Page 64 of Give Me What I Want

“Get dressed,” he called back to me, “then come eat. I need you fighting fit for tonight.”

“Fighting fit? Who are you? Coach Lane?” I laughed, throwing the duvet back and rolling around on the bed as I stretched, knowing that Ronan was—annoyingly—right. We had a show to play tonight, and I needed fuel if I was going to perform without passing out.

There was a knock at the door a few minutes later when I was pulling one of Mav’s basketball shirts on, tugging it down over my black panties, before hunting through a pile of clothes for a pair of shorts.

“Come in,” I called out, knowing that it would either be one of the guys or one of my friends, Ro wouldn’t allow anyone else to come up here to the bedroom.

Jordan’s face peeked around the door as he slowly opened it. His eyes quickly darted away from mine, locking on the floor. And as he stepped into the room and locked the door behind himself, I knew that something was wrong. His hands were shoved deep into his jeans pockets, he was rocking from toe to heel, and his breathing was far too loud, shaky as he exhaled.

“Beatrix, I need to talk to you, and erm…” He pulled his hands out of his pockets, twisting his fingers together as he forced himself to look at me. “You’re probably gonna be pretty pissed.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed, giving up my search for shorts, and gazed up at him, beckoning him over with a small smile. “Jordy, I don’t get pissed with you, I save that for Ro. Whatever it is, I’m sure I can take it.”

I spoke gently to him, but inside, my stomach was twisting in knots. I didn’t let it show on my face though, I kept my smile in place and tugged him to stand between my thighs. His hands hesitantly came to rest on my shoulders, and his gaze locked on his left thumb as it smoothed back and forth over my skin.

He could barely look at me for more than a couple of seconds. His words kept catching in his throat, and I knew what he’d say before he even said it.

Jord had fucked someone else. I was certain of it. I hadn’t asked him not to, I hadn’t asked any of them not to. I didn’t need to with the others, but maybe I should’ve with him.

But if I had, I’d have had to explain my feelings to the others, I’d have had to have a conversation that I wasn’t ready for. I’d have had to explain that I was falling in deep with each of them, and that I wasn’t ever going to choose between them. I wasn’t sure that they’d all handle that, and if they didn’t then I could kiss them all goodbye, romantically. We’d have to go back to just being a band, and we’d have to rebuild our bond in a whole new way.

I wasn’t ready for that.

So I kept quiet, and Jordan had slept with someone else.

“Spit it out, Jord,” I snapped, then winced. “Sorry, sorry…” I bowed my head. “I didn’t mean to… just… if you did it, just say it, and we can move on from it.”

I didn’t want him to say it though, because I knew it shouldn’t, but it did bother me. He was mine, one ofmyguys.

Jordan exhaled heavily, his breath washing over the top of my head, and I bowed my head further, waiting for the blow. “I did it.”

Without saying a word, I nodded, my gaze locked on the small patch of carpet beneath his feet. I blinked hard, forcing the unexpected tears back, and swallowed down my emotions. But before I could raise my head, look him in the eye, and forgive him, he spoke again.

“It was all me. The pictures, the videos, and the social media accounts. The exclusive inside story, the message on the fridge, the spray paint on the bus, I did it all. Beatrix. I am so sorry.”

He what? And hang on… spray paint on the what? Since when had someone…what?

I forced myself to look at him, to take in the expression of regret on his face, brows curved with worry, lips bitten, throat bobbing. I stared, silently going over his confession, repeating his words back to myself as he began to fidget.

“Why are you telling me this now?” I finally asked, cold, unfeeling, holding back the torrent of rage burning in my chest at the unexpected words that had left my bandmate’s traitorous mouth.

“The guilt,” he whispered, his grip on my shoulders tightening. “It was getting to me, making me paranoid, I dunno, it was bothering me.”

Remaining cold and still, I asked him another question. “Because you care about me? Or was it bothering you for another reason?”

His thumb froze, his weight shifted from one foot to the other, and after a pause that spoke volumes, he answered me. “You.”

“Bullshit!” I exploded, shoving him, freeing myself from his grip and knocking him back a couple of steps. I got to my feet, closing in on him as he found his footing and retreated towards the door. I was seething, my blood boiling, skin alight, throat filling with vomit. But I forced it down, held it back as I pinned him against the door. “You liar. You betrayed us. You hurt us. You let me think it was Garth, or a crew member. Shit, you even let me think it was Isla. You left us all paranoid. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I needed to make you see.” He still wasn’t looking at me, so I reached up, grabbed his chin, and forced his head to tilt. His eyes were closed, but as I dug my nails into his skin, he opened them.

“See what?” I snarled.

“That it was all a bad idea.”

“What? Me and Ronan?” I asked, squeezing his chin.

“You and all of them.” He tried to jerk his face away from my hold, slamming his head against the door.

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