Code red, p.11
Code Red, page 11
Wes, Blake, and Luke came in and sat at the breakfast table, right on time. The last thing Maddox needed was to be late. He better get here before Ambrose.
And like he’d heard me, a few seconds later Maddox and Jeremy walked in. Maddox was freshly showered, his hair still wet. Black shirt, black jeans, black boots.
Sexy as hell.
He and Jeremy were smiling, which was a good sign. Maddox went straight over to the others but he didn’t sit down. He stood, and shoving his hands in his pockets, he cleared his throat. “Uh, I just want to apologize,” he said, awkward and genuine. “For posting shit online in the middle of the night. I didn’t think, sorry. And I was dutifully reminded”—he shot me a look—“that what I do affects everyone, and that we’re a team and I didn’t act like it.”
Jeremy smiled at me, and Luke too.
“Anyway,” Maddox said. “It was a dick thing to do, and I’m sorry. If there are ramifications or interview questions or whatever, I’ll take those.”
Wes stood up and hugged him, so Luke and Blake did too, and the five of them sat down to breakfast, smiling and laughing.
“Christ,” Amber whispered, stunned. “Just what did you say to him?”
I smiled and sipped my coffee. “Apparently I told him exactly what he needed to hear.”
Ambrose ran through all his notes and the itinerary, congratulated the boys on their hard work, thanked all the teams for their tireless efforts, then after wrapping it all up, he motioned to the door. “Maddox and Roscoe, a minute, please.”
Fuck.
It wasn’t unexpected but it certainly wasn’t going to be fun.
Maddox smiled at me but he rolled his eyes as though he’d been called out by the teacher. We followed Ambrose out to a quiet room, and although I stood with Maddox, I knew Ambrose expected me on his side.
“Maddox,” he began cautiously. “Working on some new music this morning, I see.”
It was a lighter way to broach the subject.
“Ah, yeah. If you’re about to read me the riot act, Roscoe beat you to it already.”
Ambrose’s gaze went to me, then back to Maddox. “It wasn’t ideal. The fan reaction has been . . . intense. To say the least.” Then Ambrose looked at me. “Our guys are on that though, weeding out the threatening ones, that kind of thing.”
“Sorry. I’ve already apologized to the guys. It wasn’t my intention to upset people.” He shrugged. “Should I pull it down?”
Ambrose shook his head. “That would only create more hype, and it’s too late now.” He went on for a bit on public image and not giving any more information than was necessary. Privacy was incredibly important—something he didn’t need to remind Maddox of—and Atrous and Platinum Entertainment couldn’t, and wouldn’t, risk any reason for unsavory headlines. He chatted briefly about security, keeping the status quo for now, pending any new developments.
“But about the song,” he went on. “There’s been a lot of interest. In particular, Mr. Kim himself wanted to know if you’d be interested in talks, not now but perhaps after the tour, about some options for perhaps a single release.”
“No,” Maddox replied. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t blink. “No. No single anything. I’ve told you this before. I’m not doing anything without them.”
“I figured you’d say as much,” Ambrose replied.
“So stop asking me.”
Ambrose narrowed his eyes but he finished with a smile. “We’ve got a long way to go. Best behavior, please.”
Then he handed me some sheets of paper. “Questions and answers. Make sure everyone’s familiar.”
I nodded. “Sure.”
Ambrose left and his assistants appeared out of nowhere to follow him. Maddox stood there for a long moment, clearly curbing his temper. Then his gaze fell on me, and he chewed on the inside of his lip. “So . . .” He smiled. “Interesting morning.”
I barked out a quiet laugh. “Uh, yeah.”
We stared at each other. His dark eyes were daring, his lips inviting. I let out a breath. “We, uh, we should go back inside. Before someone comes looking.”
Maddox nodded slowly. “Just so I understood . . . He said the status quo remains unchanged. So that means it’s just us in the car, right? No one else.”
