Running with Scissors (30 page)

A.J. It made sense this time, since A.J. was part of the problem, but the irony wasn’t lost on him.

“Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”

“If you two lay a hand on each other again,” she said coolly,

“you’re done. You’re out of here.”

Great. So if they touched, Jude was out. If the band

couldn’t function as a unit, A.J. was out.

But he just nodded. “Understood.”

“Good. Now I need a fucking beer.” With that, Shiloh

turned on her heel and left.

Richie hovered there for a moment, alternately watching

Jude and Shiloh. Then, without a word, he followed her.

Jude pressed his elbows into his thighs and rubbed his

face. He wished his bandmates had stayed. At least then he

could listen to them berating him instead of being alone with

his own thoughts. He’d let them eviscerate him, too. He didn’t

have it in him to get defensive, and besides, every last member of Running with Scissors could come in here and verbally rip

him to pieces, and it still wouldn’t come close to hurting as

much as realizing he was in love with A.J. That he’d managed

to not only fuck things up with A.J., but had put A.J.’s career on the line.

There wasn’t much he could do to smooth this whole

thing over, but one thing was for damn sure—he was not

getting A.J. thrown out of this band. Whatever happened, if

anyone left Running with Scissors, it would be him.

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But that was a last resort. He wanted to be a part of this

band as much as A.J. did, and that meant this tense, awkward

air between them had to go so they could work together. Like

it or not, they needed to sit down and have a serious talk.

He got his chance a couple of hours later. He’d showered

and changed clothes and was outside smoking his umpteenth

cigarette when A.J. came back to the bus.

Their eyes met.

A.J.’s jaw tightened, and he lowered his gaze, shoving his

hands into his coat pockets as he continued toward the bus.

“Wait,” Jude said.

A.J. stopped, but his expression didn’t change.

“Can we, um . . . can we talk?”

“I guess.”

Jude hesitated. Then he pulled another cigarette out, but

didn’t light it yet. “I wanted to apologize.” As if he hadn’t

been doing that left, right, and center lately. Did anyone even believe him anymore?

A.J. kept his gaze down and didn’t say anything.

Jude lit his cigarette, took a drag, and carefully turned his

head so he wouldn’t blow smoke in A.J.’s face. “We need to

settle things somehow. At least enough that we can get along.”

“Okay. Yeah, you’re probably right.” A.J. exhaled, avoiding

Jude’s gaze. “Question is, how do we get there from here?”

“I wish I knew. But, for the record, I
am
sorry. About the whole thing. I knew damn well from the beginning that if we

started fucking around, there was—”

“Don’t.” A.J.’s tone had a hard edge. “Just . . . can we let

that part go?”

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Jude put his cigarette between his lips. “Yeah. I just

wanted to be clear that—”

“Fine. Whatever.” A.J. rocked from his heels to the balls

of his feet. “It’s done.”

“It is.” Jude tapped the ashes onto the pavement just for

something to do with his hand. “Look, we both owe it to

the band. They need us.”
I need you. But I can’t have you
.
God
this hurts . . .

As he sucked in some more smoke, he shoved his feelings

for A.J. as far beneath the surface as he could—there was no

point in letting them show now. “They need us, and I think

we both need them.”

A.J. winced but nodded. “Yeah. I know. After what

happened, I’ve been worried like hell they’re going to boot

us both.”

“No, they won’t.”
Over my dead body are you getting

thrown out.
“I think they’re waiting to see if we’re going to fuck up further, or if we can still be professionals.”

A.J. swallowed. “Can we?”

“I think so. I think we can be bandmates at the very least.”

He brought his cigarette up to his mouth. “Maybe we can

figure out friends as we go.”

A.J. scratched the back of his neck and then met Jude’s

eyes. “It’s hard to pretend we’re not attracted to each other,

but I do want to be adults about this. We still have to work

together as musicians if nothing else. And yes, I’d like to be

friends.” The unspoken “eventually” was there, but Jude could

accept that. Maybe it still hurt too much for A.J. to throw

his arms around him and pretend they’d never had it out like

that. At this point, Jude would take what he could get.

“Okay.” He forced a smile. “We’ll take it a little at a time.

But . . . bandmates. Friends at some point. I’m good with that.”

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A.J. hesitated and then managed a small smile as well.

“Okay. I can live with that too.”

They held each other’s gazes for a moment, and it occurred

to Jude that he had no idea what the protocol was for ending

a conversation like this. It felt weird not to have his arms

around A.J. in the first place. A handshake would be way too

detached and formal. So what the fuck were they supposed

to do?

Finally, A.J. gestured at the bus. “I’m going to turn in. It’s

been a long day.”

“It has.” Jude held up his cigarette. “I’m just going to finish this and then do the same.”

Another awkward pause. Eye contact. Silence. Distance.

So fucking much distance.

Then without another word, A.J. continued past Jude and

boarded the bus. The door shut, and Jude closed his eyes

and exhaled.

Well, that was what he’d set out to do. They’d put aside

the bullshit, and now they could be friends—sort of—

and bandmates again. It was the best possible outcome for

everyone involved.

So why did he feel worse?

It was almost like back in the old days, when he and

Connor would be at each other’s throats. They hadn’t even

been able to be in the same room, and it would have taken

an act of Congress to make them hash it out before they

were damn good and ready, but he’d known all along that

eventually, they’d calm the fuck down, look each other in the

eye, have some violent makeup sex, and
then
talk it through.

Maybe when he and A.J. had separated, he’d held out that same

hope that this was temporary. That they were cooling down,

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collecting their thoughts, and would work it out beneath the

sheets once they’d fucked it out of their systems.

