Code Red by N.R. Walker

Chapter Three

Late Nights in LAwas an iconic talk show that had been around for decades. It would be the band’s first TV appearance, their first interview, for this tour. It was important. We implemented a few security modifications and briefings with hotel security and police traffic control, but nothing extraordinary.

For a little while at least we had flown under the radar. But this appearance and performance on TV would change all that.

At the end of the day, it was what we were here for.

When I returned from the security meeting, Wes, Luke, and Blake were in Jeremy’s room. Room service trays with mostly eaten food were on the table, and they were watching and laughing at something on YouTube. “Where’s Maddox?” I asked.

“In his room,” Jeremy replied. “We asked him to join us but he had his head in his notebook. You know how he is.”

I nodded. Yes, I knew. Blake burst out laughing at the laptop screen. “Here it is, here it is, watch this.”

We all turned our attention to the video. It was them, on YouTube, in some clip where they couldn’t have been any older than sixteen years old. They were at their high school by the looks of it, just a group of baby-faced, weedy adolescents with bad skin and braces.

Jeremy roared laughing. “Holy fuck, look at our hair!”

Luke and Blake fell back on the bed, cry-laughing. “Look at Maddox! Oh my god, this is gold.”

Wes was half-covering his eyes, horrified but still laughing at the screen. “What is he wearing?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. More at them laughing so hard than what they looked like in the video. “Just as well he’s not here,” I said. “So he can’t hear you laughing at him.” I went to the door and tapped my watch. “Hair and make-up in one hour.”

They waved me off and I could still hear them laughing as I knocked on Maddox’s door. “It’s me,” I said, and his door opened a few seconds later.

He was dressed in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. His hair had been washed, though it was almost dry. His feet were bare. He looked annoyed. “Hey,” he said gruffly.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He stood aside, a silent invitation, and I went into his room. The curtains were drawn; the room was dark, despite the afternoon sun outside. The bed was rumpled, a notebook and a pen lay atop the covers.

Maddox went back to sit on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He picked up his notebook, though he never opened it. He seemed . . . nervous.

I sat down, trying to look natural and reduce my size in his space. “Are you okay?”

He paused for the briefest moment before his eyes met mine. “Yeah, yeah of course. Why, wassup?”

“The others are in Jeremy’s room.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“They’re watching old videos of the band and they’re laughing at your hair.”

A smile almost pulled at Maddox’s lips but he never said anything.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. Were you writing?”

He held the notepad a little tighter but still didn’t open it. “Uh, yeah.”

“Music or lyrics?”

He shrugged. “A bit of both.”

“Always writing,” I murmured.

“Always.”

“Another Billboard hit?”

He smiled, embarrassed. “Did you want a drink of something? There’s water or a soda in my fridge.”

He wanted me to stay?

Before I could answer, he was up and at the small fridge. “I know you don’t like Coke, but there’s a Sprite or some sparkling mineral shit.” He turned around and handed me a bottle of mineral water.

“Uh, thanks.” I don’t recall ever making a point of preferring mineral water, but I guess after a few years, he noticed.

He went back to sitting on the bed. “Does it taste like fifty-dollar water?”

I almost choked on my first sip, making him laugh. “Fifty bucks?” I sputtered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand while I read the label. “Did Jesus convert it from wine or something?”

Maddox laughed, a genuine one that wrinkled the corner of his eyes and showed off his perfect teeth. God, he’s beautiful when he laughs . . .

That thought stopped me and I cleared my throat, giving my attention back to the bottle. “No bottle of water is worth fifty bucks.”

He picked up the remote control from his bedside and offered it to me. “Did you want to watch something on TV?”

He really did want me to stay.

“To be honest, I prefer the quiet,” I admitted.

“Same,” he said, tossing the remote on the bed. “If there were people around, I’d have music playing, but when it’s just me . . .”

I knew he preferred silence. There wasn’t much I didn’t know about him. When he was with the boys, it was usually chaos and noise, and he loved that while he was with them. But when he was by himself, he needed quiet. He needed to recharge, and I think that was why we paired together so well. Or ended up together, gravitating to each other because . . . well, introverts were comfortable with each other. If he had his headphones on, I never pushed for conversation. I just let him be and did my thing, and he appreciated that.