I tried not to smile but ended up laughing. I ignored his smug smile and held up the papers Ambrose had given me. “Work to do.” I went back into the common room before I did something stupid like kiss him where anyone could see us.
Maddox went back to the band, and I walked directly over to Amber and Ryan to go through the brief from Ambrose about how best to field any questions or press about Maddox’s 3:00 am upload.
Beneath it all, beneath the hype, the likes, the attention, was a man whose every action was scrutinized to the point where we had to be briefed. I hated that for him. I hated that he was subject to that.
Should he have uploaded a song at 3:00 am?
No.
But he was hurting and he needed to share that the only way he knew how. And that was through his music. Now everyone had to be told, prepared, and directed, falsely displaying his heartbreak on an international scale.
It was no wonder he hated his fame.
Not that he ever admitted that out loud, but it was a weight very few knew how to bear. I saw the struggle in him. We all did. The world didn’t, though. They just kept pushing and pushing for more of him.
Part of me wondered how much he had left to give.
When it was time, we took our gear and headed down to the waiting line of vans, and like always, Maddox climbed in before me. And as per usual, he sat on the backseat.
I took the seat nearest to the door, but he cleared his throat. “Uh, Roscoe?”
I looked at him over the back of the seat, ignoring the nerves, the butterflies, the anticipation. “Yes, Maddox?”
He grinned and patted the seat next to him. “We’d have more privacy if you sat here with me, but if you don’t care, then I sure as hell don’t,” he said, getting up.
“No, wait,” I said, quickly joining him in the backseat.
He chuckled and there was an awkward moment where neither of us spoke. Our convoy began to move out and Maddox cleared his throat. “So, this morning . . .”
My mouth was suddenly dry. “Yeah, about that . . .”
“What about it?”
“Did you want me to apologize and say it’ll never happen again?”
“Hell, no. I mean, do you want it to never happen again?”
I looked at him, at his eyes, at his lips.
He smiled. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” But then he looked at my mouth and his lips parted, his eyes seemed to lose focus for a split second, and he blinked back to his senses.
Then it was my turn to laugh. “You okay?”
He shook his head and wiped his hands on his thighs, embarrassed. “What the hell kind of kiss was that anyway?” he whispered. “It was like a not-kiss but possibly one of the best I’ve ever had.”
“The best?” God, I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. “And what do you mean a not-kiss?”
He laughed and his cheeks flushed the most delicate pink. He touched his lips ever so lightly with his fingertips. “It was . . . almost a kiss. I think we need to remedy the almost part.”
I shot a look to the front of the van. If Steve could hear us from there, I had no clue. “Uh, I think that’s something that should be kept behind closed doors. Don’t you?”
“The van door is closed.”
I rolled my eyes and tried to change the subject . . . somewhat. “And I’ll have you know, there was no almost-kiss about it. It was absolutely a real kiss, and I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve ever been kissed properly.”
His mouth fell open. “Oh, I sure have been.”
“Not by me.”
His eyes widened and he let out a breath, smiling. His gaze lingered on my mouth, and he whispered, “I want you to kiss me again.”
I glanced to the front seat again, to the back of Steve’s head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. As much as I would like to.” My chest felt far too tight.
He pouted. “But that’s not a no, right? It’s just a not in the van, or not where anyone could see us, or in front of other people thing, right?”
“Right. I think some ground rules should apply. If we want to . . . do what we did this morning, again.”
“We want to, yes? I mean, I do.” He put his hand to his chest. “A lot more . . . of what we did this morning. And honestly, I should thank you for kissing me first,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while and just thought it’d never be a possibility.”
I barked out a laugh. “You have, have you?”
“Yes, I have. Though I didn’t think it was funny . . .”
I slid my hand over his and laced our fingers. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Thank you for being honest with me. About the song. About being hurt by me lying to you.”
“Ah, yes, the lying thing. Glad you brought that up.”