But, no. They were friends. Bandmates. There was no

choosing between A.J. and the music, only between the

music and going back to LA with his tail between his legs.

A.J. wasn’t an option. Jude couldn’t be the reason A.J. lost his place in this band.

This was how it had to be. This was the right thing.

So when the hell would it stop hurting?

Not surprisingly, Jude couldn’t sleep that night. His

conscience alone had him wide awake. Then there was

his knotted stomach, the band’s ultimatum, the echoes of

everything that had been spoken since he and A.J. were

discovered—it all conspired to keep him staring at the rack

above him while the rest of the band slept.

From where he lay, he could hear two soft, familiar

breathing patterns.

Connor. A.J.

They were both asleep right now, but it hadn’t been like

that all night. Both had tossed and turned. Occasionally,

someone had sighed with what sounded like frustration.

Connor had gotten up and disappeared for a while earlier.

Needed some air, Jude guessed.

For now, though, they were asleep, at least for the moment.

Unlike Jude.

Lying there in the stillness, he thought he was going to go

insane. In the past, he’d loved listening to Connor breathing

next to him. Especially in their latter days, when those

peaceful postcoital nights had been getting fewer and further

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between. He should’ve known it was time to call it quits when

even that gentle rhythm wasn’t enough to relax him. Maybe

if he’d taken that hint and broken up with Connor then, a

lot of heartache could’ve been avoided. But it had taken him

months, until things had deteriorated beyond repair and he’d

bedded that bartender like an idiot.

Now he was a few feet away from Connor, listening to

that same sound as it almost synced with A.J.’s breathing.

A.J.

Fuck
.

He rubbed his hand over his face. He’d made damn sure to

savor every second he and A.J. had been able to spend together

before the tour because they’d known there wouldn’t be much

time on the road. Now that was biting him in the ass. He’d

memorized everything about A.J. The way he buried his face

in the pillow when he was asleep. The steady rise and fall of

his chest, and the whisper of his breath across the pillowcase.

Finally, he swung his legs over the side of his rack, grabbed

his cigarettes, and hurried off the bus. He didn’t even bother

putting shoes on. Though the night was chilly, especially

since he was only wearing a pair of sweatpants, it was more

comfortable than the warm, peaceful bus.

He smoked the first cigarette too quickly. As he lit the

second while the first still smoldered on the ground, he was

surprised his hands weren’t shaking more. Between the cold,

the rush of nicotine, and his mind being all over the place, it was a miracle he could work his lighter.

As he took a drag—slower this time—his thoughts drifted

back to his bandmates.

Kristy’s threat wasn’t an idle one. Either he put this band

back on the rails, or shit was going to get real. And even

without her threat, he needed to find some way to right

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everything. He owed it to his bandmates. No matter how hard

it was to face them, there was no way in hell he was walking

away and leaving them in the lurch again.

True, they could replace him easily enough. They might

be screwed for a few shows, but a bassist could be found. And

if he walked, then A.J.’s position would be secure. Of course

everyone would assume he was just being Jude and running

when shit hit the fan, but he could handle that as long as it

meant A.J. was still part of the band. It was simply out of the question to let A.J. take the fal . He didn’t deserve to lose his job because everyone was tired of a pattern that Jude and

Connor had set long before his arrival.

And more than anything, he couldn’t do that to A.J. Even

if this had been entirely A.J.’s fault, Jude wouldn’t have been able to.

“You had no problem with me risking my place in the band

by getting in Connor’s face.”

“I don’t think this really compares. Do you?”

“Kind of seems like the only difference is whether it’s
my

career or
our
careers on the line.”

Jude winced. He swore into the cool air, blowing out a

cloud of smoke at the same time. A.J. was right, wasn’t he?

Sure, A.J. had needed to stand up for himself the other night,

but Jude had promised to have his back. And he had. Right

up until . . .

He closed his eyes and took another drag. Things should

have been better now, though. After all, they’d agreed to

be friends. That should’ve been enough. But he couldn’t

convince himself that it was. It had only been a few hours

since they’d talked, but during those few hours, they’d barely

looked at each other. A.J. actively avoided him, and if Jude

was honest with himself, he did the same. Not because he

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wanted to be away from A.J., but because it hurt too much

to be around him.

The longer he stood out here alone, the lower his heart

sank. Back when he’d first rejoined the band, A.J. had seemed

to find any excuse imaginable to just happen by while Jude

was having a smoke. He’d even come out in the middle

of the night. They’d shoot the shit and enjoy some time to

themselves, and he’d stupidly believed they were just being

friendly.

No. They’d been circling closer to each other. Finding

excuses to be in the same space.

A.J. wasn’t coming out tonight. On the bus tomorrow,

he wouldn’t join in if Jude started tapping his fingers. Maybe, with time, they’d be friends, but standing out here alone, Jude couldn’t make himself believe that he could be “just friends”

with A.J. any more than their relationship had been “just sex.”

I fucked up worse than I thought, didn’t I?

He’d been kidding himself if he’d ever believed things

between him and A.J. were strictly physical. The attraction

had been there from the start, and the sex had been unreal, but everything between them had been different from anything

he’d had with a casual fuck buddy in the past. In fact, it only compared to one person he’d ever slept with—Connor.

He dropped his cigarette on the ground. He was barefoot,

so he didn’t stomp it out, but right then he doubted he’d have

felt the burn anyway. He was too caught up in this growing

ache in his chest.

What the hell did I do? And how the hell did I do it
twice
?

He could move on from what he’d had with ex-lovers and