Page 33 of Follow the Rhythm
She slammed out the door like she had the last time Ellis had gone too far. I didn’t blame her. This couldn’t become a pattern. I didn’t have the patience.
“You’re out of order, mate,” I said. “Apologize. Now.”
“I have nothing to apologize for,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“What the fuck is going on with you?”
Ellis just huffed in response, still wearing a tread across the floor.
“You’ve always been a bit of an arsehole, but this is a new low. Michael would be ashamed of you,” I said.
Ellis froze, and his ice-blue eyes flicked to mine. I expected him to fight back, but he seemed to crumple in on himself. “You’re right,” was all he said before quietly leaving the studio.
I collapsed into a folding chair on the side of the stage and scrubbed my hands across my face. We had two days until the first show. When Ellis could hold himself together, we sounded great, but none of this boded well for the tour itself.
I’d only agreed to do it to keep a lid onReward, the album we’d finished recording right before Michael died. No one was going to hear that album if I could help it, especially not Michael’s family. At least that was something Ellis and Icouldagree on. The songs were dark, in a way that felt sinister in hindsight, and I couldn’t bear to release them.
But I couldn’t tell Michael’s mums, Deb and Claire, the truth. They were like my mums, too. After my nan died, they’d taken me in and treated me like part of the family. So I let them think the tour was to honor Michael’s memory. Everyone was happier that way.
I took a deep breath and texted Grace, apologizing on Ellis’s behalf. I’d fix that situation first, then get Ellis in a room and figure out how to keep him from imploding everything.
I tried to call Johnny, but it went straight to voicemail. I growled in frustration. He had disappeared yet again - a more frequent occurrence since Michael’s death. I’d thought the promise of some tour revenue would keep him around more often, but apparently not.
“You’ve left me a fucking mess, mate,” I whispered. I hadn’t talked to Michael like this in a while, not since the first few months without him. I just had to get through the tour. I could do that for him, and then I’d finally be able to move on. Whatever the fuck that meant.
Chapter 11 - Charlie
The first request to keep the tour from dissolving before it even began didn’t come from Johnny, but from Kieran, who called saying Ellis had disappeared from rehearsal and wasn’t answering his phone. I almost asked why he was telling me instead of tracking Ellis down himself, but I thought I understood. Sometimes it was best for a neutral party to step in. And I was excellent at being neutral.
I was in the middle of negotiating hotel rates for the crew and band for our longer break after the first couple of weeks of shows, drafting soundcheck schedules, and reviewing route times with the bus and truck drivers. So a break, even if it meant dealing with band drama, actually sounded great.
I had no idea where Ellis might go when he was upset, but I figured I’d try the obvious answer first and check his apartment.
I had thought about doing just that a few times over the last couple of weeks, usually when I couldn’t stop thinking about Jess. I always stopped myself. Sure, there’d been some flirtation and lingering eye contact, but I couldn’t afford to put my job in jeopardy based on a hunch.
It didn’t stop me thinking about him, though.
So it was a relief to have an innocent reason to knock on his door.
For a moment, I didn’t think he’d answer, but then the door burst open. Ellis was shirtless, his hair rumpled, and he was hammered.
He was also gorgeous. His body was all lean muscle. I traced the lines of his chest with my eyes, down to the low-slung waistband of his jeans. His eyes were a bit unfocused, but striking all the same. I focused on the task at hand.
“You alright, man?” I asked.
“I’m just wonderful, ‘man.’” He turned away from the door and stumbled slightly on his way into the living room that was a mirror of my own; richly furnished in leather and chrome, and full of natural light. I expected a mess, but it was neat and clean. “Can I offer you a drink?”
“No, thanks,” I said lightly. It was three in the afternoon.
“So, who sent you? Johnny? The label?” Ellis said, draping himself across the largest couch, a whiskey in hand. I settled into the chair next to him.
“Kieran, actually. He wants to talk to you.”
“I’m sure he wants me to apologize to the interloper,” Ellis muttered, then gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll cut out the middleman. Hand me my phone.”
I grabbed it off the coffee table and passed it over. He typed quietly for a few moments, then flung it onto the couch next to him.
“There, problem solved. You’ve fulfilled your obligation, and you’re free to go.”
