Running with Scissors (13 page)

up with each other.” He waved his free hand. “What the fuck?”

“We didn’t exactly
stop
dating nicely.”

“It was almost two years ago. Is it
that
bad?”

“It’s . . .” Jude chuckled. “You know what? Just be glad you

don’t
get it. You’re fucking lucky.”

“I am. Always have been.” Richie laughed as he brought

his cigarette back up to his mouth. All this shit between Jude

and Connor—and Connor and Wyatt—probably made

Richie roll his eyes until his head ached. Richie had known

since he was like fifteen that he was asexual, and as he’d told Jude a few years back, part of the reason he’d figured it out

so young was watching Jude and Connor as well as Shiloh

with one of her high school boyfriends. They’d confused the

hell out of him.

“You guys all get stupid for each other.”
He’d shrugged, gesturing with the joint they’d all been sharing.
“Why? So you
can get naked together and then break up and hate each other?

It’s just dumb.”

Okay, so he’d had a point. They’d tried to explain to him

why they did it, and what made them so stupid, and it had

been like explaining colors to a blind man. It just did not

compute, and probably still didn’t. On some level Richie

had eventually understood that all four of his bandmates

95

were attracted to men, and Connor and Vanessa were

sometimes attracted to women, but Richie himself didn’t feel

that way about anyone.

Vanessa had insisted for a long time that Richie was

missing out. Then somewhere around the seventh or eighth

time Connor and Jude had split up—or maybe after Shiloh

and her ex had finally called it quits in catastrophic fashion—

Richie had shaken his head and muttered,
“Missing out?

My ass.”

To Jude’s knowledge, no one had tried to talk Richie out

of his asexuality after that.

Jude dropped his cigarette on the pavement and crushed

it beneath his heel. “Anyway, I really am sorry about how this

has jacked up the band. It’s . . . it’s in the past now. As much as it’ll ever be, I guess.”

Richie scowled, but then he shrugged. He pulled in a

drag, held the smoke for a second as if it were weed instead

of tobacco, and then exhaled slowly. “Well, whatever. It’s

between you guys. And listen, man. I know shit with you and

Connor is rough, but it’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back.” Jude smiled. “I missed you guys.

And the music.”

Richie dropped his cigarette and let it smolder on the

ground. “We missed you too, man.”

Jude swallowed. “Can I ask you something kind of weird?”

“Sure.”

He hesitated. “You know Vanessa better than I do. How

does she feel about this? Me being back?”

“I don’t know.” Richie slid his hands into his pockets and

watched the cigarette butts on the pavement. “I mean, she was

pretty freaked out when Wyatt left because we were kinda

fucked.”

96

“What’d she think when my name came up?”

Richie laughed dryly. “I don’t know. I was too busy

listening to Connor throw a fit about it. She’s cool, though.

Give her some time. I mean it was rough, when you left,

but . . .” He shrugged again. “Shit happens, you know?”

“She didn’t seem all that willing to give me a shot.”

“Eh, she’ll come around. She’s speaking to Connor again.”

“I guess that’s promising.” Relief slowly untangled the

knots in Jude’s muscles. He rolled his shoulders. “Well, we’ll

see how things go. I’m not bailing on you guys, though. Not

this time.”

Richie met his gaze, and he smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

Well, at least someone around here still had some faith

left in him.

The afternoon heat turned into a pleasantly cool evening,

and after everyone had eaten, Jude slipped back outside. He

didn’t feel like smoking, but he’d been cooped up on that

damned bus for so long, he wanted to enjoy some real air for

a while.

There were some picnic tables not far away, so he sat down

at one, with his back pressed against the edge of the table, and gazed out at the landscape. The air was as dry as the desert

surrounding them, and it reminded him a bit of LA, minus

the sour taste of smog. On either side of the endless stretch

of blacktop, the landscape was desolate and scrubby—after

spending his whole life in one of the biggest cities in the US, it was weird to see this much open space without so much as a

building in sight. Well, aside from the greasy-spoon restaurant and the tiny hut that passed for restrooms at this truck stop.

97

Otherwise, they were well and truly out in the middle of

nowhere.

He took in a long, deep breath of the clean air and

then glanced at his phone. It was a little after six, so five in California. If he’d still been at his desk job, he’d be on his way home now. Just leaving work, actually, no doubt desperately

sucking down smoke and searching for some music on the

radio to bring his blood pressure down. It had been just days

since he’d last made his five-o’clock exodus to crawl through

traffic and go back to his shitty apartment.

Funny how things could change. And how
fast
they could

change. He still had to pay rent for this month and part of

next month, since he’d left without giving his roommates

any notice to speak of, but otherwise it seemed like he’d been

away from that whole world for years now. Like it had never

existed at al . No terrible apartment. No lazy roommates.

No miserable job. All those arguments over dishwashing

and meetings about retirement contributions seemed like

someone else’s memories. Something he’d seen on TV.

This was the world where he belonged. On the road,

behind an instrument, under bright lights. Closing his eyes,

he smiled. Even if working his way back into his band’s good

graces was a slow process, and even if the instrument he was

playing wasn’t his first love, he was glad to be here. Happy to be out on the road, living from convenience store to convenience

store, with absolutely no privacy and little to no downtime,

all in exchange for the thrill of performing for thousands.

Thousands! As second chances went, he could have done a

hell of a lot worse.

All you have to do now is not blow it.

Which would be a lot easier if he could sleep, and that

was getting more difficult with each passing night. They had

98

to play tomorrow night. When it came time for lights-out,

he’d need to shut off his brain, go to sleep, and rest enough to keep from passing out onstage.

