Crash Into Me

Chapter Eleven

“What do you mean your sister is going on tour with us?” Ryder asked for what had to be the fifth time. He, Jared, and the rest of the guys—sans Wyatt—were in the back bedroom discussing her sudden appearance on the bus. They were making an effort to keep their voices low, but the bus was too small for real privacy. Especially when she was standing a few feet away from the closed door, doing her best to eavesdrop without actually putting a glass—or her ear—up against that same door.

As it was, she’d heard enough to make her want to sink through the floor. Jared had assured her that he would clear it with the guys before anything was decided for sure, but obviously that assurance hadn’t been worth much. Maybe it was a good thing he was on the other side of that door. If he hadn’t been, she’d be tempted to kick his ass.

“What’s the big deal anyway?” Jared demanded. “You love Jamison. She loves you guys. She’s a great cook. I don’t see the downside.”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Quinn said. “Your sister’s great.”

“Absolutely,” Micah chimed in. “And if she’s going to cook for us, I say, hell, yeah.”

Jamison smiled at the support. She really did love these guys and it would hurt if they didn’t want her to tag along with them for a few weeks. She’d understand— or at least she told herself she would—but it would still hurt.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” Ryder’s voice, when it came, was so low she had to strain to hear it. Then was sorry she had. “I don’t want her here.”

“You know, you can’t penalize her for what happened between you two last night.”

“Whoa. What happened between them?” Quinn demanded.

“You tapped Jelly Bean?” Micah sounded more intrigued than scandalized.

“Don’t even think about it, asshole!” Ryder and Jared growled the exact same thing at the exact same time.

Then Ryder continued, “That’s not what I’m doing and you know it.” He sounded furious. “Anything can happen to her if she’s on tour with us. You know a lot of these guys aren’t trustworthy, right?”

“Which is why I talked to Max about staying away from her. The word has already spread about how you took him apart—Jamison will be fine. Plus, I feel a hell of a lot more comfortable with her here, where we can watch her, than in that dismal little apartment searching for a job anywhere she can get one.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is—just give her some money. Or if you don’t want to, then I will. She can get a decent place to live and—”

The alarm she’d set forty minutes earlier chose that minute to go off. Jamison leaped away from the door and dove for her cell phone, which was sitting on the kitchen counter next to the small stove. She blinked tears out of her eyes, shocked at just how desperate Ryder was to get rid of her. He actually wanted to pay her to go away? Had kissing her really been that bad?

Mortified heat flooded her cheeks as she bent to pull from the oven the apple cobbler she’d made from the ingredients she’d cleared out of her apartment. If she’d had any better options—or any options at all, really—she would have been out of there. As it was, she was stuck and she knew it. She wanted to put her head down and sob at the unfairness of it. She wanted her job back, along with her independence. Even more, she wanted the relationship she’d had with Ryder just yesterday. How could things have gotten so horrible between them so quickly?

She didn’t have time to cry, though. Didn’t have time to do anything but put the apple cobbler on the counter before the door to the bedroom swung wide open, the guys obviously alerted that something was up by the sound of her too-loud alarm.

Seconds later, the tiny kitchen was filled with large, handsome males, still in varying states of undress, all of them jockeying to see where the sweet cinnamon-and-sugar smell was coming from.

“You baked for us?” Quinn sounded ecstatic as he reached out and snagged a clump of the sugary crumble off the top and popped it in his mouth. He moaned a second later. “God, that’s good!”

“Jared, could you get me the ice cream out of the freezer behind you?” she asked as she reached for five plates from the cabinet next to the refrigerator.

“That’s it,” Micah said with a glare in Ryder’s direction. “Jamison stays.”

“Damn straight,” Quinn agreed.

Jared didn’t say anything—she knew he hadn’t planned on this going any other way—but neither did Ryder, who just stood there, returning Micah’s glare with interest.

Though she was embarrassed all over again, Jamison pretended not to notice. Instead, she concentrated on dishing up five large portions of dessert and handing them out to the ravenous guys.

She deliberately avoided looking at Ryder as she handed him his plate, but he was having none of it. “Hey,” he said, blocking her into the corner so she couldn’t take more than one step without bumping her body against his—something she would rather die than do at this point. “You know this isn’t about you, right?”

It sure felt like it was about her. Not that she was going to say that to him. If she did, she was afraid she’d end up crying and that she would not do. Not when she’d already had more than her fair share of humiliation this week.

