Page 80 of The Encore Effect

“Why don’t you slow down?” Beckett suggested.

Jackson snorted. “It’s just an Old Fashioned.”

“How many have you had?”

Jackson held up the mostly empty glass. “This one doesn’t count.”

“You don’t need to go so hard all the time.”

“It’s just a fucking drink.”

“It’s never just a drink,” Beckett snapped.

Gideon appeared beside them, the crowd parting to make room for his imposing figure. “People are watching you,” he said evenly.

Jackson scoffed. “Whatever. I’ll find the bar myself.” He disappeared into the crowd, swallowed up by the mass of people. When had the club gotten so crowded?

Beckett moved to go after his brother, but Gideon stopped him, stepping into his path. “Let him go.”

“He’s drunk.” Beckett bit out the words. It occurred to him he wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually said those words out loud before.

The security guard gave a stiff nod. “He usually is. Rodney’s on it.” Gideon’s second in command was a force to be reckoned with. Not as stoic as Gideon, but a damn good security guard all the same. “He’ll make a scene,” Gideon warned.

Beckett deflated. Gideon was right. The old Jackson would have laughed it off, found a way to turn Beckett’s concern into a joke, come back to the VIP area and waited a bit to get another drink. But that wasn’t the guy Jackson had been lately. That guy didn’t throw a glass at a gala for sick kids or pick fights with his brother backstage at a show.

If Beckett stormed off after Jackson and continued to push the issue, there was no telling how his twin would react. If his tantrum wound up in the press, if even one person in the club pulled out their phone to record Jackson Hayes behaving badly, the scrutiny would only make it worse. Not to mention the headline could have devastating repercussions for Kat.

He wanted to be with her, to sit by her side and watch as she built this life for herself crafted of the words she’d written, the worlds she’d dreamt up. He didn’t want to spend another second in this club, his feet sticking to the residue of spilled liquor and his mind mapping the exits. But if Jackson kept drinking, if Beckett didn’t go after him, if his brother kept getting angrier…

“Gid,” Beckett grated out, the pressure in his chest clawing its way up his throat and choking him. “I don’t know… What the fuck do I do?”

Something soft flashed in Gideon’s eyes, there and then gone. “We’re not solving this tonight. Why don’t you get out of here? Rodney and I will make sure he gets back to the hotel safely.”

It felt wrong to leave, to walk away knowing his brother was headed for an epic crash. But Jackson was a grown man and Gideon was right, they weren’t going to fix anything tonight. Staying and witnessing his brother make more poor decisions wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all Jackson. So maybe it was time he stopped.

He didn’t want to stay and witness his brother self-destruct. He wanted to go back to the hotel, crawl into bed with Kat, dream about a future where they weren’t on the road all the time, where he didn’t live with the constant fear that Jackson was one bad decision away from doing something he couldn’t take back.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, the guilt tangling with relief in a confusing knot that twisted his organs. He glanced over his shoulder towards the VIP area. “The guys—”

“I’ll tell them. Go. Be with your fiancée.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

“You’re back early,” Kat said when Beckett got back to the hotel. She turned down the volume on the episode of Love Resort she was watching and set aside the bag of sour candy penises she’d been sucking on. They were a parting gift from the bookstore after the book bedazzling event. The owner had been right—they were tastier than any candy dick had a right to be.

Beckett dropped to his knees at the side of the bed and pulled her into a hug. His strong arms banded around her middle as he pressed his face into the round of her belly, his breath hot on her skin through the thin cotton of her camisole. She hugged him back, threading her hands through his hair, and his hold on her tightened.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked.

He took a slow breath, his ribs rising and falling beneath her embrace. “What if he’s never ready?”

Her heart cracked in two at the fear in his voice, the strain in it as he held himself together. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was dimly aware that she should be worried about more than the man in her arms—she should be worried about the tour, her obligations to ensure the band performed at the top of their game, the bonus waiting for her at the end of it all. She should be on the phone with Gideon, with Derek, with one of those counselors she’d carefully researched at the start of the tour. But she couldn’t bring herself to care about the business of the tour, not when Beckett was on his knees at her feet holding her like he might float away if he loosened his grip.

“Maybe it’s time we talk to him,” she said.

He shook his head. “I’ve tried that. He just gets defensive. We end up arguing and it goes nowhere.”

“We could try talking to him together.” When he didn’t say anything, she tugged on the ends of his hair, urging him to look at her. “What do the other guys think?”