“When you’ve got your headphones on,” I asked, “what do you listen to?”

He smiled right at me, bringing one bare foot up on the bed, and rested his elbow on his knee. It gave me a great view of his tattoos, a montage of black ink pieces that made one sleeve. He didn’t wear T-shirts too often—his usual hoodies hid his artwork. “Depends,” he replied, and I almost forgot I’d asked him a question. “Sometimes it’s whatever’s new in the music world; sometimes it’s the sound of the ocean or rainforests. Sometimes it’s white noise, just to drown out the sound of the world, ya know? Sometimes it’s an audiobook. Just about anything to clear my head, really.”

“It helps, right?”

He gave a small nod and chewed on his lip. Something he only did when he was nervous. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“There’s a guy I wanna see. He’s here in LA,” he said.

My heart rate took off, thundered in my chest like bats in a cage. My stomach twisted, and I was sure my surprise was clear. “Uh, okay.”

Maddox’s eyes shot to mine. “No, no, not like that. He’s a . . . he makes guitars. It’s a store.” He laughed, embarrassed. “God, Roscoe.”

I chuckled, and the relief spread through me like a warm chill. “Oh, a guitar. Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem.” I ignored how my face felt hot. “Guitars are fine . . .  I mean, if you wanted me to call a guy for you for something else, I can do that too.”

He barked out a laugh. “Uh, no. I’m good, thanks.” He picked up his notepad and held it to his belly. He was clearly embarrassed and nervous. “I was kinda hoping we could go at night, but that’s not looking likely. We’ve got concerts the next three nights. So it’ll have to be during the day.”

“Which means a full escort.”

He frowned. “Well, I . . .”

“You what?”

He met my gaze. “I thought maybe just you and I could go.”

Oh.

I stared at him. “Maddox, I . . .” I sighed. “I don’t know.”

He picked at the fabric at his knee. “I could go by myself.”

“But you won’t.” Fucking hell.

“Half the time it’s security that gets us noticed. If I didn’t turn up with a freaking swat team, no one would probably look twice at me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Okay, one, that’s bullshit. People would recognize you. And two, even if they didn’t recognize you, they’ll look twice at you anyway. You’ve been on every sexiest-man-alive list, best-dressed, hottest-everything list for the last three years, Maddox. People might not recognize you, but they notice you.”

He rolled his eyes.

“And three, the freaking swat team saves you from the unhinged fans who think you’re going to marry them.”

He met my eyes, determined. “Compromise with me.”

I tried not to smile. “We’ll go during the day.”

“With no security.”

“With Steve.” Steve was the head of security. He didn’t look intimidating, but holy fuck, he was lethal.

He huffed. “And we take an Uber. No van that people notice.”

“An Uber? Are you insane?”

He laughed. “Or we leave in the laundry van or the catering truck, I don’t care. But if we try and leave in our usual van, it’ll be a circus. His store isn’t too far from the stadium so we could go one day before the show.”

I sighed. “I have to tell Ryan and Amber.”

“But—”

“But nothing. I’m not compromising on that. And I’m not lying to them.”

He glared at me and pouted. It was kinda cute, and he knew it. “Fine.”

I smiled. “Fine.”

He took out his phone, scrolled for a second, then put his phone to his ear. “Hello,” he began. “I’d like to make an appointment for tomorrow morning. Yes, I know it’s short notice . . .  Oh, I’m calling on behalf of Maddox Kershaw.”

I rolled my eyes. He was Maddox Kershaw.

But sure enough, five minutes later we had a private meeting tomorrow morning at ten o’clock with the man who was, in Maddox’s opinion, an instrument-making genius.

He was excited and happy, and I’d do anything to see him smile like that.

It was hard to be mad. Even though the others probably wouldn’t feel the same. “We’ll have to be done by eleven to be at the stadium by twelve.”

Maddox nodded. “Easy. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting it happen.”

I gave him a sad smile. “I’ll always do what I can. Without getting myself fired. I know it’s hard, but you’re not a prisoner.”

“Except I am,” he murmured. “Kind of.”

“Feels like it some days, huh?”

His gaze met mine, intense and honest, and he nodded. “And they wouldn’t dare fire you. I wouldn’t let them.”

