Code Red by N.R. Walker

Chapter Four

“Is everything okay?”I asked, trying to play it cool. If he noticed my voice was deeper, rougher, he never let on. I stood beside the table and he walked past me, close enough for me to smell him . . . or maybe it was just because I was in his room.

“Yeah,” he replied, collecting the TV remote and turning it on to some movie, the volume on mute. “Did you just wanna hang out?”

Hang out?

What the . . . ?

“I know you’ve probably got a thousand things you need to do,” he continued. “And that’s cool. I just . . .” He made a face and pulled a shirt out of his suitcase.

“You just what?” I prompted.

He undid another button on his shirt. And another, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep eye contact and not look at the skin he was revealing. “I just . . . I don’t want to be around people right now. I’m kinda all peopled out,” he replied. He took a measured breath and whispered, “But I don’t want to be alone.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay, sure.”

I didn’t know what that meant—that he chose me, that he felt comfortable enough with me and not one of the boys—but I wasn’t going to say no to him.

He disappeared into his en suite bathroom, keeping the door open. “Did you have enough to eat?” he called out.

That made me almost laugh. “Uh, yeah.”

He came out wearing his sweatpants and his T-shirt. “What’s so funny?”

“Normally that’s a me-question to you, not a you-question to me.”

He chuckled and took a black toiletry bag out of his suitcase. “If you’re still hungry, just call room service. Or there’s more mineral water in the fridge.”

“Not at fifty bucks a pop, I’m good thanks.”

He laughed as he went back into the bathroom. The door stayed open again, and I heard the water run. I began to wonder what the hell he was doing when he appeared with a face full of soap and a towel over his shoulder. He was rubbing circles on his cheeks, removing his make-up. “Have the mineral water, Roscoe. I’ll have a water, thanks.”

He disappeared again so I went to the fridge, got two drinks, and went back to the table. Maddox came back out, fresh-faced, the front of his hair wet. He ran his fingers through it, looking fine as hell, and took the bottle of water I offered him. Then he sat on the bed, resting against the headboard, his legs stretched out. He watched me as he took a sip of his water, as if he was trying to choose his next words carefully. “So what does Roscoe Hall do in his downtime?”

I smiled. Christ, we were doing small talk. “You assume I have downtime?”

He nodded, like he either understood or should have known better than to ask that question. “Your job’s just as demanding as mine, huh?”

I shrugged with a sigh. “I highly doubt that.”

“But you don’t have a life outside of . . . this?”

“Not really. But this isn’t exactly a chore. I get to travel the world and see and do a lot of things not many people get to see or do.”

“When was the last time you saw your family?”

“Uh, I speak to them often enough.”

“Is that the same?”

“They live in Vermont,” I said. He knew that much. “I moved to LA years before I began working with you, so I’d see them no more if I worked a desk job somewhere.”

He pouted and chewed the inside of his lip. “Why did you move to LA?”

“Because rural Vermont wasn’t gay enough for me. I considered New York City but I wanted sunshine and winters without snow.”

He scrunched his nose up. “Snow . . .  Oh, did you play hockey? I can totally picture you wearing all that gear.” His eyebrow quirked upward. “Not exactly a terrible visual.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I played hockey.”

“Nice.” He nodded slowly. “But you call LA home now?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“You know, I’ve never seen your apartment. You know everything about me, mostly. Hell, I don’t even know if you live in an apartment or a house.”

Well, shit. He wasn’t dipping his toe into personal territory, he was just diving right in.

“I have an apartment,” I replied. “In West Hollywood.”

“Nice,” he said casually.

“If by nice you mean small and old, then yes.”

He smiled at me. “Kinda close to mine.”

It may as well be a million miles apart. “Kinda.”

He scratched at the label on the water bottle. “Do you . . . do you have a roommate? Or a . . . shared living arrangement?”

“A shared living arrangement?” I repeated, because fucking hell, he wasn’t just asking me if I lived with someone. He was asking if I was seeing anyone. “Uh, no. I don’t live with anyone. And I’m not seeing anyone.”

