Page 32 of Living on the Edge

Someone saw us.

Or overheard us.

Some eagle-eyed fan put two and two together…

God fucking dammit.

I clench my fist as I try to breathe.

What am I supposed to say?

How can I excuse such a colossal lie?

But I don’t want to talk to the band on the bus—with Kirsten, Ryleigh, and the driver there to see it unfold.

No, this is something we have to handle privately.

I owe them a huge apology, but they owe me the chance to explain—on my own terms.

ANGUS: Can you set up a private meeting in someone’s room? We’re not going to talk about this on the bus. Band only—no girlfriends, no crew, not even you.

SASHA: Give me five minutes.

ANGUS: Thanks.

I yank on shorts and a T-shirt, fighting off a plethora of disparate feelings. On one hand, I’m nervous the band is going to give me the boot, even though legally they can’t. On the other hand, I’m a little relieved. I don’t have to hide anymore. Good or bad, in the next hour or so, I’ll be past the worst of it.

I run down to the lobby to get some coffee and then steel myself.

Sasha sent a text saying everyone would meet in Tate’s room at eight thirty.

It’s currently eight twenty-eight.

I lift my hand to knock just as the door opens.

Jonny stares at me for a second, his eyes shrouded, and then moves past me. “Going to get coffee. Be right back.”

I walk into the room and it’s just me and Tate.

“Hey.”

He looks up from where he’s perched on the arm of a chair, the questions in his eyes as plain as day.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was trying to protect us.”

“Protect us?” He shakes his head. “By letting us get blindsided?”

“I know.” I look away.

There’s a knock on the door and Mick and Sam arrive together. They have coffee cups, so we’re just waiting for Jonny to get back.

“Is it true?” Mick asks me without preamble.

“Yeah.”

“Jesus fuck, you didn’t think that was something we needed to know?” Sam asks, hands on his hips.

“Okay, let’s wait for Jonny to get back,” Tate interjects. “No point in going over everything more than once.”

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