Page 86 of Give Me What I Want

“I’m fine,” he said, his manic eyes betraying his smile and statement. “I’ll replace the desk. Oh, and I found the poster, it’s a little, erm…” He held it up, glass falling down on to the thick carpet from the broken frame, paper inside torn at one edge. “…Battered.”

“Ronan,” Mav growled, stepping into my bedroom, no longer looking sad. “Why the fuck did you do this?”

Ronan’s face fell, turning cold as Mav snatched the frame from his hand. “Because he doesn’t deserve this. It’s ours. He fucked it all up for himself, so why should we play nice and give in to his demands?”

“Because this is a piece of paper, Ro. He’s lost a lot. I think we can give up a piece of paper.” I folded my arms over my chest.

“He lost a lot because he hurt and betrayed us,” Ronan snarled, turning on me, his gaze not softening at all as he got to his feet and stepped forward, glass slicing through his black sock.

“You can be as mad as you like, Ro. But please be careful,” I said, sighing and gesturing to the glass on the cream carpet.

He looked down, then shrugged and stepped forward again. Three steps had him toe to toe with me, specks of red trailing behind him.

I craned my neck to look up at him. “You’re an idiot.”

He laughed, hollow. “Still smarter than him.” His eyes flicked in the direction of the staircase. “I got the girl.”

“Fuck knows how,” Mav commented, then shoved the frame towards us. “I’m not going back down there, one of you can give it to him.”

“I’ll go,” Ro decided, a glint sparking in his eye that had me snatching the frame and running. He was going to do something even stupider than standing on glass, I could feel it. See it.

Jumping down the last two steps, I crashed into Cole’s back. He was standing in the doorway, making awkward small talk with Jordan. I moved between them, shoved the frame into Jordan’s hand, nudged Cole backwards with my ass, and slammed the door, locking it with the deadbolt.

I stood back, leaning against Cole’s body as I stared at the door, waiting. Then he began to hammer his fist against the wood, heavy bangs up by the brass knocker, then lower too, booting the door, shouting incoherently.

Cole wrapped an arm around my chest, holding me close, chin resting on my head. “What do you want to do? Leave him to it, or call the police?”

“He’ll get bored, I think,” I mumbled.

“You hope,” Cole said, then kissed the top of my head. “You’re actually quite sweet, you know that?”

“I’m not,” I argued, then twisted in his hold, resting my cheek against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as we lingered in the foyer, waiting for Jordan to tire.

“You are.” Cole’s chest rumbled as he spoke and tightened his hold on me. “You could have threatened him, had him arrested, caused him physical pain, yet you didn’t. You gave him what he needed, like a little goodbye present. How are you feeling?”

“I miss him, but I don’t want him back, you know what I mean?” I tipped my chin, peering up at him.

Cole nodded. “Same,” he confessed. “It’s hard to turn my back on him, but I can’t forgive what he did.”

“Of course you can’t. And he isn’t sorry, so there’s nothing to forgive,” Ronan said, coming down the stairs, limping with a bandage tied around his now bare foot.

“He did apologise though,” Cole said.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Because I made him. It was the right thing to do, but he didn’t mean it, if he had it would’ve been even harder for all of us to stand our ground.”

He was right. The apology we had received had felt off in some way. Jordan hadn’t really meant it. He had resigned himself to his fate, and he wasn’t going to fight for us. We didn’t mean enough to him. He knew he could find another band and start another journey to the top. He didn’t need us.

We didn’t need him either.

We’d been doing just fine so far without him. Sure, we needed a permanent guitarist, but it wasn’t like we needed to rush into anything. We had time. The label were happy, as long as I agreed to do at least three interviews before the end of the year and then start working on some new music for next year. They wanted us to release a special edition of the charity album, boosting our image even higher since we apparently were hanging on to the top by a thread, no doubt because we were down a member. We had agreed as long as the profit went to said charity, all we needed to do was approve a handful of live recordings to be included and select the cover art.

Life for a little while should be fairly stress-free.

We could hide away from the spotlight and get on with our lives. Ro and I would still need to pose as the happy couple that we were only half pretending to be, but behind closed doors, we could all just be ourselves.

The hammering on the door finally stopped. I wondered if Jordan was really gone, but it was Ro who went to check. He unbolted the door, swung it open, and stepped out onto the doorstep. He looked all around the front garden and down the driveway, then nodded, turned to us, and smiled. “He’s gone.”

“Are you sure?” Mav asked quietly from the top of the stairs.

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