His eyes flashed to mine, and I knew I was right. “You were though, right? In the beginning? There was a guy. I can’t remember his name. Adam, Matthew, Peter, Paul, something biblical.”

I was surprised he remembered that, considering it was so long ago. He’d never mentioned it to me before. “His name was Mark.”

He looked me right in the eye. “What happened?”

“I didn’t have the time.” Which was a nice way to put that my job—that he, Maddox—took up my every waking minute.

“Ouch. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” I shrugged. “I had a houseplant once. I couldn’t even keep that alive.”

He smirked. “The poor plant.” He studied me for a long moment. “Do you miss it?”

“Miss what? The fern? We weren’t that close.”

He laughed. “No. Having someone.”

I took a long sip of my drink while I contemplated my answer. I shook my head. “No. I have five men that keep me busy enough. One more so than the other four.”

The corner of his lip twitched in an almost-smile, but it didn’t last long. “Do you get lonely?”

Jesus, he just kept on with the hard questions.

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “Do you?”

He was quiet, and I wondered if he was going to answer at all. Eventually he nodded. “Yeah. I do.” He turned the water bottle around in his hand, frowning at it. “The nights are the worst.”

“I’m normally checking itineraries or schedules, ordering stuff, or confirming appointments till all hours,” I said. I didn’t want to say outright that I didn’t have time to be lonely, even if it was partially the truth.

Maddox’s frown deepened. “I usually write lyrics or music, or I play around with compositions or mix tapes. Play guitar or hit the piano for a bit. But . . .” He shrugged again. “I spend most of my nights alone.”

“Is that why you asked me to come back with you tonight?”

His gaze shot to mine. “Is it weird? If you think it’s weird—”

“No, I don’t think it’s weird,” I said quickly. “I like that you asked me.”

A faint color tinted his cheeks.

Holy freaking hell. Maddox Kershaw just blushed.

“I trust you,” he whispered, focusing on the water bottle.

“You can trust Jeremy. And Blake, and Luke, and Wes.”

“Yeah, I know. Of course, I can.” He shook his head, frowning again. “But this is different.”

“Different?”

“Well, yeah.”

“How?”

“Because it’s different with you. It’s quieter, for a start, and I know you’re here but it’s just . . . comfortable. Which probably sounds weird, but you just let me be. I don’t feel like I need to be on when I’m with you. I don’t need to be funny, or ready to perform, or practice, or talk about routines or songs, or if we should change the set or a dance line.” He let out a long breath. “It’s nothing against the guys. I love them, I love being with them. But it’s like I either have noise and chaos with them, or if I need time out it means being isolated, which wears me down.” Maddox gave me a small smile. “You’re like an in-between.”

I smiled at him. That was the most honest thing he’d said to me about how he was feeling in months. “Well, I’m glad. I like being your in-between. And just so you know, if you want to vent or bitch about anything, whatever you tell me stays between us.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

“Things haven’t been easy these last few months,” I added. “I know your feet have barely hit the ground, and here we are kicking off a tour and these next six or seven weeks are going to be rough, especially toward the end. But Maddox, if you ever need a second to relax, just say the word. Just let me know, and I’ll do whatever I can to make it easier for you.”

“So I just have to say the word? Like a magic word or a secret service code word?”

I chuckled. “Any word you want.”

He gave me a cheeky smirk. “And you’ll do anything?”

God, the way he raised that eyebrow . . .

Now it was me who blushed. “I said I’ll do whatever I can. Not anything you want. Certainly nothing illegal. It’ll be a bit hard for me to do my job if I’m in prison.”

He grinned. “Just what do you think I’m going to ask you to do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really care. As long as it’s not illegal.”

“Have a beer with me.”

“A beer? I thought you made it a point not to drink on tours?”

“No, I made it a point not to drink alone in a hotel room. Because that’s a slippery slope that leads to a whole range of bad decisions.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. “But I’m not alone. You’re here.”

