I have never once in my entire existence felt jealousy on this scale. A sickening, winding, constricting snake, squeezing and crumpling my windpipe, its fangs devouring every inch of me from the inside out.
“I guess you want to leave,” he says softly.
“No!” I practically bark at him. There’s no chance in hell I’m leaving him alone with that prick. The way he got under his skin. He’s so fucking pathetic, and August’s so caring, and I’d rather let this whole universe go up in flames than leave them alone together for one more nanosecond.
His eyes, understandably, widen at my very transparent display of way too much affection screaming to get out. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You seem kind of…”
“I’m fine,” I snap. “Totally fine. Are we going down?”Totallyfine. As far as August needs to know, I don’t have a problem in the world. I’m not at all fazed. I’m completely fine and stickingaround till the end and not leaving his side for a minute during their ‘talk.’
Just me, standing quietly by, ready to punch that guy in the face if he lays a hand on August. “Lead the way.”
He doesn’t say anything, only grabs our beers and passes me mine before lowering his head with his pretty flushed cheeks, walking out ahead of me, down the stairs, threading through the sea of people.
God, if there were only some way for me to come between them.
He said he’s ready to move on—I heard him loud and clear. But then a second later, that guy was all over him, that bastard, with his filthy lips on August’s precious hand.
How can he let him kiss him? How can he do it right in front of me?
As quickly as the thought occurs to me, I try to stamp it down.
August owes me nothing. He can’t have any idea how strong my feelings are, and I can’t act on them.
My stomach flips, remembering my golden opportunity to kiss him up on the hill. And I didn’t do it. If I’d just done that, where would we be now? Still there? Back at August’s place? With me falling for a guy who’s about to die, while he unwittingly wastes his last few days with the very person who signed his death warrant?
I can’t do it.
But August craves affection, I can see that from a mile away. And here’s Jon ready to drown him in it. The second I go home, as soon as I’m out of sight, it will be all ‘I love you’ and ‘baby’ and ‘remember when…’
I’m seething. I’m so fucking furious at the thought of it, watching August’s neck and his shoulders as the coloured lightsdapple over his tight little shirt until he finally comes to a stop and looks back at me with clear concern.
I haven’t even realised how close to the stage we are until the lights cut. The smoke machine spews out a fog that turns yellow when the stage floor lights switch on. The crowd starts to scream as the band comes out to take up their instruments. All but Jon fucking Non Jovi. His microphone stands untenanted, scarves hanging from it, blowing in the artificial breeze.
August dips his head to speak into my ear, and a full-body tingle takes me at the touch of his breath. “I’m really sorry.”
The familiar first notes of ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ start, and the audience cries out in thrilled recognition. August’s eyes run to the stage, and despite everything, I can see the tension in every feature, the worry Jon won’t go on. But his gaze is soon back on me. He’s worried about both of us.
“I don’t care at all,” I shout.
“Really?” Then leaning close again, so his lips touch my ear, “It was meant to be fun.”
“No. It is fun,” I insist, another complete lie, which I’m obviously very good at these days. “Free drinks.” I hold up my beer, and though it takes him a moment, he taps his against it with the first smile I’ve seen on him since we arrived. It’s a relieved smile. And an exhausted one. And having got it feels so good I instantly become even more determined to convince him that I’m totally normal and relaxed and not at all falling apart with seething jealousy.
The deafening howls that go up around us on sight of his ex make this especially difficult.
It’s harrowing, in fact.
The only thing more harrowing is when Jon then opens his mouth and delivers the first line, pitch-perfect, raspy, and sexy. The drunken, whining mess is gone, and this version of him ishot and confident. He’s all charisma, and he instantly owns the stage. Handsome, talented, August’s ex.
And August’s watching him.
Right about now, I feel like something Jon walked in on the bottom of his shoe.
Until August’s head dips back to my shoulder, nestling there ever so slightly as he yells, “I mean it. If you don’t want to hang around…”
“I want to be wherever you are, August.”
There. I’ve said it. It’s not something he could misconstrue, even with all the self-doubt.
