Page 169 of Dirty Like Dylan

“I’m gonna ask Amber to come on tour,” he said.

I nodded, stiffly, even as my chest cracked.

“I want her to move in with me.”

It actually felt like someone had hit my breast plate with the claw end of a hammer, and split me right the fuck open. Everything inside me was gushing out, making me vulnerable and raw and fucking fragile.

Helpless.

Because there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I cleared my throat and finished my beer, but my hand was fucking shaking. “You’re choosing her,” I choked out. “But that’s perfect, right? ’Cause she’s choosing you, too.”

“It’s not like that,” he said. “You’re coming on the tour, too.”

“Yeah? How’s that gonna work? You two are the hot new couple and I’m the boy toy on the side?”

“You know that’s not how—”

“The Pushers aren’t coming on the tour.”

Dylan kinda froze, staring at me. “I just talked to Brody like two days ago. He didn’t mention anything.”

“Brody doesn’t know. The new album isn’t gonna be ready in time. There’s just no way.”

“What do you mean, not ready?”

“I mean, why do you think I’m always hanging here instead of working?” I tossed my beer bottle into the trash, thinking how that would irritate the shit out of Amber. “The Pushers are on fucking hiatus.”

“What?”

“Truth is, we haven’t even started on the new album. We’re supposed to be writing. We aren’t writing shit.”

“You’re writing all the time, man. I hear the stuff you’re working on.”

“Yeah. Me. While Pepper’s off in L.A. dealing with his marriage falling the fuck apart.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“And Janner blew his royalties on another fucking binge in sin city. He’s a bona-fide addict now. And Coop’s off fuck-knows-where. He can’t even stand to hang with Janner anymore.”

“Well… what the fuck are you gonna do? You can’t just let the album and the tour slip away.”

“Yeah, and I can’t hold the band the fuck together by my goddamn self, either. They don’t wanna be here, I’m not forcing anyone.”

Dylan stared at me, absorbing those words. “I want to be here,” he said, his green eyes holding mine, unflinching.

“It’s your fucking house,” I said, helping myself to another beer; those were mine, at least.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah.” I sucked some beer back. “Well. I wish you well, man. You got a great band and a great woman.”

He sighed a little, hissing through his teeth. “Ashley—”

“I mean it.” I looked away. It was getting harder by the second to look at him anymore. Especially when he called me fucking Ashley.

I was gonna have to walk away soon, but in a way that made it look like I was totally fucking fine, so he didn’t come after me.

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