Page 79 of The Encore Effect

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a problem,” Logan said.

Beckett studied his bandmate. Logan had always been the big brother of the group, looking out for everyone. He stopped drinking after their first tour, started going to therapy to figure his shit out. He wasn’t bothered by other people drinking around him, still went out with the guys, still partied as hard as anyone back in the early days, even if his cup was filled with ginger ale or seltzer. But they’d never talked about it.

Christ, how many things had they never talked about? Midnight Storm had been performing together for twenty years and there was so much they just didn’t say, didn’t share with each other. Beckett was suddenly struck with an indescribable sadness for all the time they’d lost. They were family in every way that counted, so why was it so goddamn hard to talk about the shit that really mattered?

Across the VIP area, Gideon frowned, his eyes glued to something in the direction Jackson had wandered off in. The back of Beckett’s neck prickled in warning.

“Gid?” he asked.

The security guard gave him a tight nod, then took off through the crowd. Beckett swore under his breath but was right on his heels.

Jackson stood at the bar, toe to toe with a guy at least six inches shorter than him wearing a hot pink polo shirt and penny loafers. Their voices were lost in the incessant thump thump thump of the bass pulsing through the speakers but from pink shirt guy’s angry expression and the way he kept getting in Jackson’s face, it was clear nothing good was happening.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Jackson asked, holding up his hands as Gideon smoothly stepped between Jackson and the other guy.

“My problem is you tried to pick up my girl, you douche nugget,” pink shirt guy yelled, reaching around Gideon’s substantial frame to jab a finger in Jackson’s direction.

“Douche nugget?” Jackson repeated, barking out a laugh.

Beckett planted a hand between Jackson’s shoulder blades. “Let’s go. Gideon’ll handle this.”

Jackson grabbed his drink off the bar top and lifted it as if in toast to the pink shirt guy as Beckett steered him towards the VIP area.

“You better walk away!” the guy shouted, practically jumping to catch a view of the brothers retreating behind Gideon’s back. “Fucking has-been.”

Jackson wheeled around, beelining back towards the bar. “What did you say to me?”

“Oh, now you’re a tough guy? Now that you’ve got your meathead security involved?” pink shirt guy taunted.

Gideon sighed, as though this whole thing was beyond mundane. “Time to go.” He lifted his hand to call over the club’s bouncer.

“Jacks, come on.” Beckett tugged on his brother’s forearm, but Jackson shrugged him off.

“I got news for you, jackass. I didn’t try to pick up your girl. She hit on me,” Jackson said.

Pink shirt guy lunged at Jackson, but Gideon caught him under the arms as if he weighed nothing and hustled him towards the door of the club.

As soon as they were gone, Beckett rounded on his brother. “What the fuck?”

“Dude’s got his panties in a twist because I invited his girl back to the VIP area,” Jackson said.

“You didn’t have to cause a fucking scene.”

“I didn’t do shit. He’s the dickhead who—”

“I don’t care what he did. I care what you did.” Beckett stabbed a finger in the center of Jackson’s chest. “You can’t just go around starting shit.”

“How was I supposed to know she had a boyfriend? It’s not like she had his name tattooed on her forehead.”

“It’s not about the girl. What you do affects other people. You have to think.”

A lanky guy who couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two stumbled into Jackson, knocking into his drink. Most of it sloshed over the lip of the glass, splashing over his hand and onto the floor.

“Fuck!” Jackson roared. He shook off his wet hand. “I’m going to grab another one.”

“Did you even hear anything I said?” Beckett demanded.

“Yeah. Don’t start shit with chihuahua-ass dudes. I heard you.” Jackson spun around, stumbling. His forehead crinkled in confusion as if he was lost and he craned his neck to see around the dancing clubgoers all around them. “Where’d the bar go?”