit, telling him I was heading out, and another to Isla—Bea’s hair and makeup girl—asking if she wanted to join me for a run.

Isla had made a habit of joining me in the mornings over the last couple of weeks. It was the only time we spent together, and it was nice. We didn’t talk during our runs, and we’d exchange polite small talk after as we cooled our bodies down before going our separate ways. I liked running alongside someone, and I was thankful that I was always an early riser, giving myself the freedom to roam around the cities we visited without getting swarmed by fans. It kept me from falling into a place I’d never come out of, and I was safe. Well, safe enough.

Garth’s message came through first, telling me that I’d need to take one of the security guys with me, then Isla’s came a second later, telling me she was dragging Joel out of bed to join us and to meet them outside in five minutes. Joel was one of the security guys, so that would make Garth happy. I had noticed Joel sniffing around Isla for a while now. Apparently, if I was reading her message right, she had caved to his attention, but I wasn’t sure. Good for them though, unless they decided to let it make things messy. Like my bandmates.

Fuck me, that mess was one I seriously didn’t want to deal with. But it was inevitable now. Everything was out of balance and wrong.

The five minutes I stood waiting on the bottom step of the tour bus felt more like half an hour, and I knew that I was only feeling that way because ofthem. Already Ronan and Beatrix were getting to me.

This simply wouldn’t work.

Isla and Joel came strolling over hand in hand. They greeted me with sharp nods of their heads, then quickly ran over our route. We’d go for the same one we had the last couple of days, not bothering to try anything new since we’d be leaving this afternoon. We didn’t need to go and get ourselves lost in a city we were so unfamiliar with.

An hour and a half later, I was flushed, sweaty, and panting. My head felt clear, and the burn radiating through my body was a welcome sensation. I was feeling something other than anger or fear, and it felt fucking great. This was why I ran. Every single day. The others didn’t get it, favouring weight training over cardio, or nothing at all in Jordan’s case—although he was still in pretty good shape, lean and toned, he just wasn’t strong like the rest of us.

Isla and Joel left me outside the bus, and I sucked in heavy lungfuls of fresh air before I climbed the steps and entered the space which I called home. For now. Ronan was sitting on the sofa, a cup of tea in hand, an empty bowl that had no doubt contained cereal not so long ago balancing on his legs as he spoke softly with his phone pressed to his ear. I already knew from his tone that he was speaking with his grandmother, his dad’s mum. He called her once a week. I had no idea what they discussed, unable to understand the language even after all these years of knowing Ronan. She was the only one he spoke his second language to anyway, unless he was pissed off, then he’d mutter what I could only presume were insults under his breath.

I ignored him, slipped my trainers onto the shoe rack, and opened the fridge door, grabbing a bottle of cold water and slurping loudly. When there was only a mouthful left, I tossed it over my head, loving the way the refreshing liquid felt as it ran down my face.

“Really, dude?” Cole said with a yawn as he emerged from his bunk, shaking his head as the water splattered on the floor at my feet, leaving the tiniest puddle beneath me.

“Really,” I muttered in response, tossing a tea towel from the counter onto the floor and using my foot to mop up the small spill. “I’m going for a shower.”

“No singing,” Cole’s face twisted as though he was in pain, and I realised instantly that my poor friend was hungover. “No loud noises, please.”

Cole never usually went very hard. He’d get himself to an excited level, then stop drinking. Jord was the only one of us who ever took things too far when I really thought about it. Not that we particularly cared, so long as he made it onto the bus in one piece in the end. The guy also had this crazy ability to never suffer very badly the next day. That was what put me off going hard. Hangovers sucked, and as I looked at my best friend, wincing as he leaned forward to tug on a pair of fluffy socks, I knew that I had made the right choice to not drown my sorrows. Cole had been in a weird mood last night, one that I had noticed he had been dipping in and out of frequently over the last couple of weeks, and apparently, he had decided that alcohol was the solution to force himself out of it. Bad choice. I raised my brows at him with a small smile and he scowled at me, clearly reading my thoughts.

“I regret nothing.” His whispered tone didn’t match the certainty of his words and I laughed.

“Of course not, boo.” Cole would always be boo to me, a silly nickname that had stuck for the last seven years. “There are painkillers in the cabinet above the kettle, and some vitamin c tabs, chuck them in a glass of water and go chill in the lounge. I’ll make us some breakfast when I’m done.” I gently patted his shoulder as I passed him, and he groaned but did as he was told. Cole was great at following commands. Unlike the rest of my bandmates. It made being the natural leader so much harder.

Freshly showered, and dressed in comfy sweats, I made breakfast for myself, Cole, and Jord. Ronan had already had his, and Beatrix wasn’t up. Not that I’d have actually made anything for either of them, not since my bad mood had started to creep back. I tried to cling to the calm for as long as possible, but one look at Ronan’s smug face had me souring instantly.

Cole came up behind me as I cooked, resting his chin on my shoulder and practically dribbling over the bacon sizzling in the pan.

“You need to oil your beard, boo,” I said gently, shimmying my shoulders to shrug him off, the itch of his facial hair irritating my bare shoulder.

“I ran out. I might just get rid of it, ya know.” He raked his fingers through his beard then swept his hair up into a bun. “The hair too, it’s all way too high maintenance.”

I stared at him for a moment, imagining him without the long tresses I had grown so used to. I could picture him, all baby-faced and short-haired like he had been back in college, and way before that, when we had first met as kids. I knew he’d look good that way, but I also really liked how he looked now. Rugged. Manly. A far cry from the sensitive little soul he truly was. I liked the way his appearance balanced out with his personality. But it was his hair, his face.

“Do whatever. Just don’t make a mess.” I huffed, then turned back to the bacon, moving it around the pan to make room for the eggs.

“Coming from you.” I heard Ronan say under his breath. I hadn’t been aware that he had been listening to us, but clearly, he had. I wanted so badly to snap back at him, but Cole’s fingers wrapped around my wrist before a single word could leave my mouth. He uncurled his fingers once I had exhaled heavily, then patted my hand and went to go and sit with Ronan.

They fell into easy conversation about Cole’s hair, and I zoned out as I finished up our breakfast, then hollered to Jordan to wake up and get his ass out of bed before his food went cold. Not that he would have cared much. Jord wasn’t that picky, not like Ronan.

Then again, even I could admit that our bassist was a damn incredible cook. A skill that he learned from his father, the only fond memories he had being of the time with him in the kitchen. Sometimes I felt bad for Ro. Losing someone he loved—even if he had felt constant pressure from the man—so early in life must have been awful. I could only imagine.

For now.

I’d be joining that club soon. I could feel it, knew it was coming. Uncle Steve might not have been my dad, but he meant more to me than any other man in this world. My biological father was a worthless piece of shit. He had upped and left my mum when I was three weeks old. Moved on with his sister’s best friend. I never grieved the man. I didn’t need to. But Steve... I wasn’t sure how I’d cope when it all finally happened.

Guilt hit me again like a crashing wave. I should be with him. We should be spending his last days together. He had my mum close by, Cole’s mum too, and he had the best friends and carers in the world at his side. But I should be there too.

Steve wouldn’t hear of it though. He wouldn’t allow me to throw away my career for him. He knew how much he meant to me, and I had to hold on to that knowledge to get myself through each day. I was making him proud, and he knew. I loved him.Love him. He’s not gone yet.

I ignored Ronan as I ate my breakfast, quietly piling the food into my mouth as he went on about… whatever. I wasn’t listening. It was only when Beatrix emerged from the back room that I realised that I had been staring at the door the entire time.

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