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toughen up. I hired you because you’re a fantastic writer and a baby badass. Go in there and show him the badass part.”
     

chapter 4
     
    Declan sat in his makeshift dressing room and brooded over his phone. The rest of the world might as well not exist until he got this text. Same as every night, except this time he had a show. First time in six months. And this time, there was the image of Molly Ward, teasing at the edge of his thoughts.
    He shook his head, not willing to compromise his vigil. He couldn’t think about whether he would carry this guilt and worry on stage right now, and he damn well shouldn’t be thinking about Molly Ward. Not until he got the nightly text.
    There was a knock on the door just before it opened. Gage, Savage Heart’s drummer, popped his head in.
    “Dude, are you gonna make it?”
    “It’ll be fine.”
    “You heard yet?” Gage asked, his fingers toying with the disks in his ears.
    “Nope.”
    “Dec, man, you don’t have to do this. None of it was your—”
    “I know that, Gage, that’s not the fucking point. I’ll be ready. Just give me a minute.”
    That was a lie, though. Gage knew it, too, but shrugged and closed the door quietly behind him. Declan had never been this messed up before a show. Normally the idea of getting on stage zenned him out, gave him clarity, let him feel —the same way dominating a sub in a good scene would. He hadn’t gotten to do either of those things in months and he was about ready to explode.
    And now he was waiting on a goddamn text.
    He knew it wasn’t his fault, but it didn’t change anything. He still needed to know that Bethany was ok. And, just in case he wasn’t torturing himself enough already, he’d texted Soren, too: “Just let me know you’re ok, man.”
    Nothing.
    So.
    He stood up and stretched his body out, running a hand over his newly shorn hair. Took some getting used to, just like everything else. But then his mind drifted back to Molly Ward and he smiled; he wouldn’t have to get used to her, ballbuster or no. That was one bright spot, at least. He was definitely looking forward to being around that woman for the next two months.
    In fact, the closest he’d come to feeling like his old self was arguing with Molly. Threatening that asshat on the dock, for Molly.
    That was some batshit insane chemistry right there, like nothing else he’d ever seen, like she just fit. Some kind of animal, pheromone-type science behind that, no other explanation. And Declan hoped to God that Molly was sane, because she could be a black widow and that probably wouldn’t stop him from trying to get her into bed.
    He grinned. Actually it might make him more determined to dominate her. Wasn’t that some twisted shit?
    His phone buzzed, and Declan immediately felt guilty for not feeling more guilty—he’d let himself drift off, thinking about Molly Ward, when he should have been worrying about Bethany. He was thinking with his dick.
     
    BETHANY: “Just checking in. I’m doing ok. They’re saying I might be ready to leave in a few weeks!”
     
    Declan smiled and ignored the little bit of worry he felt. If the doctors thought she was almost ready, then she was almost ready. It was a good thing.
     
    DECL.A.N: “Congratulations. :) I’ll check in tomorrow. Have a good night.”
    BETHANY: “You, too. :)”
     
    Declan collapsed back onto the couch with relief. He knew he shouldn’t get this tense; Bethany hadn’t missed a single check-in since she’d been away. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help feeling responsible for what happened six months ago, just like he couldn’t help feeling responsible for what had happened sixteen years ago.
    Didn’t matter that none of it made any sense.
    Fuck, you have a show, Declan. Get it together.
    The closest he’d been to getting his pre-show headspace back was thinking about Molly. Specifically, the things he wanted to do to Molly. The way he felt around her, when he thought about