It still sounded like a bad decision . . .

He went to the bar fridge, pulled out two green bottles, and handed one to me. “And you said you’d do anything as long as it’s not illegal, and having a beer isn’t illegal.”

I took the bottle. “I’ll have one. Just one.”

Maddox grinned victoriously and plonked himself back on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He took a swig of his beer, found the remote control, and aimed it at the TV. “Let’s see what movies are on.”

“Morning,”I said to Amber as I carried two takeout carriers of coffees into the meeting room. I put them down and handed her hers.

“Thanks,” she said. “You’re up early today.”

“I’ve already done an hour of cardio in the gym. Figured some caffeine would be appreciated.”

“I’m sure it will be. So,” she hedged. “Late night?”

I shot her a look. “Not really. And I know what you’re thinking. But you can stop it right there.”

“I’m not saying anything,” she countered, sipping her coffee with a smile. “And I would never question your professionalism. But . . .”

“But what?”

“But I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

My blood ran hot and cold at the same time. It made me light-headed. “The way he looks at me?”

“Come on, Roscoe. You have to have noticed the change in him.”

Of course I had.

“The last six months have been . . . tough on him.” I shrugged. “You know he gets treated different. The pressure, the scrutiny, the criticism, it’s all aimed at him.”

She nodded. This had been discussed many times before. “He looks for you. On the very few brief moments you’re not glued to his side, he looks for you.”

“Because I’m his manager. I keep him organized.”

She shook her head. “It’s different now.”

“How different?”

“I think he likes you.” She leveled a knowing smirk at me. “I think he’s developed romantic feelings for you.”

I stared at her and my mouth fell open. When I’d resumed the ability to speak, all that came out was, “No.”

She shrugged. “I know you wouldn’t do anything, so don’t stress. Just be careful with him. It could get ugly if it gets complicated.”

My head was spinning a little, my mind was racing and my heart felt as though it was about to gallop out of my chest. “Has Ryan said anything?” I realized then how that sounded. “I mean, has he noticed anything? Have any of the boys said anything?”

“No,” she answered. “Relax. It’s just me. I notice these things. And when he called you over to leave with him last night, I just wondered . . .”

“He doesn’t want to be alone,” I admitted quietly. “He likes me being there because I don’t hassle him for anything. It’s like he has downtime away from everyone without being alone. And I’m telling you this in confidence, Amber. Please don’t repeat it.”

Her eyes cut to mine, filled with nothing but concern. “He doesn’t want to be alone? He’s always pushed for alone time.”

“And now he’s not. I think the pressure of everything is getting to him; the last album and tour, then going straight back into the studio for this album, and now this tour. I can’t tell you when he last had a real day off. Even when he’s at home, he’s working on something. So yeah, I’m being cautious with him. If he wants me to sit in his room and do some paperwork while he remixes tracks or practices his vocals, then I will.”

Or watch movies, or have a beer . . .

“Okay,” she relented. “I just worry. About all of them. But I have noticed how he is around you lately. He has eyes for you. And if you weren’t aware of it, then now you are. And if Ambrose catches wind of it, then . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t want to see Maddox hurt and you reassigned. Our contracts with Platinum are pretty clear on that. Tread carefully, Roscoe, that’s all I’m saying.”

Reassigned . . .

The doors opened and the five boys walked in, still bleary-eyed and messy-haired. Ryan followed them in like he’d herded five grumpy puppies. It was hard not to smile. “Coffee, boys,” I said. I held Ryan’s out to him and he took it gratefully.

The band took theirs and made their way over to the breakfast bar. There were cereals and toast, eggs and bacon, and juices all laid out. It was concert day, after all. That meant a big breakfast. Then they’d eat about two hours before the concert and eat again afterwards.

They knew the routine.

But this morning, directly after breakfast and before a full dress rehearsal at the stadium, I was taking Maddox to a guitar shop. Without our security team, without the whole convoy.