When she didn’t answer, he said her name all deep and rumbly and determined. If she’d had her way, she would have stood there all night, refusing to meet his eyes until he finally gave up and went away. But she was conscious of the other guys watching them. So she dug deep, put on her breeziest smile and most carefree look. “Didn’t I give you enough ice cream?” she teased gently, knowing his weakness for the stuff.

“Jamison…”

God. Why was he making this so difficult for her? Couldn’t he see she was desperate to get away from him?

“It’s okay.” She reached up and patted his cheek with a playfulness she was far from feeling. “I promise, I won’t attack you in your sleep. Your virtue is safe with me.”

“Damn it! That’s not what I meant.” His frustration was obvious and her knees quivered a little as she wondered what he was going to do next. Which was stupid as there was nothing he could do, not in front of the other guys. And not when Jared had obviously had enough. Her brother wrapped his hand around her wrist and gently tugged her out of Ryder’s reach.

Grateful for the rescue, she went over to sit on the couch next to Wyatt. He was taking up most of the sofa, so she perched carefully on the edge of the middle cushion, then placed a gentle hand on the center of his back. “Come on, sweetie. Don’t you want any dessert? I made your favorite.”

And she had. Partly because the apples she’d brought from home were pretty much the only thing she had to work with and partly because she’d seen the darkness in his eyes the night before and she’d wanted to lighten it, even for a few moments. When she’d been growing up, he’d spent almost as much time at their house as Ryder had and she’d been as crazy about him—but in a totally platonic way—as she’d always been about Ryder.

Wyatt stirred, opened bleary eyes. “Jelly Bean?”

“Come on, sweetie. Why don’t you eat something?” She hated the way she could see the bumps in his spine, the way she could count every rib.

“Not hungry.” He turned his face away, closed his eyes again.

Tears trembled on her lashes, this time for a totally different reason. “How long has he been using?” she demanded, her harsh whisper echoing in the sudden silence of the bus.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” Ryder glared at his fellow bandmates.

Jared held his hands up. “I was as surprised as you tonight.”

Quinn shifted guiltily. “I thought he might have been high the other night, but I wasn’t sure. It’s the only other time I’ve noticed.”

Micah didn’t say anything, which was strange enough that it had all of them looking at him. “What?” he said, around a mouthful of ice cream. “I didn’t know.”

“Really?” Ryder asked. “You sure about that?”

He shrugged. “Okay, yeah, I suspected. Have for a while, really. But I didn’t kno—”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?” Jared demanded. “The fact that our drummer is using again is pretty pertinent information.”

“He’s fine,” Micah answered with a careless roll of his eyes. He seemed a lot more interested in his dessert than he did in Wyatt’s problems. “He’s keeping it together.”

“That’s not the point.” Ryder’s arms were crossed, his eyes a hard obsidian. “We agreed we’d watch out for him.”

“I was watching out for him. I was watching out for all of us! We can’t afford to blow this tour, not now when we’re about to hit really big—”

“Really? That matters more to you than if he kills himself?”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Ryder. He’s obviously fine—none of you guys even noticed before tonight. Besides, you’re damn right it matters. I’m not in this band for my fucking health, you know. I want to go big, really big and this is our shot.” He shoved another bite of cobbler in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. Then shrugged. “Besides, having a fucked up drummer just gives us street cred. Feeds the mystique.”

Jamison gasped, shocked at the way Micah talked about Wyatt and his very real demons. She glanced around, realized the rest of the guys didn’t look shocked. Just disgusted. Suddenly the gulf she’d sensed between them and Micah last night made so much more sense. She couldn’t help wondering what had happened to him. Or if he’d always been like this and they’d just never noticed before.

Ryder lunged across the short distance between them, got in Micah’s face with a growl so deadly it sent shivers of dread sliding down her spine. “Keep it up, asshole, and the only ride you’re going to be taking is straight back to Austin, one way.”

“Oh, yeah?” Micah straightened up, shoved Ryder in the chest. “And who’s going to make me?”

“Oh, I am.” Ryder hadn’t so much as flinched under Micah’s assault, but when he shoved him back, the bass player stumbled. Would have gone down if he hadn’t managed to catch himself on the kitchen counter. “If you don’t start looking out for the band instead of number one, I’ll fucking ruin you. And I won’t even think twice about it.”