The way he stared at me, the truth in his eyes, it was as if the air was sucked out of the room. I wasn’t blind and I wasn’t stupid . . . that was a look. He looked at me like he wanted me.

He shook his head and smiled to himself, though it looked almost painful. “Roscoe, I—”

A knock at his door interrupted him. “Open up, dickhead, it’s me.”

Jeremy.

Maddox made a face and went to the door. Jeremy walked right in and stopped dead when he saw me. “Oh, I . . .” He shot Maddox a look I couldn’t quite decipher before he tried to cover it with a smile. “Roscoe! I didn’t know you were here.”

I stood up. “I was just leaving.” I checked my watch. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before hair and make-up. Wardrobe will deal with your clothes.”

“I was going to wear this,” Maddox said jokingly, looking down at his sweatpants and tee.

“It wouldn’t matter what you wore,” Jeremy grumbled. “We could be there all decked out in some designer fits, and you’d still look better than me in your old sweats.”

Maddox shoved his arm. “Shut up. These are not old.”

I took it as my cue to leave. “I’ll see you guys in there. Don’t be late.”

I left them to it, happy to pretend the weirdness that just happened hadn’t happened at all. Maddox looking at me like he did, that holding eye contact, heated stare. He had the fake sultry look for photoshoots or press conferences, but this was . . . this was different.

It was real. And it was aimed at me.

Or maybe I imagined it. Maybe I read it wrong, maybe he was joking. Maybe it was my wishful thinking.

But then Jeremy was weird too. Wasn’t he? There was definitely something unsaid between them when Jeremy saw me in Maddox’s room.

Or maybe I was just imagining things.

I shouldn’t be thinking of Maddox in that way anyway. He trusted me to keep him organized, he trusted me to keep him safe and performing well. Not to be thinking of him like that.

Let it go, Roscoe. Concentrate on your job.

I found Amber and Ryan in the common room, where make-up and hair were setting up. A rack of clothes was put to one side with a privacy divider for the boys to get changed, a long table with water bottles and bags of pretzels and chips and fruit. Staff were milling around getting stuff ready but none of the guys were there yet. The film crew hovered in the background.

“Hey,” I said as I approached Amber and Ryan. “Got a sec?”

They both looked up from their phones. “Sure,” Amber replied.

“So, Maddox has an appointment at a guitar store tomorrow morning at ten,” I explained. “I’ll be taking him alone.”

Ryan did a double take. “Alone?”

“Well, he wanted to go by himself. I compromised and said Steve and I would go with him.”

Amber smirked and shook her head. “Great compromise. At least you got Steve into the equation.”

“I know,” I agreed. “But I told him we have to be at the stadium by twelve. No exceptions.”

“I think Blake was hoping to hit Rodeo Drive tomorrow morning,” Ryan added. “Said it was good publicity to be seen out in public before the show.”

Amber nodded. “I guess if we split up, the paparazzi won’t know who to follow.”

“Well, Maddox wants to take an Uber,” I said. They both stared, wide-eyed. “He said, if he left in a security van, they’d follow him.”

“An Uber?” Amber repeated.

“Well, either that or a laundry truck. He didn’t care.”

Ryan made a thoughtful face. “Can we get a laundry truck?”

I snorted out a laugh. “Highly doubtful. I’m going to find Steve before he gets too busy.”

Steve was giving the security team a last minute run-through, and I called him aside. He was fine on coming with me and Maddox tomorrow, and when I told him it was just us, no one else, no anything, he simply gave a nod and adapted.

There was a reason he was the best.

By the time I got back to the common room, everyone was in go-mode. Hair, make-up, wardrobe, and there was chatter, laughs. Wes was practicing his dance moves and Luke was filming him with his phone. That would end up on Twitter, no doubt.

The film crew stayed in the corner, out of the way, thankfully. It was kind of scary how they blended into the background. I was starting not to notice them, which was a bit concerning.

It took me a second to realize Maddox wasn’t there. I scanned the room—

“Getting changed,” Amber called out, pointing to the room divider.

