Killian sighs and leans forward to rest his head on my shoulder, his hands going to my hips. Immediately, I wrap my arms around his back and stroke him. We sit in quiet until he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Shit day, baby doll.”

“Yeah,” I agree, my throat thick.

He kisses the side of my neck, a soft press of lips, then sits up straight. His face is somber. “Talked to the record execs.”

I sit up straighter. “They’re giving you trouble, aren’t they?”

“They tried.” He shrugs. “They were pissed about the fight. But that’s to be expected.”

“I’m so sorry—”

“No,” he cuts in. “Don’t start that again. We both know who is to blame, and that fucker isn’t coming anywhere near you again.”

“Doesn’t make it any better, though, does it?”

Killian’s sigh is tired and low. “Guess not.” He snorts with disgust. “They want me on my best behavior from now on.”

My fingers feel cold, and I rub my damp palms along my thighs. “Killian—”

“You talked to Scottie.” Pain shadows his eyes, making them dull. He doesn’t ask about what. It’s obvious he knows.

I clear my throat. “You’re upset.”

He smiles, but it isn’t with humor. “No, Libby. I’m proud. This is huge. It’s the next logical step, and you’re taking it.” His big hands curl around my knees, giving a small squeeze. “It’s huge. I’m happy for you.”

“You don’t exactly look happy,” I point out. My heart begins to pound with a sick dread, and I don’t even know why.

Killian’s gaze slides to the side, his teeth catching his lower lip. “I just wish you had come to me instead of him.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I touch his hand and find it cold. “I wanted a different perspective. And you kept telling me everything was fine, not to worry. But it isn’t fine. And I do worry. I want to help you.”

Killian takes that in with an expression I can’t fully read. Regret, maybe? Hurt, definitely. But his voice is even when he finally speaks. “Scottie told me he thought you should start working with him now. Said it was your time to break out.”

“He did,” I say slowly. “But the tour is still going.”

Killian grips the back of his neck, his arm flexing. He won’t meet my eyes. “The tour is moving to Europe. No one will question if you aren’t there.”

No one will care. Because I am not really a part of Kill John anyway. I know this. I never wanted to push my way into their band. It still doesn’t stop the shards of pain from stabbing their way into my chest.

I need to get a grip. I am the one who went to Scottie. He told me that leaving the tour was best. But for some ridiculous reason, I thought Killian would put up a fight. That he wouldn’t want me to go. Pride. Stupid pride.

“No, I suppose not.” I hate that my voice breaks.

He nods, the action slow, as if it’s taking effort. “Scottie can get you set up in L.A. By tomorrow.”

My insides swoop. “Tomorrow?”

Holy hell, I’m being handled, a problem swept under the rug. It’s one thing to take control of the problem, but to have Killian actually agree with Scottie is unsettling.

Still, I have to ask. “Is that what you want?”

Killian looks at me sharply. “It isn’t about what I want anymore.” He lets his hand fall, and for a moment, I think he’ll reach for me. But he rests it on his thigh. “It’s about what’s best for you. For the band. It would be better for you if you do this now.”

“But is it what you want?” I snap, unable to let it go.

Killian seems to brace himself. When he lifts his head, his eyes are clear. “Yeah, Libby, it’s what I want. I think you should go.”

Nausea rolls in my belly. God, how many times had my mama warned me? Musicians don’t stick when life gets hard. And if they do, they regret it. I lurch to my feet.

He tries to grab my wrist. “Libs—”

I brush him off with a tight smile. “I’m okay. I have to stand. My legs are falling asleep.” I pace to the window where rain streaks down in rivers, the landscape blurry and gray. “It’s a good plan,” I manage. “The best plan.”

He’s silent, and I risk a look. I wish I hadn’t. Pity etches his features. Fuck that. My fingers curl around the heavy drapes. He’s sending me away. After all his cajoling, after outright ordering me to join him, when the shit hits the fan, he fucking sends me away.

“I could come with you for a bit,” he says. “Help you get set up.”

Jax’s warning runs through my mind. Killian will put me first. Even though it’s clear he wants me gone, his loyalty will always drive him into doing the noble thing. I’m the problem here. I refuse to add more to it by tearing him away from his life, his obligations.

Killian had the courage to push me toward a life I didn’t want to admit I craved. I can do this for him now and walk away with dignity. The lump in my throat reaches epic proportions. I swallow convulsively, willing myself not to cry. “And leave the tour?” I choke on a sharp laugh. “No. That’s ridiculous.”

He frowns. “Libby, if you need me—”

“I don’t.” I know he cares. But I’m done being his problem to solve.

He recoils as if I’ve slapped him. That burns too. I’m not the one backing off. He promised everything would be okay if we stuck together. And now this.

“Okay, then,” he says slowly, the frown growing deeper.

I want to rage and fight. But pride forces me to remain calm. I refuse to be any man’s regret. I sigh and run a hand through my hair. My head hurts. My heart aches. “Killian, I’ll be fine. It’s like you said; this is just the next step.” Where I leave you. I don’t want to leave you.

“And your tour won’t last forever. I’ll just wait in L.A….” I trail off, not really knowing what else to say. Everything is jumbled and stuck in my chest.

His body is stiff as he stands, setting his hands low on his hips. “Look…You’ll be busy. I’ll be busy.” He takes a breath, like he’s trying to force his words out. “You can take this time to settle down, see what you really want.”