Jamison was shocked at the anger that throbbed between the two, wondered what had caused it. Ryder, Wyatt, Micah and Jared had been close friends for well over fifteen years. Quinn had come along a little later—just about ten years ago—but he’d fit in seamlessly and it hadn’t taken long before he was a close-knit member of the group. But when she looked at Jared and Quinn, they both looked as disgusted with the bass player as Ryder was.

Before she could say anything to diffuse the tension, Wyatt rolled over and shoved himself into a sitting position. “Jeez, I was just having a little fun. Nothing for any of you to get so bent out of shape about. Relax, will you?”

“It doesn’t look like much fun from where I’m sitting,” she told him softly enough that the others couldn’t hear, before moving to stand up.

His hand shot out, pulled her back so that she was cuddled into his side. “Don’t go, Jelly Bean.”

Surprised, she glanced into his face. Saw those damn demons prowling behind his eyes no matter how carefree he sounded. Relaxing against him, she murmured, “I’m not going anywhere, Wy.”

“Good.” He draped an arm over her shoulder.

“But you’ve got to eat for me.” She held up a spoonful of the apple crumble. “You’re way too skinny.”

“You sound like my grandmother.”

“Obviously a wise woman.”

His smile, when it came, was a little off, but the darkness in his eyes had dissipated some. It dispelled more when he leaned forward and she slid a bite of dessert into his open mouth. “God, that’s good.”

He allowed her to feed him a few more bites before he buried his head in the curve of her neck and rubbed his nose back and forth against the sensitive skin there. Jamison laughed at his tickling, then shoved at his head in response. “You smell like cinnamon.” He sniffed deeply before rubbing his face against her again.

“And you smell like dirty sweat socks.” She poked him in the ribs, tried to wriggle away from him. He responded by putting the plate aside and tickling her in earnest.

“Oh, yeah? I’ll show you sweat socks.” He wrestled with her, doing his best to get her face into his bare armpit.

She fought him, but her struggles weren’t all that effective considering she was laughing like a hyena all the while.

“Knock it off, Wyatt!” Ryder snapped.

Wyatt ignored him, flipping her around so that he was on top of her. She continued to wrestle with him, but he was way too strong for her. He might be too skinny, but years of playing the drums gave him really impressive upper body strength.

She could hear Jared and Quinn laughing from the sidelines, calling encouragement to her though they made absolutely no attempt to intervene. It only made her fight harder—she’d spent her adolescence wrestling with these guys. Now that she was a grown woman, she’d be damned if she lost as easily as she had at twelve.

“Take it back,” Wyatt taunted her from above, his wild blue eyes filled with laughter for once. That, more than anything else, convinced her to keep struggling. If she gave in, no doubt he’d go right back to brooding. Right back to hurting. She couldn’t stand that. Not when she knew how self-destructive he could become. “Come on, Jamison. Say I smell good and I’ll let you go.”

“Never!” she cried, closing her eyes and bucking against him.

He gave a maniacal laugh. “Then prepare to pay—” He stopped mid-cackle, his grip loosening abruptly as his words cut off.

Then she was free.

Jamison opened her eyes to see Ryder standing above her like a conquering barbarian, his drummer dangling from his hands like he weighed nothing. Then he was tossing Wyatt aside and reaching for her hand.

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs—once, twice—before kicking into high gear. She let him pull her to her feet and this time she made it a point to meet his eyes. He was pissed, no doubt about it, his eyes alight with a wild fury she rarely saw in him.

Too bad she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not this time. He didn’t want to hang out with her, fine. But that didn’t mean she was going to give up her friendships with his bandmates. Like Jared, these guys were her closest friends in the world. If Ryder didn’t like it, then that was his problem.

Leaning forward with an insouciance she was far from feeling, she patted his cheek in a deliberately insolent manner. “Thanks for the rescue. But I think I’ve got it from here.”

Then, taking her time, she turned and sauntered toward the bedroom at the back of the bus.

It wasn’t much as far as exits went, but then it wasn’t like she had anywhere to go when the bus was speeding along the interstate at close to seventy miles an hour.

Behind her the guys razzed him mercilessly and for the first time it really hit her just how difficult the next few weeks were going to be. Being in such close proximity to Ryder and not being able to touch him, kiss him, stroke him was going to be more torturous than she had ever imagined possible.