Ruin Porn (25 page)

He tried to calm himself, remembering that Shaffer had demanded pap shots and stories exactly like this. But Evin couldn’t get past the grainy picture of Finn kissing this woman, the corner of his lip tugged into a satisfied smirk. Evin had been in that pop star’s position—he knew how satisfied Finn could look when fucking came next. Evin had seen that smirk before, only minutes before getting naked with him. And that picture showed it all…. Finn’s reaction was real in a way that Evin couldn’t deny.

“Everything okay, Evin?” Mark asked, startling Evin.

Evin tried not to curl in like he’d just taken a kick to the gut. “I’m fine.”

He put the newspaper back and went for his gate, all excitement bled from him.

He and Finn were just casual. A hookup between friends. There was no possibility for more and there would never be. Evin let that detachment settle, pushing away the hurt and replacing it with numbness. If there was one thing his parents had taught him, it was how to be present without caring. He wouldn’t let Finn get under his skin like that again.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Nashville

W
ITH
HIS
legs stretched out in front of him, Ritchie watched the show from beneath the bill of his cap. Finn had displayed some impressive excitement dances in his day, but this one had to take the cake. It was even more impressive than the one he’d done the time they had all lied to their parents about going camping so they could see Red Hot Chili Peppers at St. Andrews Hall. Watching Finn shift, shimmy, and shake as they stood in line waiting to attend that concert had been fricken awesome. But this one?
Priceless.

Finn was standing in front of the large bay of windows overlooking the runway, shifting from foot to foot, his head and shoulders bouncing and his fingers constantly switching between being gnawed on and being run through thick black hair. Finn was a messy mass of nervous energy. There was a lot more to this excitement than another chance to play hide the wienie and way more than just looking forward to seeing a friend. Finn might not have said it; hell, he might not even be willing to admit it to himself, but that boy was in love.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Finn? Sit down,” Miah snapped and went back to checking his Twitter feed on his iPad.

Finn flipped him off over his shoulder without looking back, but Ritchie doubted Miah was aware of the gesture.

“Aw, c’mon, leave him alone,” Ritchie drawled. “He’s been itching to get back into the studio for days. He’s just excited.”

“He’s going to draw attention to us, and we already have an entourage of security that’s doing that job well enough. I’m so not in the fucking mood for screaming fans. I’ve got a headache.”

“What? Miah Thade doesn’t want to be mobbed by his loyal fans?” Ritchie reached over and laid the back of his hand on Miah’s forehead. “You must be sick.”

Miah slapped his hand away. “Knock it off. I’m in no mood for you, fans”—he stabbed a finger toward Finn who was still dancing—“or his gay ass gyrating.”

Ritchie was stunned. “Jesus, why do you have to be such an asshole?”

“Obviously someone has to be in order to get shit done. I know you two may not care, but we’ve got a shit-ton of work to do today,” Miah retorted without looking up.

“Fuck you right back, Thade.” Ritchie shoved out of his chair and glared down at Miah. Some days he just didn’t have the patience for Miah’s bullshit and apparently today was one of them. “Better yet, why don’t you run along and get to the studio and get to work. Us fake members of Rez will try to get it together long enough to meet you there and maybe, just fucking maybe, lay down some killer tracks.”

Miah looked up at him with an exasperated expression that Ritchie had the strong urge to slap off. He curled his hands into fists to keep from doing just that. He shoved his hands in his pockets. A right jab to Miah’s jaw sounded pretty fucking good, but it would fuck with his ability to play.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” Miah sniffed and went right back to typing. “Just make him sit down.”

“The fuck I will,” Ritchie huffed and stomped over to stand next to Finn.

“I’ll hold him down while you teach that boy some manners,” Finn offered, lollipop stick poking out of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t do any good. He’d just bitch about us wasting time.”

Finn quirked an eyebrow. “Then may I suggest duct tape?”

“That would work,” Ritchie agreed but didn’t laugh. He was too pissed. He understood Miah’s insecurities and the tendency to lash out when he was nervous or when something wasn’t going the way he wanted. But there had to be limits to just how much Miah pushed them around. Ritchie was far from a saint, even his patience wasn’t limitless. It was one thing to be bitchy and complain, but he was sick and tired of hearing how Miah was the only one who worked hard or cared about Rez’s success. They
all
worked their balls off. And all four of them getting back together, getting back to work, should have been enough to make all of them over-the-fucking-moon happy today.