And sure enough, Maddox came walking out, wearing the tightest pair of black jeans I’d ever seen, buttoning his shirt. I got a brief glance of his chest before the fabric stole it from me. He saw me looking and he raised an eyebrow. Amused? Shocked? Pleased? But he was soon swamped by the wardrobe people fixing his collar, his jeans, his sleeves.

I pretended to be distracted by everything else—anything else—going on. God, I’d seen him get dressed a thousand times. Why was this different?

Because things between you are different now . . .

Were they, though? Maddox and I had always been close. The last few months closer still, but things weren’t that different.

The way he looked at you earlier was different . . .

Thankfully, a few seconds later, Ambrose came in to give us a rundown on vehicles and what to expect when we arrived at the TV studio.

Jeremy was done with hair, Wes was told to get his ass in the chair, Blake’s make-up was done, and it was Maddox’s turn. If there’d ever been a more redundant job, that was it. His face was fucking perfect. All Bibi had to do was gloss over him, and even she joked that he made her feel useless. His skin, his eyes, his lips . . . what could she improve?

But I still envied these staff. The way they got close to him, pulled at his clothes, fixed his hair, the way they got to touch him . . .

Christ, Roscoe.

“Roscoe?” Ambrose said, obviously not for the first time.

I blinked into focus. “Yes, sorry.”

“You here?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“We leave in ten minutes. Be ready.”

When Ambrose was gone, Ryan nudged me. “You good?” he whispered.

I nodded quickly. “Yeah, all good.”

His gaze flickered over to Maddox, who was now having his hair done, and back to me. “Okay then.”

I ignored that and instead focused on Jeremy and Blake who were warming up their voices, singing the song they’d be performing tonight.

Beaconwas their fifth studio album, and the first release off the album was “Fly.” “Fly” was a huge hit in America, and this was the song’s debut delivery for the tour. It needed to be perfect.

And I had no doubt it would be nothing short of perfect tonight.

Once these guys were on stage, they were like fish in water.

The thousands of hours in the recording studio and dance rehearsal studio weren’t for nothing.

“How do I look?” Maddox asked, pulling on his boot.

He was in those goddamned tight black jeans, a crisp white button-down shirt that had a red stripe around one half of his waist. It was a new Versace line, and they each wore something similar but not the same. Enough to match but not overdone. “Perfect,” I answered. “You all look perfect. We ready?”

There were a few cheers as they hyped themselves up, but soon enough we were walking out of the basement elevator to the line of waiting vans. Security opened Maddox’s door, he climbed in, and I followed in after him.

He smelled so good.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Good. Nervous, I guess.”

Singing and dancing in front of eighty thousand people was nothing. In a small studio with an intimate audience and a talk show host prone to ask personal questions was a different beast altogether. I understood that.

“Well, Jeremy and Luke are center now. They’ll be running lead.”

The plan was for Maddox to sit on the end at the back, taking himself out of the spotlight. Most bands had a person who spoke the most, and up until now, that’d always been Maddox, whether he wanted it or not. All interviewers would redirect questions back to him, almost pushing him to say controversial things for ratings.

Don’t get me wrong. Maddox said controversial things all the time. He wouldn’t hold back and he didn’t mince words, and that made him edgy, apparently.

It also made him bait for ratings and publicity.

And Maddox was sick of it. There were five in the band, not just him. It hadn’t worked too well during the press cons on the last tour—reporters would always circle back to Maddox—but we knew it would be a learning curve for everyone.

“You’ll be fine,” I reassured him. “And Luke and Jeremy will be fine too.”

He smiled, his face a warm glow by the fading sunlight through the car windows. “We never got to finish our conversation in my room,” he murmured.

My stomach swooped; my heart came to a screeching halt before stuttering against my ribs. “What conversation was that?”

His smile became a smirky pout. “Oh, I can’t remember now. But I do remember the look on your face when you thought I was gonna ask you to put in a booty call for me.”

Were we dancing into flirt-territory here? I had the feeling we were . . .

Maddox leaned a little closer to me and nudged me with his elbow. “You were stunned, shocked, a little horrified, and if I can guess correctly, I’m gonna go with even a little hurt?”

“Hurt? Why would I be hurt? I wasn’t hurt.”

He raised his eyebrows—his perfectly shaped, face-defining eyebrows—before that smirky pout was back.

