Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

27. Raina

T he last five days off were a breath of fresh air, quite literally. We finally got to sit around the fire for a time each day using up the wood the guys chopped. And what’s better than that, we started to bond.

Don’t get me wrong, it felt all kinds of strange without Tristan there, but it was good to immerse myself in all things music. We worked on putting together a few other songs from my notebook. It was a type of therapy I never knew I needed in my life, something I’ve missed dreadfully since Tristan and I parted ways.

It was a reminder of how things should’ve been all along.

On top of it all, the animosity we had toward Darius almost dissipated. There’s still a lingering doubt that sneaks in every once in a while, but for the most part, I’m happy to listen to my gut. The guys have even been friendly with him, letting him join our fun.

Somehow, I didn’t realize how much the tension was affecting me. It’s difficult to live life with a shroud of anxiety pressing in on you. And that’s what it was, anxiety that at any second we’d be betrayed, that anything we said or did would be plastered across the headlines.

Keaton still isn’t talking as much as he was, Darius’ presence having made him retreat back into himself, but that’s just who he is, and I’m okay with that.

I flop onto the couch in the dressing room, resting my head on Blake’s lap. He looks down at me and runs his hand over my wet head. “Really, Bunny? You’re getting my pants all wet.”

It’s hard to believe we’ve had the past five days off with how exhausted I am already. From the moment we pulled up to the venue, we’ve been dragged all over the place.

Dance rehearsals adding in a sequence with Darius and me, sound checks, more dance rehearsals.

Honestly, Blake should be happy I’m fresh out of the shower and not a sweaty mess.

“I’m so tired,” I moan, not wanting to move.

He sighs, threading his fingers gently through my damp hair. “I know,” Blake murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to my weary soul. “But you’re doing amazing.”

His touch is gentle, dare I say loving, as if he understands that this simple act of comfort means the world to me. His fingertips trace a path over my scalp, sending shivers of pleasure along my spine. His other hand comes to rest on my shoulder, grounding me in the familiarity of his touch.

After a few minutes of relaxing, Keaton moves to stand in front of us, his hand held out much like he did the other night. This time he leads me to the chair in front of the dressing table, the bright lights shining in my face. I’d much prefer the destination of the last time—my bed in the back of the bus, darkness of the night, and his arms wrapped around me.

I plonk into the seat, lacking any grace in my body right now. They should’ve thought about this before they wore me out to the bone with practice before a show. Now I won’t even have the energy to lift the bedazzled microphone they make me hold off and on through the performance.

My poor fans will be so disappointed with my lack of enthusiasm.

Keaton runs a brush through my hair, and I relax into the sensation. I won’t be mad if this becomes a habit. Blinking my tired eyes open, I meet his gaze in the mirror.

I’ve got you, Peaches.

I give him a weak smile. “Thanks, big guy.”

He’s almost finished drying my long blonde strands when Nash comes through the door. His hand is hidden behind his back, and I eye him suspiciously.

“Nashy?”

His grin grows wider. “I’m about to be your hero.” He wiggles his eyebrows and flicks his lip ring side to side with his tongue. “Say I’m your favorite, baby.”

Keaton flicks the blowdryer off and sets it in its holder on the side of the counter. The weight of his hands rest on my shoulders, his thumbs digging into my sore muscles, blissfully rubbing the tension out of them.

I let out a moan, drawing all three of their gazes, the heat in their eyes reminding me of their Valentine’s gift to me. We really need to do that again.

I’m your favorite, aren’t I? Keaton asks with a raised eyebrow.

A soft chuckle falls out of my lips.

“What? What did he say?” Nash asks, glancing from me to Keaton and back.

Warmth fills me with the confirmation of the connection I share with Keaton. Even his best friends can’t read him as well as I can. “Sorry, Nashy. He’s in competition for favorite.”

Nash chuckles, a confident smirk gracing his face. Fuck is that expression irresistible. “Is that so? Not for long, brother.” He reveals what’s behind his back, setting the coffee cup in front of me.

“Coffee!” I don’t have time to be embarrassed about the squeal that accompanied the word. My hands wrap around the hot beverage and I hold it to my nose, taking in the life giving fragrance.

Nash’s fingers land on the bottom of my chin, guiding my head to face him as he leans in. “Who’s your favorite now?”

“I love you,” I sigh, happiness and warmth surrounding me like a hug.

“You talking to me, or the coffee there, baby?” I don’t answer Nash. He doesn’t need to know that it was him. I lean in and kiss him, his lips soft and tender, taking the affection I give him with a lazy pace. His tongue brushes across mine, making my nipples ache with how hard they get.