But his brain hadn’t wanted to shut off the last couple

of nights, and he doubted that was going to change. His

mind kept flipping back and forth between the many, many

moments when A.J. had caught his attention. When he’d held

back during sound check. When he’d let fly onstage. Grabbing

burgers in Denver. Those times when he was sweet and shy.

The others when he was crazy and animalistic.

Jude rubbed his eyes. One minute, he wanted to wrap

his arms around A.J. and protect him from everything. The

next, he wanted to drop to his knees and do whatever that

wild-eyed drummer told him to.

He shivered, barely keeping himself from gasping at the

conflicting but equally intriguing images of the man who,

after lights out, would be sleeping above him.

It occurred to him that he wasn’t even sure if A.J. was into

guys. But in his mind’s eye, he saw that look A.J. had shot

him backstage. Sweaty. Smeared eyeliner. Something primal.

Something . . . undeniably sexual.

He swallowed. He had no idea what A.J.’s orientation was,

but going by the look on the drummer’s face that night, he

wouldn’t have been surprised if A.J. had been willing to fuck

anyone who thought they could handle him.

Me. Me. Please, me.

He mouthed a string of silent profanity. Hadn’t he been

convinced he was going to lose his mind at his day job?

Oh, how he’d underestimated what rejoining the band

would do to him. Mostly because he hadn’t been aware of

A.J.’s existence. He was aware of it now, though. No doubt

about that.

99

Yep. I’m gonna lose my mind.

Hell, maybe I already have.

The tour bus door opened, and he turned his head.

Immediately, his heart sped up.

Six feet of temptation in a ripped Pink Floyd tank top.

And he was coming right this way.

Jude sat up. “Hey.”

“Hey.” A.J. smiled. “You mind if I join you?”

“Uh, no.” Jude cleared his throat. “Not at al .”

A.J. took a seat at the next bench, his back to the table. He

stretched his arms along the sun-bleached length of wood and

gazed up at the sky. “God, it’s nice to get off that bus.”

“Isn’t it?” Now that A.J. was here, the cigarette suddenly

seemed necessary, if only to give him something to do with

his hands. And his mouth. He busied himself getting one out

and lighting it. “I like touring so far, but yeah, it’s good to be outside once in a while.”

“Seriously.” A.J. met his gaze. “At least this weather isn’t

shit. Nothing like having the choice between staying on the

bus and getting out when it’s subzero.”

Jude scowled. “I might have to quit smoking before that

happens.”

A.J. laughed. “Richie and Vanessa both gave it up for a

whole week while we were going through Michigan and

Il inois in January.”

“I don’t blame them.” Jude shivered. “I’m way too

California for that kind of cold.”

“You and me both.” A.J. paused, some of the amusement

leaving his expression. “Do you . . . Are you still planning to tour with us? For the next album?”

“Planning on it.” Jude sucked in some smoke and blew it

out. “We’ll see how the next few weeks go. And if Connor

and I don’t kill each other while we’re recording.”

100

“Guess we’ll see. For what it’s worth, though, I can see

why they wanted you back.”

“Yeah.” He laughed bitterly. “I’m the only bassist who

knows the fucking music.”

“But you’re picking up the new stuff too. You’re really

good.”

“Thanks. Now if we didn’t have all this drama, we’d

be set.”

“Eh.” A.J. shrugged. “Musicians are volatile as a species.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

“And you and Connor have a history. There’s going to be

some drama, and there’s going to be some adjustment. You’ve

only been back in the band like a week.” He paused. “Besides,

give it another week or two, and Connor and Shiloh are going

to be so busy finalizing everything for the next album, he’ll

probably forget you’re there.”

Jude couldn’t really argue with that. When Connor was

writing music, especially when he was at the stage of perfecting it so it could be performed or recorded, he was nothing if not

focused.

“You’re probably right,” he said quietly. “That should keep

him busy for a while.”

A.J. laughed. “Well, and he’ll have Shiloh there too. I’m

sure you know what it’s like to work with her.”

Chuckling, Jude nodded. “Oh, yes.” He hadn’t thought

of that, but A.J. was right. Even if Connor wanted to be a

tool and snipe at Jude, he’d have Shiloh there to keep him on

task—the woman was a hell of a workaholic, and didn’t have

much tolerance for people slacking off while she had her nose

to the grindstone. Once those two got to work, she’d have

Connor burning the midnight oil whether he liked it or not.

He wouldn’t have
time
to deal with Jude.

101

“Well, anyway. Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Don’t mention it.” A shy hint of a smile flickered across

A.J.’s face. Neither of them said anything for a while, but they stayed where they were. As Jude finished his cigarette, A.J.

finally broke the silence. “I’m curious about something.”

“Shoot.”

A.J. turned to him. “Where’d the name of the band come

from?”

He laughed. “No one’s ever told you?”

“Nope. I’ve asked a few times, but I always get blown off.”

He paused. “Honestly, when I auditioned, I thought it was

from the movie or that book that came out a few years ago.”

“There’s a movie?”

“Yeah. The one about the kid who has to go live with his

mom’s psychiatrist?”

Jude arched his eyebrow. “I . . . can tell you without a

doubt that isn’t where the name came from. Is it any good?”

“Don’t know. Never saw it.”

“Huh. Well, obviously I haven’t either.”

“So where
did
the name come from? I’ve been dying of

curiosity since I signed.”

“It comes from someone literally running with scissors.”

Jude absently pulled out his cigarettes, but decided not

to smoke another one after al , and pocketed them again.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids. Shiloh and I

went to kindergarten together. Connor moved to the area in

first grade. Richie, Wyatt, and Vanessa came along in middle

school.”

“Wow. You guys have a long history.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, tamping down most of the memories

that tried to surface. “Anyway, so when we were in . . . second grade, I think, we had one of those teachers who was super