Yep, this was definitely him being flirty.

“Just so you know,” I added. “I would do that for you. If that was what you wanted.” Then I realized how that sounded. “I mean, I would call them for you. I wouldn’t be the booty call for you.”

He burst out laughing and put his hand to his heart. “You wait till Ambrose finds out you refused one of my requests.”

I snorted. “Until you tell him that your request was for me to . . . go above and beyond.”

“Is that some kind of position I haven’t heard of? Because I’m trying to picture it.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I lightly tapped his chest with the back of my hand and nodded pointedly to the driver and Steve in the front seat who could probably hear every word. “Are you trying to get me fired?” I whispered.

He looked out his window. “I told you before, I won’t let that happen.”

“Yeah, well, some things are even out of your control,” I murmured.

“I’d just hire you back as my own personal manager without Arlo or Ambrose. Then they can’t say shit.”

“No can do. States in my contract that if I’m fired for any reason, I cannot be rehired by anyone within the company.”

He glared at me. “That’s fucked.”

“That’s the entertainment business.”

He flinched, the tiniest movement, but I saw it on the profile of his face. Something was definitely going on. He was acting so . . . strange.

“Hey, Maddox,” I whispered, and he finally turned to face me. “You okay?”

I expected him to smile, fake or not, and say something like, ‘Sure, why wouldn’t I be?’ like he usually did. But he didn’t. Those beautiful dark eyes met mine.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. Then he wiped his hands on his thighs and let out a breath, and his eyes searched mine. “I dunno, Roscoe. I’m just . . . I don’t know.”

Oh hell, this was not the time or place for this conversation. It needed to happen but we were just a few minutes out from the studio.

So I did something really brave and really stupid.

I held out my hand, palm up, and he looked from my eyes to my hand. Then he slowly slipped his hand onto mine and he sighed at the touch, weaving our fingers. His skin was warm, his hand fit against mine perfectly, and when I glanced up, he had his eyes closed.

I wanted to tell him we would talk after the show. I wanted to tell him a lot of things. I wanted—

“ETA, two minutes,” Steve called out.

Maddox slowly opened his eyes, but his hold on my hand tightened. This was new. This, his hand in mine, his touch, had my heart hammering, my mouth dry. He didn’t let go, but neither did I.

I could say that it was because he obviously needed some kind of reassurance, but it was for my own selfish reasons too.

I wanted to hold his hand.

I wanted to cup his face, caress my thumb along his jaw . . .

It hadn’t always been that way. I’d been his manager for four years. For the first year, my thoughts toward him were strictly professional. But the more time I spent with him, hearing him sing, laugh, watching him dance, practice, perform, the more I got to know him . . .

The last twelve months had been a measure of self-control, to put it nicely.

I thought of him in ways I shouldn’t.

It certainly didn’t hurt that he smiled when he saw me, that he always made his way to me, that he always stood close.

So if he wanted to hold my hand, I wasn’t going to deny him.

The car pulled into the line, and reality dawned. Lights, crowds, yelling, screaming, security, paparazzi, flashing cameras, but in the back of the van there was silence. It was so muted, it felt surreal, almost like being underwater.

Until the doors opened and the noise barreled in. Maddox let go of my hand and he stepped out, waving, smiling, ever professional. I followed him out and went to his side as the crowd pushed in. Security held them, not without effort. The noise, yelling and screaming, was deafening.

The five band members stood together, grinning and posing, while Amber, Ryan, and I stood aside. And my god, they just shone.

The photographers called out, “Maddox, Maddox, Maddox,” trying to get his attention like he was the only one there. As soon as they broke apart and began to move inside, the crowd got louder, closer, and he turned, scanning . . . until he saw me. I was quickly at his side, my hand on his lower back, and security led us inside.

We were ushered through, the boys were led to the green room, and we were given a brief from the production and stage managers. It was all fairly standard and we’d all done this plenty of times, and before we knew it, it was time.

“Please welcome to the stage, worldwide super band, Atrous!”

The crowd was on their feet, screaming and cheering, and the boys filed out, waving and grinning as they took their seats. Just as practiced, with Maddox on the far end at the back, Jeremy and Luke in the front middle.