I watched the boys gather their breakfast and saw that Maddox did attempt to eat some bacon and toast, but as usual, he mostly stuck to coffee. He chatted a bit, even managed to smile once or twice. He never was much of a morning person.

Until I felt Amber’s eyes on me and I turned to find her watching me watch him. Christ. How long was I staring at him for? “Tread carefully,” she repeated.

Knowing Ryan was out of earshot, I said, “Now I’m waiting for him to search for me like you said he did. Which he hasn’t. So, just how sure are you about that? Because I don’t think—”

She gave a pointed glance in his direction, and sure as hell, Maddox was now watching me. When my eyes met his, he smiled and didn’t look away.

“Pretty sure,” Amber answered. “Every time, Roscoe.”

Fuck.

My heart was knocking in my chest. Figuring it was best to pretend it wasn’t true, I shook my head at her and collected my clipboard on my way to where the boys were seated. “Morning,” I said, brightly. “Big day ahead of us. But first, some details . . .”

The plan wasfor the four others to go with Amber and Ryan in the full van convoy. To the crowd outside and to the papzz, it would look like the whole team was on the move together. Maddox and I, with Steve, would leave a few minutes later in a delivery van, heading in the opposite direction.

Steve got in the front passenger seat and Maddox and I climbed into the back, sitting opposite each other like in those army trucks in a war movie. He grinned at me as if this was the most exciting thing he’d ever done. He was dressed head to toe in his usual black: military-style cargo pants and boots, long-sleeve shirt, and a cap.

He looked good. He always looked so damned good.

After we’d driven for a while in silence, he said, “This is fun,” his smile wide.

I chuckled at him. “You can thank the boys for agreeing to run interference for you.”

Maddox’s smile was warm. “I can’t believe they’re going to Rodeo Drive. Of all places. They could go any day they wanted.”

I didn’t mention the publicity stunt. “Luke wanted some jeans from Saint Laurent.”

He sighed. “I asked them to get me a coat.”

“Let me guess,” I joked. “In black.”

His smile was perfect pink lips and white teeth. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Are the nerves starting to kick in for tonight?” The day of the first concert was always the worst for nerves.

He scrunched his nose up a little. “A bit.”

Which meant he was a lot nervous. Going to this guitar store was probably a good distraction. Because in a few hours, they’d be at the stadium going through a full rehearsal before the concert. And once the tour officially kicked off, it didn’t stop for seven weeks.

“So,” he said. “What were you and Amber talking about this morning?”

“When?”

“At breakfast. You looked none too pleased.”

Crap.

“Oh, nothing. Just trying to figure out schedules for today. We can’t be late back to the stadium.”

Maddox nodded slowly. “You need to work on your bullshit face. Because that was bullshit and you’re a terrible liar.”

“My bullshit face. Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

He held my gaze. Those dark eyes would be the death of me. “Don’t get me wrong, I like that you can’t lie. You’ve never been good at it. But I don’t know if it’s admirable that you keep trying or if it’s a lost cause. I can give you lessons if you like?”

“Lessons on how to lie?”

“Yep.”

“Do you lie often?”

“Every day.”

I squinted at him. “How so? What do you— Do you lie to me?”

“Sometimes. Though you know when I lie to you too, so we’re about even.”

“Do I?”

“Sure. You flinch when you know I’m lying.” He studied my face. “Well, it’s not so much a full flinch, but you do this thing with your eyes. They tighten or something. I’d call that a flinch.”

I could not believe this conversation. “When do you lie to me?”

“Roscoe,” he chided. “You know when.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“When you ask me if I’m okay.”

“You say yes or yeah. Or you nod.”

“And you flinch. I lie, and you pretend you don’t know it’s a lie. It’s the game we play every day, Roscoe.”

What the actual fuck?

I kicked his boot with mine, maybe a little harder than I meant to. “Hey.”

He smiled. “What?”

“This isn’t a game we play. If you’re not okay, you need to tell me. Be honest with me.”

