Which reminded him… Killy yanked a pair of boxers out of the drawer and hopped on one foot while he put them on.
“I can take the couch.” Small and lost. Elliot appeared so small and lost. What happened to the brash young man he used to be? Well, not too brash. He’d always been subdued, but never before so beaten down.
At least he finally agreed to let Rob go. A definite step in the right direction.
Killy tried to lighten the mood. “If you don’t still mule kick like you did when we were kids, we can share.”
After a moment Elliot gave a curt nod, the stiffness of his body relaxing.
It didn’t slip past Killy’s notice that his brother slept fully clothed, while Killy slept in his boxers. He’d bet good money a world of hurt and bruises hid beneath the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. Though it killed him, he’d not beg his brother to go to a doctor.
Only to have El refuse.
They lay in bed together, not touching. After a few moments Killian wrapped an arm around his brother, like he’d done when they were kids and Elliot had a nightmare, and they both drifted off.
* * *
Killy wore himself out the next two weeks, following Elliot around, ensuring Rob didn’t get near him. He never found out what happened the night his brother had enough of the bastard’s bullshit, didn’t need to know. When Elliot felt like talking, he would.
And not a moment before. But Killy sure as hell made sure “After” was permanently struck from the band’s playlist.
Asheville, their last concert of the tour. Then they’d go home, rest, write new material, and toss Rob out of their lives forever. Killy even had a few leads on a replacement. Elliot didn’t talk about Rob, but he’d wakened from bad dreams a handful of times.
And spent every night in Killian’s room.
Might take some time to heal the wounds.
Ace burst into the dressing room, not bothering to knock. “Call security!” He slammed the door and turned the lock.
Pounding on the door froze both Killy and Elliot.
“Open this damned door!” Rob screeched. “Ellie, I know you’re in there. Get your slut ass out here!”
Elliot’s mouth and eyes went round. “What? What’s he talking about?”
Killy grabbed the desk phone and hit zero for the switchboard. “Get security to the dressing rooms,” he barked, slamming the receiver down in time to hear Ace’s answer.
“Somehow he figured out you came to my room the night you left him.” Ace eyed the door with each punch or kick from the outside. “He thinks you left him for me.”
“That’s ridiculous. Let me talk to him.” Though Elliot shook, he inched closer to the door.
Ace stopped him with a hand on his arm. “He won’t listen. I don’t know how much shit he did tonight, but there’s no reaching him.”
“Fuck it all to hell!” Killy banged his fist against the wall, making Elliot and Ace jump. “He can’t play, can he?”
Ace shook his head. “If he can, it’ll be a fucking miracle. He can barely stand right now.”
Cursing came from the hall, angry shouts from Rob and firm tones from the guards. “I’ll call Gus.” Killy yanked his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the man in charge of his career. “Rob’s too fucking wasted to play. We gotta cancel.”
“But we’ll have to refund tickets for a sold-out show. Think of the money the vendors stand to lose.” That was Gus, always keeping an eye on the bottom line.
“Nothing we can do.” Thank God they only cancelled one show. Rob had been on his best behavior since being given notice two weeks ago, apologizing and hoping to keep his job.
Not a snowball’s chance in Hell.
The noise outside the door quieted. “Ace, Elliot. Pack your gear. We’re leaving.”
“But Killian—”