He looked relaxed and happy and incredibly gorgeous. All of them did. It took a long few seconds for the crowd to quiet down, but eventually the host could speak. He introduced them by name, and of course Maddox got the loudest cheer. He just waved it off with that killer grin, but he said nothing and the host went on. “Kicking off a huge tour of your latest album, Beacon.” He held up a placard with the album cover. “Tell us what this album means.”

And just as practiced, Jeremy took the lead. “‘Beacon’ is the title track,” he began. “It’s been a year of growth for us, and we wanted to reflect that in our music. No matter how far we are from home or from each other, we know a beacon will bring us back.”

“You’ve come a long way,” the host said. “Since you were all in high school, practicing in Maddox’s parents’ garage, is that right?”

The cameras and attention trained in on Maddox. “Yep,” he replied. “And Blake’s dad’s place. And Wes’s folks’ place.” Maddox looked right down the camera and waved. “Hello, Mr. Acosta, and Mr. and Mrs. Holland watching back home. We love you, and Mrs. Holland, especially that spaghetti and meatballs you make for us. We’ll be around for dinner when we get home in two months.”

That was good. He was funny, he completely offloaded the question, made other people the focus, and gave the host a lead-in for another line of questioning. “Two months away from home, that’s a long time,” he said. “It’s back-to-back with your last album, you did a world tour last year, you’ve been in the studio with the new album. You guys haven’t had much time off.”

“Nah,” Jeremy replied. “But we don’t consider this work. It’s like we get up each day and get to do the very thing we love. It even makes putting up with these guys twenty-four seven for two months bearable.”

The audience laughed and the host lapped it up. “Just how much time do you spend together?”

“A lot,” Luke said. “Like, a lot. Even when we’re not touring, we’re with each other most days. We don’t all live together anymore, which is probably a good thing, considering the five of us lived in a three-bedroom house for two years. But Maddox wasn’t joking about going to Wes’s parents’ place for dinner. We will totally do that.”

“They will,” Wes added. “My mom used to say it was like she had five sons.”

“You guys all lived together as well? In a three-bedroom house?”

“Yep,” Jeremy answered. “But it’s just what we had to do. We were young and broke.”

Blake laughed. “We’d all go around to one of our parents’ place every other night for a home-cooked meal so we didn’t starve to death.”

They all laughed, a fond memory, obviously. But a stage director signaled for time. The host pulled a white square of cardboard out from behind his desk. “I was hoping I could interest you guys for a quick game of . . .” He turned the square around. “Twister!”

The audience cheered and the Twister mat was laid on the floor. The host brought the spinner around from his desk and Maddox was quick to jump up and take it. Jeremy, Wes, Luke, and Blake all got ready, pushing and shoving each other, laughing and goading each other.

This was going to look great. Their fans were gonna love it.

These boys were fun; no matter where they went, there was always a laugh to be had.

Until Wes sat down on the floor and took his boots off, then Luke did too, and of course he had on odd socks, which was funny enough, but then he threw Wes’s boot under the host’s desk, and Jeremy rolled his sleeves up, and Blake had the common sense to tuck his shirt in. They cracked knuckles and rolled their necks and pushed and shoved each other. It was two minutes of chaos. Everyone in the audience laughed, and the host found them funny too. This was going to be social media gold.

“They remind me of growing up with my brothers,” the host said to Maddox.

Maddox was holding the spinner thing, smiling at the boys. “They are brothers. In a lot of ways, that’s what we are.”

“But they’re competitive, right?”

Maddox laughed. “They would take a bullet for one another. Literally, lay down their life and sacrifice themselves. No questions, no problem. But any kind of game or challenge, and it’s last man standing, no mercy.” He grinned at the host. “I hope you’ve got insurance.”

The host blinked. “Uh . . .”

Maddox laughed again and spun the board. “Right hand, blue!”

And the typical Atrous pandemonium ensued. It was like Maddox was choreographing a slow-motion brawl. They were all over each other, fighting and shoving for the best spot, yelling and whining and laughing, and it was hilariously funny.

Wes went down first, only because Jeremy kneed him. Jeremy went out next because he was laughing too hard, and Blake and Luke were human pretzels, bodies entangled in ways to keep the Bluke shippers happy forever.