Those imploring onyx eyes were alight with daring. “How honest do you want me to be?” he whispered.

My stomach swooped and I was suddenly very nervous. “Completely,” I replied, not much louder than him. “One hundred percent.”

He licked his lips, and that peek of pink tongue nearly ended me. He clearly noticed me looking at his mouth because his smile became a little smug, and he tapped my boot with his. “Only if you’re completely honest with me.”

“ETA, one minute,” Steve called out from the front seat. “The address is coming up now.”

Maddox sighed, and I was honestly not sure what to say. Things were getting weird between us, the ground was shifting beneath my feet, and I knew it was a bad idea. But I also knew I wasn’t going to stop it.

Because if he wanted to look at me like that, if he wanted to hold my hand, if he wanted to spend time with me, I certainly wasn’t going to say no.

“Looks clear,” Steve added. The van slowed and came to a stop. Steve jumped out and opened the van door for us. He stood aside, Maddox went out first, and I followed him, slipping inside the front doors of the store seemingly unnoticed.

The store itself looked like most guitar stores I’d been in, and I’d seen the inside of a few over the years. Maddox played the keyboard and piano as well. Mostly for composing and mixing with his software, but he loved his guitars.

However, this store was a tad smaller, and while guitars lined the walls, they didn’t appear to be for sale. They were mostly signed, that I could see, anyway. A young woman greeted us, aiming straight for Maddox. She held out her hand, which he shook. “Dana-Rae,” she said, red cheeks and a little giggly. Seeing women and men flustered around him was nothing new.

Still, I tried not to be annoyed.

Then an older man walked out, who I sincerely thought was Willie Nelson until he spoke and I realized he wasn’t. He grinned as he came to us, and he also went straight for Maddox. “Good morning,” he said. “Iver Rigby.”

Maddox shook his hand, bright-eyed and grinning. It was weird to see him so excited, as if he were the one meeting a celebrity. “Maddox Kershaw,” Maddox said. Then he put his hand on my lower back. “This is my guy, Roscoe.”

My guy.

He’d just called me that. Not my manager, not my assistant, not his babysitter, as he’d sometimes joked.

My guy.

With his hand on my back.

Like he was introducing a personal friend?

Reeling from whatever the hell that meant, I shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Roscoe Hall. Nice to meet you.”

Steve, I realized, was standing a few meters away with his back to us, between us and the front door. There were two other customers in the store, who hadn’t really paid us much attention, looking at a guitar on the far wall.

“Come this way,” Iver said. He led us toward the rear of the store, through a door, and down a short hall into what appeared to be a low-key recording studio. The walls were of a wooden acoustic design. There was a range of instruments and a mixing desk with a few different screens.

Maddox looked like a kid in a candy store.

He sampled a few guitars, discussing specifics with Iver and terminology and muso-speak that went over my head. Maddox clearly favored one kind of guitar in particular because he kept going back to it. I assumed he liked it because it was sleeker than the others until he strummed a few bars of “Fly,” singing slow and smooth.

He sounded like an angel.

Iver sat back in his seat and sighed. “That’s some magic right there,” he said. “I think we’ve found ourselves a winner.”

Maddox blushed a little. “Can you make me one? I’ll be out of town for a couple of months though.”

“I can do you one better,” he replied. “You can take this one if you want.”

Maddox’s face looked like he’d just won the lottery. “For real? I can take it today?”

Iver nodded. “I made it a few months back. It’s even numbered like the rest of them. I just had it here as a demo because you said on the phone you wanted a cutaway electric-acoustic. I like to see what kind fits the person, but I bet we can stop looking.”

Maddox grinned at me, and it struck my insides much the same way he plucked the strings. He played a few riffs and it sounded so good.

I could have watched him play all day.

But we were running out of time. Maddox was expected at the stadium soon, so he asked for it to be delivered to the hotel, and after he’d handed over his card and everything was settled, he slid onto the seat at the keyboard and proceeded to play some of his songs. Familiar melodies with his incredible vocals . . .