Finn slid an arm over Ritchie’s shoulder and bumped him with his hip. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s stressed. He’ll be fine once we get back in the studio.”

“Whoa, I need to write this down for posterity. Finn Reese defending Miah Thade.”

“Ha!” Finn snorted and popped the sucker from between his lips. “I’m not defending him, I’m just not going to let him bring me down. Besides, with Miah busy working—” Finn brought his lips close to Ritchie’s ear. “—the three of us will get a little alone time. I’m fucking hard just thinking about it.” He snaked his tongue out and licked the shell of Ritchie’s ear before stepping away with a wide grin and started to sway again.

Ritchie had to clamp down on the shiver that fluttered down his neck and along his spine. The thought of the three of them hooking up did help his suddenly crappy mood. If nothing else, maybe he could use said alone time with Evin and Finn to help them figure out how crazy they were for each other.

“He’s here!” Finn shouted and pointed out the window at the plane pulling in to the gate.

It seemed to take forever—screaming kids, old folks in wheelchairs, weary travelers—before Evin finally stepped past the door. Ritchie did a double take. It didn’t look as if the man had shaved once in the six weeks they’d spent apart, and Ritchie had to admit, the scruff looked damn good on him. Totally hot, in fact.

Finn’s excitement got the better of him and he rushed to Evin, nearly knocking the guy over for the chance to wrap him in a bear hug. “About damn time you got here,” he exclaimed happily. He slapped him on the back and petted his chin, adding, “Nice beard, Ev.”

Evin shrugged him off. “Yours too.”

Ouch.

“Hey, Ritchie. Good to see you, man,” Evin said, holding out his fist without meeting his gaze.

Ritchie bumped it. “You too, you—” His words cut off when Evin stomped away toward where Miah sat, a guy in a suit who had to be their new KMA security following close behind him.

Finn was frozen where Evin had left him, staring at Evin’s retreating back. The frown on his face was heartbreaking after witnessing how excited Finn was to see Evin again.

“Shit,” Ritchie muttered, putting together Evin’s comment about Finn’s nonexistent facial hair and Evin’s cold shoulder.

Evin had seen the article about Finn’s fake girlfriend, Alessandra. Ritchie had spent the last two days encouraging Finn to tell Ev, but he’d refused. Said it would only give legitimacy to the ridiculousness of it.

“Hey, ready to hit the studio. I’m banging for it, man,” Evin said in way of greeting as he stepped up to Miah.

“Glad to hear someone is,” Miah responded as he finally put his iPad away. He pushed to his feet and patted Evin on the shoulder. “Good to see you. We’ve got a car waiting.”

“Cool, it’s why I’m here.”

Without either of them looking back, they walked away from the gate.

Finn continued to stare long after the two disappeared into the crowd. He ran his fingers through his hair, a perplexed look on his face. “What the hell just happened?”

“My guess? He saw the headlines.”

“No, I meant how he blew me off.”

“Me too, Finn. I told you, you should have warned him about Alessandra.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Ritchie wasn’t sure what Finn wanted to hear. He knew damn well it had and it could have all been avoided had Finn taken his advice and told Evin.

After a few more seconds of Ritchie staring at Finn without saying a word, Finn crossed his arms. “I’m not explaining jack shit to him,” he seethed and walked away.

“What the hell do you mean you’re not going to explain it?” Ritchie asked, hurrying to catch up.

“You heard me. I’m not explaining jack shit!”

“Why not? Don’t you think he deserves—”

Finn spun so quickly Ritchie nearly slammed into him. “Deserves what? I know you’re not going there.” Finn stabbed a finger behind him as if Evin was standing there and not off with Miah. “All
he
had to do was ask. Or better yet, trust me enough to know if there was anything to that PR clusterfuck, then I’d have told him. But for him to just dismiss me and not even talk to me? Fuck him!” Finn spun on his heel and stomped away.