No one ended up winning because Luke fell on top of Blake and they went to the mat in a heap. Maddox jumped down to inspect who might have had a hand or foot on the yellow circle. “Wait.” He got down real close, looking between them. “No winner, but I now pronounce you husband and husband!”

Everyone burst out laughing, and Jeremy crash-hugged Maddox in a way that made my heart warm. It felt so good to see him laugh. The audience roared, and this was going to be on every social media outlet for weeks.

It was perfect.

They were so funny and charming, the song almost seemed secondary. It was the debut live performance for “Fly,” and they sang and danced with the precision they were famous for. It was faultless. Each of them a part of the whole, a complete and concise team, though I was biased to think Maddox shone a little brighter.

When it was all over, the boys went backstage and they were on a high. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders, almost dancing their way back to the waiting van. The crowd was bigger, the shouts and calls for Maddox’s attention seemed louder, to which he gave a quick wave before he climbed into the waiting van.

I followed him in, the door slid shut behind us, blocking out the noise, and our world fell silent.

“You guys were so good tonight,” I said. “How do you feel?”

He was a little sweaty, his face was flushed, his smile was genuine. “That felt good. Our timing was tight.”

“You looked great, sounded amazing.”

He only rolled his eyes a little bit, but he nodded. “The seat arrangement worked, mostly.”

“It did. Jeremy and Luke were great.”

He smirked. “Twister was fun.”

I chuckled. “Your fans are gonna love that.”

He smiled and let out a big sigh. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“Relieved?”

Maddox nodded and let his head fall back onto the headrest. “I never used to get so nervous.” He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry about before. On the way here. I was kinda freaking out.”

“It’s fine,” I replied. “If you ever need to hold my hand, you can.”

I’d meant that as a bit of a joke, even though it wasn’t, but then he opened his eyes and stared at me. His eyes on mine, dark and so brutally imploring. He didn’t speak. He just stared at me, and I couldn’t have said another word, even if I’d wanted to.

It was dark outside, and inside the van the only lights were passing streetlights and traffic. His gorgeous face flashed into neon view in time with my thundering heart. He lifted his hand, palm up, an offering for me to hold it.

Oh man . . .

I skimmed my fingertips up his palm before I wove his fingers with mine. His lips parted; his eyes burned into me.

This was . . . this was a bad idea, diving headfirst into dangerous waters. It had trouble written all over it. But it was exhilarating and wonderful, and it felt so, so right.

And so help me fucking god, he smiled.

We didn’t speak, not another word, not even when the car pulled up at the hotel. He squeezed my hand as the door was opened, and he let go. I followed him inside and we rode the elevator with Jeremy and Luke, and they were still buzzed about the show, so Maddox and I couldn’t talk.

We were going to have to talk.

They ordered Chinese food and sat around the common room eating and talking shit. Maddox was a bit quiet but he seemed okay. Amber, Ryan, and I sat separate from them and discussed our plans for the next day, though my attention was sitting across the room with his Versace shirt half-unbuttoned—

“Everything okay?” Ryan asked.

I shook my head, more at myself for getting caught out. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“He was brilliant tonight,” Amber murmured.

I nodded. “They all were.”

Amber went straight back to the itinerary, but Ryan studied me for a moment. I ignored him and pretended the list in front of me was the most fascinating thing I’d seen and that Ryan was trying to put together dots that didn’t exist.

“I’m calling it a night,” Maddox said, standing up. “Big day tomorrow, and we’re gonna kick ass.” He held his hand out and the four others covered his hand with theirs.

“Atrous,” they said together.

It was their thing. Their name, their catch-cry, their brother song.

It made everyone in the room smile.

Maddox threw his takeout container and empty water bottle in the trash and got halfway to the door. He looked over to us, to me. “Roscoe,” he said, nodding to the door.

What the hell?

Okay, maybe we were going to talk about what happened in the car? Maybe we weren’t.

I gave Ryan and Amber a nod, took my itinerary list—ignored the film crew panning the camera to me—and followed Maddox out the door. We walked in silence to his room, my heart thumping louder with every step. He swiped his card, stepped inside, and held the door open for me.

I knew it was wrong. I should have said no.

But I looked him right in the eye and went into his room.