Page 23 of Not Another Rockstar
“I’m sorry Cillian accused you of…” Nick couldn’t finish. She guessed Axel had told him what happened on the bus.
“Nothing happened between Axel and me.”
“I just want to know if there is anything about that night that I haven’t been told. With all the press, I want to make sure there aren’t any more surprises before the funeral.” Nick downed the rest of his can.
“Nothing happened,” she assured him, sure that the notebook with the songs she’d written had been destroyed in the accident. “I fell asleep, and Axel slept on the pull-out bed. Cillian saw us talking and made some drunken assumptions. He wouldn’t let me leave unless I got in his car. He told me that you’d sent him to bring me home.”
Nick clenched his jaw, angry that Cillian used him as an excuse that nearly cost her life.
“You know what happened next.”
She left out that they’d argued about the music they’d written together. With the notebook lost and presumably destroyed in the crash, there was nothing to tell.
“I’m sorry for bringing it up again,” he said, and she shrugged it off.
“I suspect Anita wanted you to double check?” she asked, knowing their manager had been putting out fires left right and centre since that night.
“None of us can handle any more surprises,” he confessed.
“What’s done is done, let’s just focus on the future.”
Phoebe let out a long sigh. She put her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Next person you date, please don’t pick my best friend,” he quipped, breaking the tension.
“You don’t have to worry about that! I don’t plan on dating for alongtime.”
“How are you really?” he asked.
“About as good as you,” she said, staring at her hand.
“Have you thought any more about coming to stay at the house? We’ve got plenty of rooms, and it’s not good to be here alone.”
“We talked about this,” she groaned.
“You talked, and I listened, but I’d feel a lot better if you’d stay with us.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said. Shewaslonely—not that she’d admit it—but there were so many memories of Cillian in that house. She didn’t want to be constantly reminded of the man she missed as much as she despised.
“Fine, I tried.” He raised his hands in defeat, and started for the door. “Call if you need anything, and don’t go out alone unless it’s for physio. I mean it! Otherwise, I want you to have some security with you.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “I don’t need security, and I’m not in the mood to go out anyway.”
Hopefully, after the funeral everyone would forget about her.
“Call Mum back!” she called from the couch as he opened the door.
He smirked. “The first chance I get.”
She knew that meant never.
The others hated it when Axel drank orange juice straight out of the carton, but he was so thirsty he finished what remained in a few gulps. He stared out the kitchen window; it was already dark out. His hands ached from the hours he’d spent in the basement playing. Since he couldn’t hear the TV blaring, he guessed August was in the game room at the other end of the house. Bart, their four-year-old German Shepherd, hadn’t come scratching at his door, so he must have still been posted outside Cillian’s bedroom door upstairs. It looked like he’d eaten his breakfast, at least.
“If you keep drinking August’s orange juice, he’s going to poison it,” Nick said, coming in from the garage.
“I’m not worried. We can’t afford to lose another band member.” Axel broke down the empty carton and tossed it in the recycling.
“Not funny.” Nick glared at him, the same evil eye he shared with his sister. Except Phoebe was much sexier when she was mad.