“Ugh, god.”
He chuckled and brought our joined hands onto his lap, but his smile soon died and he studied the back of my hand, my fingers. “So, then,” he said eventually. He was serious now, and I knew whatever he was about to say was important. “Tonight . . . will you come to my room?”
Christ.
“I, uh, I can, yes.”
“I got about two hours sleep last night,” he murmured. “I’ll sleep better if you’re there, that’s all.” He put his other hand over our already joined hands. “I’ll even give you permission to kiss me again. If you want to, that is.”
My stomach swooped, and I could barely speak. “I very much would like to.”
“But?”
I chuckled. “But there need to be rules.”
He sighed. “Can one part of my life not have rules?”
I squeezed his hand. “Some rules can be fun.”
“Such as?”
“Well, rule number one could be keeping this”—I held up our joined hands—“a secret so I don’t get fired.”
He looked to the front of the van, his grip on my hand tightened. “No one’s firing you. I’ve told you that before. A few times, I think. Maybe rule number two could be that you have to listen when I say shit like that.”
I barked out a laugh. “Okay, sure. And like I’ve told you before, that’s not your call to make. So maybe you should listen to me.”
“Mmm, rule number three,” he said. “Roscoe cannot argue with Maddox.”
I snorted. “Rule number four. Roscoe will absolutely argue with Maddox.”
He smiled. “And Maddox will absolutely argue with Roscoe.”
“So we’ve established that some things won’t change. That’s good to know.”
“I don’t want things to change, between us, that is,” he whispered. He looked at our hands on his thigh and smiled. “I just want this as well. I want us to be us, how we always have been, only better. Or more, I don’t know. It’s been so long since someone held my hand or kissed me because they liked me. Like the real me. Not just the name.” He froze. “I mean, I’m not presuming you do, I just—”
I leaned over, cupped his cheek, and kissed him. I didn’t care that Steve could probably see. I should have cared, but in that moment, I cared more about Maddox.
I pressed my lips to his, soft and sweet, and kissed him once, twice. Not pushing for more, not trying to deepen the kiss, but to let him know I heard him. I put my forehead to his. “I see the real you,” I whispered.
He closed his eyes and his smile was so sad it damn near broke my heart.
“ETA, five minutes,” Steve called out.
I sat up straight in my seat in time to see Steve turn his head back to the front. If he’d seen us, I couldn’t tell. He thought Maddox and I were a thing before, so why should it matter? God, this was so confusing.
When I glanced back to Maddox, he was fixing his earring with an unreadable expression on his face. “Duty calls, huh?”
Ouch.
But I looked him right in the eye. “You know what? Yes, it does. If this”—I signaled between us—“is gonna be a thing, we need to deal with work us and private us. I mean it, Maddox.”
He pouted. “Private you is so much more fun.”
I glared at him until he rolled his eyes. I pulled my backpack onto my lap and took out the papers Ambrose had given me. “You need to read these. Everyone else has the same copies.”
He took them and read the first few lines, then shot me a look. “Are you kidding me?”
“Ambrose,” I said, by way of explanation.
“This is bullshit,” he said, reading. He quoted the heading out loud. “‘Proposed responses to possible questions regarding Maddox’s video upload onto a social media outlet.’” His gaze went to mine. “He can’t be serious.”
I shrugged. “You know how he is. These interviews today are one after the other. Six in total. They’re all going to ask, and you’re going to be sick of hearing about it after the second interview. It’s just to be prepared.”
He read through the list, rolled his eyes a lot, and grumbled under his breath even more. He sighed when he was done. “Can you believe he wanted me to release the song as a single? After he berated me like a school kid for not being a team player and thinking of the band, then in the very next breath he wanted me to go solo.”
“I think the reprimand was from him, the question about the solo song came from Arlo Kim.” I shrugged. “Just my guess.”
“Well, that shit pisses me off.” He held up the papers. “And so does this.”
