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The after-show bustle continued around him, but he hardly noticed. Doug came in to poke and prod at his knee, applying topical anti-inflammatories and Kinesio tape, as if either of those things ever actually made a dent in the constant ache. The guys showered, argued about who got to have the last slice of butter cake, signed posters for the arena’s management team and interns. Jackson played guitar and nursed his orange soda as if he was in a world all his own, his fingers fumbling over his guitar strings, the familiar arpeggios of the song he’d been working on for the last few weeks. But tonight the arpeggios were clumsy, the chords not quite right, and he kept pausing to shake out his hands, cursing under his breath.

“What song is that?” Zach asked as he flopped down on the couch next to Jackson, digging into the last piece of butter cake with a green plastic fork.

Jackson shrugged. He turned to his brother, still playing. “What song is it, Becks?”

Beckett shook his head. “You’re the songwriter. Not me.”

Jackson turned back to Zach. “It’s for him. Guess he hasn’t decided what it is yet.”

“I like it. That rhythm in the bridge is really interesting,” Zach said.

“Lenny!” Nico called in greeting as the petite wardrobe assistant entered the green room. “Thanks for getting that stain out of my shirt.”

Lenny rolled her eyes, but she grinned all the same, nudging Nico with her shoulder. “A little pasta sauce never slowed us down.” She turned towards Jackson, planting her hands on her hips. “I need your clothes.”

Jackson sneered. “You want ‘em? Come take ‘em.”

Lenny’s cheeks flamed bright red.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Beckett said.

His brother kept his eyes trained on Lenny as he set his guitar aside and got to his feet. He pulled off his shirt, tossing it at the young woman, who caught it easily. When his hands dropped to his belt, Logan leapt to his feet, stepping between Lenny and Jackson.

“Hey, man, have a little respect,” Logan admonished him.

Jackson muttered something under his breath, then turned, unsteady on his feet, and headed into the bathroom, presumably to finish getting undressed.

Lenny avoided eye contact with the rest of the band as she tossed Jackson’s shirt into the wardrobe bin and began wheeling it towards the door. “I’ll come back for the rest,” she said before disappearing into the hall.

“What was that about?” Nico asked.

Zach’s forehead scrunched up as he glanced between the closed bathroom door and where Lenny had disappeared into the hall. “Is Jackson fucking—”

“Of course not,” Logan said, tossing Jackson’s empty soda can into the garbage and wiping away the condensation that had pooled on the table. “He knows better than to get involved with a member of the crew.”

Zach shrugged. “I don’t know. Becks didn’t.”

“That’s different,” Nico said.

“Why?” Zach asked.

“Because Kat isn’t young enough to be my daughter,” Beckett snapped.

Jackson opened the bathroom door wearing a pair of loose black sweatpants and a t-shirt. He held his wardrobe jeans loosely in one hand. “Where’s Lenny?”

“You scared her off,” Nico said.

“What’s with you?” Zach asked.

But Jackson didn’t get a chance to answer before Gideon arrived, telling them it was time to head back to the bus. Beckett winced as he got to his feet, Gideon holding out a hand to pull him up out of the chair. The security guard’s eyes flicked to Beckett’s knee.

“Not you, too,” Beckett grumbled.

“Just doing my job,” Gideon said.

“Do it somewhere else.”

Beckett waved away Gideon’s offer of support as he limped out of the green room and towards the tour bus. Everything about this night felt off—his knee, Kat, his brother. All he wanted was to get back on the bus and crawl into bed with his fiancée, to see how many times he could make her come on his tongue before she climbed on top of him and rode his cock, to fall asleep with her breath on his chest and her hair in his face.