Page 9 of Crimson Desires

She wasn’t an obsessed groupie or a rabid fangirl or a woman after my money and fame. She was different. She was a challenge. And I liked that about her.

Still, I wasn’t going to get butthurt over a joke. Zephyr being an asshole was like a bird flying south for the winter—it was just in his nature.

I flipped him off. “I better not find you trying to make a move on her.”

Zephyr shrugged. “Bro, I’ll try. But this thing has a mind of its own.”

Kane drew a card from his deck. “If she’s joining us on tour, then neither of you should be going after her. Never fuck the crew.”

“Thank you, Kane, for being the only sensible man on this bus,” Ava huffed. She sat down at the table next to Kane and began to draft an email on her tablet.

“Suck up,” Damien said.

Despite how uptight Ava was being, I couldn’t bring myself to be mad at her. I knew that she was just trying to do what was best for the band.

Ava had been working with Wicked Crimson since our debut one year ago. She’d joined along with Kane. After one session in the studio with her, we’d signed her as our producer and tour manager. Ava got Wicked Crimson in a way that few industry professionals did. She understood us and understood what we were trying to achieve with our music.

Ava had been the one who’d convinced my father to fund our tour. So, she had as much stake in Wicked Crimson’s success as any of us guys did.

“Jack, God knows I can’t stop you from doing what you want. But I need you to remember what’s important here,” Ava said. “As far as your dad is concerned, Wicked Crimson is just a passing phase. If everything goes right, this tour will prove that it’s more than that. Do you understand?”

Ava leveled her gaze on me. Her dark eyes bore into mine, and I could tell that she was trying to psionically beam into my head the importance of not fucking this whole thing up.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to do much to convince me that this tour was important.

This tour was a turning stone for me. And even though I was desperate to get closer to Aster, I knew what would happen if I let my focus slip from the tour: my attempt to break away from my pop star roots would go down in a blaze of glory, and I’d be pigeonholed right back into singing terrible pop songs for sex-starved young adults.

I nodded soberly. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Good,” Ava said. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Chapter Three

Aster

When I got home, Dad was still awake.

I walked in through the side door, slipped off my shoes, and padded up the stairs into the kitchen. I could hear the TV running in the living room. ESPN—a Dad classic.

“No leftovers today,” I announced, dropping my keys and wallet on the kitchen counter. And probably none tomorrow or the day after, either.

I walked into the living room. Dad was propped up on his recliner, a can of Diet Coke at his side. He smiled wearily at me.

In the past five years, Dad had aged a lot. But it wasn’t just stress or time that had aged him. It was illness. Five years ago, Dad had developed a chronic heart disease. Then, he’d endured a minor stroke.

Together, those two ailments forced him out of work. He tried to apply for disability benefits, but the government decided that he wasn’t “unwell enough” to receive anything. It didn’t matter that he took a cocktail of pills every morning, had to see a cardiac specialist once a month, and was always at risk of another stroke or blood clot—he could still walk and write, and that was enough to disqualify him.

I’d had to drop out of college my sophomore year to support him. That’s when I picked up the job at Greg’s bar.

I tried to get my degree online, but virtual learning made it impossible to focus, and I gave up after two months.

Before his illness, Dad had worked in construction. He’d been a big, brawny guy with an intimidating physique and an infectious laugh. I used to be able to hang from his bicep.

Unfortunately, five years of battling a chronic disease had weakened him to the point where he could hardly make it up the stairs to my room without needing a break. Despite everything, he still had the best smile.

I didn’t mind taking care of my dad. But sometimes, I wished that I could travel back in time and spend just one more day as a little girl so that I could hang from his bicep and believe with my whole heart that he’d always be able to protect me.

Dad’s brows furrowed.

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