“It’s just PR bullshit,” I offered.
The van slowed and I slung the backpack over my shoulder. “You ready?”
“Nope.” He shoved the notes at my chest, and while my hands were disposed, he took a hold of my face and kissed me. He half stood, bearing down on me, and shoved his tongue into my mouth. He kissed me for all he was worth. Demanding, hard, wanting.
He tasted sweet and warm, his tongue teased and claimed me, and I forgot where we were. I wanted so much to pull him onto my lap . . .
The van stopped and Maddox broke the kiss, his wet lips in a smug smile. “Now I’m ready.”
The door slid open and he climbed out, and I had to tell myself to get my ass into gear. My mind was swimming, my legs were like Jell-O, and I all but fell out of the van behind him. The smug son of a bitch laughed.
The interviews were being held at the Grammy Museum, which was great for photos and an iconic backdrop for all the interviews.
The first was with Billboard, so after a quick stint with make-up and hair, they were soon taking their seats. Between arriving and now, the boys had been busy, we’d been busy, so there was no close interaction between us except for him handing me stuff to look after or me handing him whatever he needed. I found myself staring at Maddox laughing with Jeremy, thinking how those lips, that mouth, his tongue, had been on mine just a short while ago . . . It felt like a dream.
But then the interview started, and as there was no green room, per se, I stood at the back of the studio as far as I could. Where they couldn’t involve me in any answers.
“How did Maddox take the prepared questions and answers?” Amber asked quietly.
“Yeah, fine. He rolled his eyes a lot.”
After the interviewer had done the basic introductions and general hellos, he began with the most obvious question. “So, before we talk about the album or the tour,” he began. “Maddox, I wanted to ask about the song you uploaded on social media this morning. Millions of hits across all forms of social media. That must feel good, right?”
Okay, so it wasn’t so bad. There were a few prepared responses he could take from, and he did. The interview moved on, they did a photoshoot, and it all wrapped up nicely.
But the Access Hollywood interview that followed asked the same question. And he answered that from the scripted responses as well, just perhaps not as politely. There were more photos and more outfit changes, make-up and hair touch-ups.
Then the interviewer for All Access LA asked the same damn question. And then in the next interview, the Hollywood Entertainer asked about the song, and after that, then the interview with LA Daily did as well, and it was the final interview with Music Central that Maddox’s patience had run out.
“I have to ask about the song you uploaded, Maddox.”
“I bought a new guitar and was just playing around,” he said, still being diplomatic and polite.
“But those lyrics were aimed at someone, right?” the interviewer pushed. “‘Don’t make me choose between your lying and your leaving,’” he quoted. “‘How can I decide when it feels like my heart is breaking?’”
This time Maddox smiled. It wasn’t his handsome, playful smile. It was his ‘oh shit, what’s he going to say’ smile. “The lyrics speak for themselves,” he said calmly. “They mean whatever the listener interprets them as. The beauty of art is that it can be interpreted however a person needs.”
“That’s very true. But I think I speak for the millions of folks on Twitter when I ask, ‘Who hurt you?’”
Maddox’s smile was gone. “You think there’s a name behind those lyrics? Do you think I would tell you even if there was? Songwriters and artists just sometimes need to express something for no other reason than because they can. There doesn’t need to be a story behind it, and it doesn’t need to be public. We give enough of ourselves away without our personal lives being pulled apart for public consumption.”
Aaaaaaaand there it was.
Maddox Kershaw and his damn mouth.
That damn beautiful mouth that kissed me earlier . . .
“Oh fuck,” Ryan breathed beside me.
Maddox wasn’t done. “I can appreciate the interest, the hype on social media, but the song was just a song. I uploaded it as a gift to the fans because I thought they’d get a kick out of it. But no one is entitled to make a headline out of someone else’s trauma. Be it mine or anyone else’s. No one’s entitled to more than we freely give.”
