Page 52 of Give Me What I Want

“I’ve joined the club,” I whispered, not necessarily to her, but she glanced at me anyway.

“We don’t have t-shirts…” Sniff. “But we’re looking into getting stickers.”

“Sounds good,” I said, barely a whisper, then dropped my head to one side, resting my cheek on top of Bea’s, breathing her in as she jostled me with each sniff.

We stayed like that for a while, the only background noise coming from the bubble of the kettle as Cole made tea. When he placed a mug down before Bea, and a glass of water in front of me, Bea’s phone started to vibrate.

She straightened up, and I flopped to the other side, leaning against the wall as though I needed it to hold me up. “Sorry, Mav. Someone’s calling…”

Her brows pinched as she stared at the lit-up screen, then swiped, tossed her phone onto the table, and jabbed the speakerphone button.

“Maggie,” she said, then cleared her throat, putting on her business face. “No offence, but you’re not exactly at the top of my list of people I’d like to hear from today.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the Irish reporter replied with a laugh. “Especially with what I’m about to tell you.”

Bea groaned, and I sank harder against the wall. Cole sat down opposite me, Jord put down his drink and straightened up, gaze locked on the phone from across the space, and Ronan came to stand beside Bea, his fingers twisting her hair as we waited for Maggie to go on.

“I had a call first thing this morning, and before you ask, I don’t know who they were, and I can’t trace that call, I’m not a special agent.” She laughed again, but none of us joined in. She then sucked in a sharp breath, and blurted, not pausing for a single breath until the final word left her. “They told me that you and Ronan aren’t really dating, that it’s all a staged publicity stunt, but that isn’t the best part, you have a big secret, the whole band does, and if I want the rights to the exclusive story, they are mine. I don’t want them, I don’t want to mess with your career, and I don’t care what you do in your personal lives, but someone has a story, and I don’t think they’ll stop at just asking me if I want to share it. They want to expose you for whatever it is, and I need to know, Beatrix, what the hell do you want me to do about it?”

“Fuck,” Bea exploded, and then she was up on her feet, shoving Ronan out of the way and snatching her phone from the table.

“Sit down,” I said weakly as she started to pace. Not speaking, just taking five steps, turning, and taking five more over and over.

“Beatrix?” Maggie urged.

“Sit down,” I said again, a tiny bit more forceful, but it wasn’t enough.

“Beatrix,” Ronan yelled, grabbing her shoulders, “Sit your fucking ass down. Now.”

Her gaze locked on his and turned to ice, sharp daggers spearing him as she jerked away from him. But she didn’t argue, as much as she looked like she wanted to, she held her tongue and sat down.

“Okay, guys, I’m guessing I’m on speaker,” Maggie said, sounding impatient. “So cansomebodytell me what to do, because I can either run with this story from their mouth, I can run it from your point of view, or I can interview you now, in whatever light you want, and you can hope that it’s enough to turn every other reporter away.”

“What do you want to do?” Bea asked, looking between us all with her brows arched, desperate for someone else to handle this.

I stared back at her, knowing exactly what sheshoulddo, but that it was a little different from what I wanted her to do. But I couldn’t ask for that, for her to tell all in a way that was full of love, because I had no idea if she actually felt that way, or if she even wanted more from any of us. So I stared, and Ro stared, and Cole paced.

It was Jordan who broke the long, painful silence. He released his lip, no longer chewing the plump flesh, and sighed. “Bea and Ro should do an interview, buy us some good press and save the entire band from humiliation.”

I almost got up and hit him. Humiliation. Was he serious? There was nothing humiliating about what we were doing. I wasn’t ashamed. I loved that girl, and I didn’t give a crap about not having her to myself. Other people shared, so why not us?

But I did, annoyingly, have to agree with him, because although his wording had been way out of line, the fact remained that Bea and Ro were together in the public eye, and one interview, just the two of them, would do everyone involved wonders. It would be great for us, for Maggie, for this tour. When I looked at the bigger picture and put everyone else’s needs and desires above my own, I knew that he was right.

“Do it,” I commanded, my tone sharp, aggressive, and then I was getting to my feet, shoving the chair back to move past my bandmates, and skulking off down the bus, shoving my sleeve up and starting to scratch my arm.

“I guess we’re giving you an interview then, Maggie,” I heard Bea say as I hoisted myself up into the bunk and ripped the curtain across.

A minute later Cole was tearing it back open, his shirt unbuttoned as he leaned against my mattress and peered up at me. “How about Jord and I take you out while they do this interview?”

“I’m good, you go out. I’m gonna sleep.” I rolled over, turning my back on him, and closed my eyes, hoping that he’d give up without a fight. I guessed that today was my lucky day, or at least he felt too sorry for me to push, as he quietly closed my curtain and walked away, leaving me to curl up with my throbbing arm, raw from the pain I had inflicted on myself, and attempt to block out everything to do with the day.

I let my pain drag me into a nightmare-plagued sleep until Bea came and shook me awake, telling me the interview was over, Ro had gone out to meet the other guys, and we had the bus to ourselves. She coaxed me from my bunk, forced me to eat an orange, then dragged me to the bedroom where she sat with her back against the headboard of her bed. She pulled me onto her lap and stroked my hair until I drifted off once more, sleeping the afternoon away until I needed to force myself to move, get up on a stage, and play.

I played for Steve that evening, and I put on a fucking amazing show.

15

Checking myself out in the full-length mirror in the bedroom wasn’t a common occurrence for me, until now. I wasn’t sure if it was the ‘makeover’ I had given myself, purely because my hair had been pissing me off for a while, or if it was more to do with Bea, but I was feeling this strange new level of confidence that fucking radiated from me, and I swear… it made my skin glow.

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