9. Obsessed Fan

9

OBSESSED FAN

MAZEN

Three days ago, the trajectory of our lives went off target like a derailed train blinded by the cusp of a sunrise. The soundtrack of my life morphs into "Would You Still Be There" by Of Mice he will be an issue long after. He's my issue though. Not yours. This isn't your battle to fight."

Oliver tightens his grasp on her shoulders, pulling her dainty body snug against his side. "You were kidnapped."

Sophia rolls her eyes, seemingly unaware of her effect on us. We already met without her and agreed that we'll hunt Caddell down and make him pay for hurting her.

"That's the least damage that Caddell and his minions have caused." Her lips tighten, almost as if her brain is catching up, and she knows she's shared too much.

"We're going to circle back to that in a minute." There's a placating tone in Oliver's voice that is unmistakable. "Let us just enjoy this sliver of peace, knowing that you're alive. You're safe. You're back with us where you belong. We can chat about business, revenge, all of that later on. Right now, I just want to sit here with you."

What a smooth bastard. Maybe he should start writing our songs.

Cannon jeers, eyes locking with mine across the room, "You know what I want to chat about? How it was his idea to let you board a plane by yourself in the middle of the night."

There it is, folks. A warning before shit hits the fan.

Fuck.

I steel my shoulders, preparing for the fight that is about to ensue. I'd have to be blind not to admit Cannon is a brawny fucker. While he's not much taller, he has plenty of mass on me—about thirty or so pounds. We've all brawled on more occasions than I can count on both hands. Being friends with a group of guys for more than two decades is ample time for us to have spoken with our fists instead of words, and it seems like Cannon has a lot to say right now.

I lift myself from the couch.

Cannon does the same.

Faintly, I hear Lindsey murmur under her breath, " Children. "

In a quick stride, Cannon positions himself in front of me. His hard chest pressed up against mine. There's no doubt that I can hold my own. I just wish Sophia weren't here to witness us scrapping like a pack of wild dogs—or what Lindsey said, children.

A petite leg slides in front of me like a human wedge between me and our drummer. We both glance down at the same time, seeing Sophia placing herself between us.

"I asked him—begged him—to bring me to the airport. If you need to be mad at someone, be mad at me. I brought this drama to your front door. Mazen was only helping. The last thing I need is to be worrying about tearing apart your band. I'm not worth it. Trust me."

Words freeze on all our tongues.

She genuinely doesn't get it.

She's our common ground. The tether holding us together.

Our muse.