It was stripped bare and genuine, and all Iver could do was smile and shake his head. “Guess no one can accuse him of using Auto-Tune,” he said to me.

I almost snorted. “Ah, no.”

There was a light knock on the door, and Steve poked his head in. “We’re getting some attention.”

Which was his way of saying it was time to go, and it was time to go now.

Maddox posed with Iver for a quick photo or two, he signed a guitar on the wall—alongside Slash, Dave Grohl, Robbie Williams, and a few others—and we said our goodbyes. There was a bit of a crowd growing, though they were outside. The driver had the van pulled up out front, so Steve took the lead and I stayed by Maddox’s side, between him and the curious crowd.

People called his name, but thankfully they kept a respectful distance, and he waved for their photos before he darted into the back of the van. I followed him, the door slid closed behind us, Steve got in the front, and we were gone.

Maddox was beaming. He was so happy it was contagious. “I can’t believe I get it today. You know some people have to wait weeks or months, and I get it today. A freaking Iver Rigby original. I get to take it on tour with me.”

I loved that he was so happy, thrilled even. But it meant he made no attempt to hold my hand, and that was disappointing. But was he sitting a little closer than necessary? Or was that wishful thinking on my part? His knee bumped mine, his shoulder, his thigh . . . and suddenly holding his hand seemed irrelevant.

Focus, Roscoe.

Needing a distraction, I pulled out my phone and let Amber and Ryan know we were on schedule and on route to Pasadena. Maddox pushed his side against mine to read my phone screen. “They’re on their way now too,” I said, desperately trying not to think about his body against mine.

“You have thirty-four unread messages,” he noted.

“Most of those will be from Ambrose.” I opened Messages, and yes, Ambrose’s name appeared a lot.

“Christ.”

“Well, we’re on tour, it’s concert day, our first concert, mind you, and we’re off on our own,” I explained. “With one security guard.”

Maddox’s eyes met mine, his face so, so close. “Is he bitching at you? Because this was my idea.”

“Not really. He’ll just be stressing out until you’re all at the stadium. You know how he is.” I opened the first message and held the phone so Maddox and I could read it together.

He slid his hand up my wrist, tender and scorching hot, until he half-held the phone, and half-held my hand. “Do you mind if I read this?”

“I don’t hide anything from you, Maddox,” I replied, my voice rougher than I’d intended.

He looked at me, our faces just a few inches apart. He was devastatingly handsome. Ridiculously beautiful. His flawless skin, dark eyelashes, and it was hard to tell where his pupils ended and his irises began.

He was a work of art.

His lips were pink and slightly parted, perfect for kissing.

All the magazines and websites that had voted him sexiest man alive had no freaking idea just how hot and sexy he was up this close.

“You have the cutest freckles across your nose,” he whispered, blush tinting his cheeks. “They’re kinda faded, but those are definitely freckles.”

Oh god.

“And your eyes are so blue,” he whispered, and I was almost certain I wasn’t supposed to hear it. His gaze went from my eyes to my lips and back up to my eyes.

Fucking hell, was he about to kiss me?

I realized, somehow, that his hand was now on my thigh. It was burning through my jeans.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured, barely audible.

“Like what?”

He smiled, smug and beautiful. “Like you want to kiss me.”

My heart banged against my ribs so hard it almost hurt. I tried to tell him no, he was wrong. I wasn’t looking at him like that. He was looking at me like that.

But I couldn’t get the air out to form words.

He looked at my mouth again, then slowly drew his gaze up to mine. He licked his lips. “I wouldn’t say no,” he whispered.

Steve’s voice from the front of the van startled us both. “ETA, one minute. We’re coming up to the stadium entrance now.”

It was like a bucket of cold water, snapping us both out of whatever trance we were in.

Except his hand stayed on my thigh.

And when I dared risk a look at his face, he smiled.

Fuck.