I break the kiss with a disbelieving gasp. “You took a sip of my coffee! How dare you!”

His eyes are hooded with the heat of our kiss, but it doesn’t take away from his quick reply. “I recall you sharing things meant for your mouth before with no problem.”

Blake groans behind me, and a blush heats my cheeks. I’m so thrown off my game, not expecting that memory to come to mind, that nothing comes out when I open my mouth.

Thankfully, the bathroom door opens, Darius coming in shirtless. Why do all these guys insist on turning me on so much before shows? Was I always this thirsty of a bitch all along, or did the drugs hide it from me?

Our newest member wipes the remaining droplets of water from his chest with a towel before he throws it onto the couch and tugs a shirt from his back pocket.

He eyes how close Nash and I still are, his fingers on my chin holding me here with his lips inches from mine. There’s no mistaking we were kissing not even a minute ago.

“Izzy wasn’t far behind me.” He winks at me then covers his muscular chest with a tight fitting T-shirt instead of his usual band shirts he likes to wear.

A knock comes at the door and Nash steps away from me, leaving me with the life-giving yumminess in my hands. I take a sip, enjoying the flavor.

“Come in,” I call.

Izzy opens the door, her tablet in hand and her large purse over her shoulder. “Oh good, everyone is here.” She directs her attention to me as she takes a seat on the couch. “Sorry for giving you such a busy day, but we didn’t have a choice with the break.”

“Don’t worry about it. I understand days off come at a cost.” I suck in a deep breath through my nose and take another drink, letting the caffeine do its job. I’m already feeling a tad less exhausted.

“Excellent work in the dance rehearsals, the fans will love it. I also want to commend you on the videos you’ve been posting. Everyone is loving seeing the real you and behind-the-scenes glimpses. I love your new song. We should think about adding it to your performance.” She crosses her legs like she’s preparing to give me difficult news.

“You have the performance coming up soon, and afterwards there’s a party.”

My gut clenches, and I hold my hand up, cutting her off. “No after parties. I don’t do those anymore.”

She pauses for a second, blinking slowly at the abrupt interruption, before her features soften. “I get that, but can you hear me out for a second?”

I wait for her to continue. Usually when people say something like that, they continue on with what they want to say, but she doesn’t. She’s truly asking me, and won’t continue without me agreeing.

That’s so freaking refreshing.

“Yeah, go ahead.” I sit back and relax even more when Keaton’s strong hands knead at my shoulders.

“I understand your reluctance for after parties. Trust me, I’ve seen some of the ones you’re thinking of first hand. But this one is something I planned myself with the assistance of my team. This will be a clean party to go along with your new wholesome image of being in the industry purely for the love of music. Only alcohol allowed, no drugs or sex.

“If these functions weren’t so important, I wouldn’t even suggest it.” An expression quickly passes over her face like she knows what I’ve been through, and I suddenly wonder what other clients she has or had in the past. “It’s a grueling but necessary part of your job, Raina. It gives you a chance to schmooze with critics and industry bigwigs who can help support you once you’re free of that monster.”

I’m more convinced than ever she really knows what’s happened to me.

“It will give them a glimpse of the real you without the label painting a false narrative. This will be good for you, I promise. If it’s not, I’ll let you dump a bucket of blue dye on me. Stain my skin so I look like a Smurf.” She smiles, and I can’t help but laugh at the image she painted.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try. But only for you, Izzy. If it sucks, I’m leaving.” I finish my coffee and leave the empty cup on the counter. “Anything else before I finish getting ready?”

“We set up a fan meet and greet. Would you be willing to meet with them? Our plan is to snag some from the line outside before they open the doors any minute now.”

I freeze for a moment, remembering the last time I had a meet and greet. The sleazeball guy who thought he could touch me and the women who threw themselves at any man they could. I glance at my guys, worried I might rip some hair out if anyone tries to get near them. As far as any fans are aware, I’m only dating Darius. And that’s fake as fuck.

Darius moves to my side, his body blocking my view of Izzy as his lips brush across my ear. His hand lands on mine and Keaton’s hold tightens on my shoulders like he wants to push him off. The guys might be closer, but they still don’t like the idea of the fake dating bit.

“I know what you’re worried about. The team will choose true Raina fans. It won’t be that bullshit they brought in before. It’ll be like the other day when we talked to fans after the show. I’ll be there with you.” He pauses, then adds, “We all will be.”

I’m not sure how many more times I’ll need to be reminded that I’m no longer alone, but apparently it’s one more.

“Meet and greet it is. Let’s do it.” I’m not sure if I can handle anything else new being thrown at me today, but I might as well add insult to injury. “Is there any news on Tristan?”