Page 13 of Louder Than Words

James barks out a laugh. “Yeah, okay, sure. You two would be the proper spooky lovebirds. Frankenstein and his bride. Or a police officer and their crook. Or—oh! Even better—peanut butter and jam.”

Desmond snorts into his drink. “That’s disgustingly wholesome.”

James spins in his seat to face him, like they’re two bloody schoolkids gossiping. “I bet they coordinate colors.”

“Yeah?” Desmond leans in. “I bet Allie’s already got a mood board going and is just waiting for Jax to pick one.”

“Well, you know if they went with peanut butter and jam, Jax would have to be the peanut butter, since he’s already salty as hell.”

Desmond raises a brow. “Yeah, but is Allie sweet like jam?”

James smirks, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “Oh, she’s sweet, alright. Isn’t that right, Jax?”

I nod, humming in agreement but staying quiet. I’ve given them ammo enough times already—and regretted every time. Now I know better.

“Might have to find out for myself,” Desmond says, matter-of-factly.

For a second, I think he’s serious, and I snap my head toward him. Then I spot the way he’s wiggling his eyebrows, clearly just trying to push my buttons like he’s been doing since he got hired as our fill-in.

“Careful, Jax,” James laughs. “Dezzy’s coming for your girl.”

“He can try all he wants. Though, honestly, we could always find another drummer for the tour if he gets too cheeky,” I say, smirking. “She’s mine.”

Desmond cackles, then leans back against the sofa. “I can’t wait to meet them. This guy”—he elbows James—“texts Ana constantly but won’t show me what she looks like.”

“You’re not worthy of their beauty yet,” James says, almost sounding serious. “But maybe, if you’re a good boy, you’ll get to see them in person.”

Desmond blinks. “Worthy? What does that even mean?”

James glances between the two of us and shrugs. “Our last two drummers turned out to be royal twats. You’ve been… okay so far.”

“Hey, Max wasn’t a twat,” I interject. “He just didn’t want to pursue music as a career.”

Desmond raises a brow, eyes bouncing between James and me. “Wait, who’sMax? I thought Casey was the only drummer you guys ever had.”

James shakes his head. “Nope. We had Max first, but he left shortly before we came to America for the Blackout Summer Tour last year. Like I said… a royal twat.”

Desmond chuckles, and I just shake my head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Gareth sitting alone in the lounge—beer in one hand, phone clutched in the other. He’s staring out the window at the city lights, dead silent, when normally he’d be over here busting my balls with these two, like usual.

I hold up a hand to silence the Chatterbox Twins. “You guys know what’s up with him?” I ask, nodding toward Gareth.

They both frown, then shrug.

“He’s been pissy all night,” James says. “Threatened to toss me off the balcony if we bothered him—and I’m pretty sure he meant it. So we’ve kept our distance.” He squints toward Gareth. “You think it’s shit with Nora?”

I frown, shaking my head. “Why would it be? You saw them when the girls were down here. They were screwing like bloody bunnies and seemed pretty happy. This should be a time to celebrate for them.”

James lifts his hands in surrender. “I don’t know, mate. I overheard them arguing on the phone earlier. I’m betting that’s what it is.”

I scoff and push up from my seat. Gareth’s never been much of a talker when he’s upset, but he’s also never pushed me away. Maybe just sitting with him will calm his arse down—even a little.

This is supposed to be an exciting time for him. A baby. A record. Interviews. A bloody tour. So what could possibly have his knickers in a twist?

My hand lands on his shoulder, and he flinches, pulling away slightly. His jaw clenches briefly, and for a moment, he just stares blankly out the window.

“What’s up, mate?” I ask, easing down into the seat beside him. “You’ve been quiet all night. You okay?”