Ritchie fully realized that Finn was acting out in anger just as much as Evin was. Neither of them seemed to get how far they’d dug under each other’s skin. Letting another person in like that gave them access to your most vulnerable bits in a way that could be freeing or damaging. And right now they were cutting each other pieces for no good reason.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and looked up to the sky. “Give me strength, or hells, just send me a stiff drink.”

Ritchie continued to stare upward for a few more heartbeats. When he didn’t get an answer from on high, he sighed, “Thanks a lot.” Maybe he could swipe a bottle when he passed the bar. No way in hell did he want to endure this shitstorm in a cramped room without being adequately sloshed.

The ride to the studio was even worse.

Miah sat in the front, doing whatever the hell had captured his attention on his iPad and wasn’t Ritchie just the fortunate one to be sitting in the back between Finn and Evin who were both ramrod stiff and staring out opposite windows. The two security guys with them who none of them knew made the silence beyond uncomfortable. Sad thing was, Ritchie knew this car ride would be a piece of cake compared to what they would face once they were trapped in the studio for days with nowhere else to go.

F
INN
KNEW
this song well, had played it several times. Hell they’d nailed it the first time they’d played it for the sold-out crowd in Madrid. He and Evin had strummed the notes countless times as they sat in yet another hotel somewhere in Europe, but the first run-through of “Born into Chaos,” Finn simply couldn’t get his hands to comply. He was stiff, his fingers clumsy. Rather than rocking to the music, he was rocking the anger. He couldn’t let it go. Making it all the more difficult was that Evin had yet to glance at him even though they stood two feet away from each other.

“Stop, stop, stop! Just fucking stop!” Sid cursed through the microphone.

Finn’s head snapped up, and he froze as he stared at Sid through the glass of the studio. Sid rarely raised his voice. He wasn’t one to drop the F-bomb either. Ritchie was staring at Sid as if he’d grown a second head, hands stopped in midmotion above his drums. Miah on the other hand seemed to be just as livid as Sid as he stood facing the rest of the band, hands on his hips and lips pursed.

“Somebody want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Sid asked as he came through the door, his robust face a dark shade of red. It was probably a good thing the man was bald with the way he was rubbing at his head, or he’d be pulling his hair out. Come to think of it, maybe that was why he
was
bald.

Finn crossed his arms, rested them on the top of his guitar, and shrugged. Ritchie and Evin stayed silent. Only Miah piped in after a tense moment. “Well? Anyone going to answer the man? Someone going to explain why some of us sound like we don’t know how to play a basic fucking note or chord?” The full weight of Miah’s gaze settled on Finn.

Well, then, Finn didn’t have to guess who Miah thought was at fault. But he wasn’t about to give the arrogant ass the satisfaction of calling him out. “This is a G, an F sharp, an A flat. Oh and look, a power chord,” Finn said as he played each one and smiled broadly. “Guess it wasn’t me you were talking about.”

“That’s what you call a chord?” Miah asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Finn bristled. “You wouldn’t know—”

“What do you guys need?” Sid asked, cutting off Finn’s retort. He stepped in between Finn and Miah, blocking their view of each other. “You need drinks, food, new instruments?”

Crickets.

Sid turned in a slow circle, looking each of them in the eye. “Dancing flamingos in pink tutus? It’s yours. Whatever you need I’ll get it for you, just ask. But please, with the favors I had to call in to book this studio time and the exorbitant prices we’re paying, can we please”—he brought his hands together as if he were praying—“please, for the love of God, can we record a few minutes of usable material?”

Finn couldn’t speak for Evin—especially right now—but the rest of them were a stubborn lot, always had been, and probably always would be. He, Ritchie, and Miah had all butted heads throughout the years, threw a punch or two, and more than a few choice put-downs were thrown around, typical family shit. Yet they never stayed mad at each other for long, their bond even deeper than that of family.

But yeah, they could win all the awards for stubbornness, so it was no surprise when the seconds of uncomfortable silence stretched out. It was also no surprise when Ritchie broke it.

“I’ll take the flamingos,” he said and raised his hand. “But can you make the tutus purple?”

“Absolutely,” Sid agreed.

“Dork face, everyone knows purple clashes with pink,” Finn chimed in. “Make mine blue.”