Free Light Unshaken (Unveiled #2) by Crystal Walton Page B

All from the recording studio. Behind the microphone, he came to life. Like he was made to be there. The band members huddling around him looked like old friends instead of new acquaintances. Same as the single girl in every picture.
    If she was his manager, shouldn’t she be too busy to stay glued to his side? Or maybe that was what managers did. Protected their interest.
    And maybe I needed another dose of pain pills more than I thought.
    I grabbed my water, forced my legs over the side of the bed, and steadied myself against the chair until my vision caught up with my movement. I traipsed toward the kitchen, groping the wall as a buffer.
    My feet skidded to a stop in front of the living room. Water from my cup splashed onto the front of my shirt.
    A. J. stayed the night.
    Fragments from what I thought had been a dream became clear now. He’d checked in on me each hour, probably afraid I had a concussion. A lump trekked up my throat.
    Stretched out on the couch, his strength and stoicism lay transformed into a scene of serenity. One I didn’t want to disturb. Dust particles floated in rays of sunlight streaming through the blinds like laser beams to tiptoe over without triggering an alarm.
    I kneeled beside him and studied his face. Thank God, it didn’t appear he’d been injured in the fight other than the scrapes on his knuckles. The stubble on his cheeks had surpassed a five o-clock shadow hours ago, but he’d lost his usual tension lines. If I woke him, they’d return the moment he realized he was still here. With me. Alone.
    Unless something had changed.
    I’d caught a glimpse of my friend in my room last night. Maybe I hadn’t lost him completely.
    I rested my fingertips to his face. “A. J.,” I whispered, “it’s time to get up.”
    He darted straight into the air and scanned the perimeter of the room as if a drill sergeant had awoken him in the middle of the night. It only took one look at his face to see boot camp would’ve been his preference. His cheeks matched the color of the much-too-short maroon blanket he’d pulled off the top of the couch last night.
    He scratched his hair. “I meant to slip out before you woke up.”
    I tottered to my feet and shuffled backward until my legs found the chair behind me. “Thanks for staying. That was really sweet of you.”
    He tossed the throw pillows into their designated positions in either corner of the couch. “How are you feeling?”
    I cradled the bottom of my head above my neck. “Nothing taking Advil for a few days won’t fix.”
    “Good, good,” he said while striding toward the front door. He stopped, already on the other side of the entryway, and looked behind him. His eyes met mine. For the briefest moment, they were as genuine as they’d been last night. “We should file a police report.”
    I met him at the door. “I’m not going to jeopardize our chance of getting funding. That’s probably exactly what those punks want. You’ve seen them on that street corner. Like they’ve been staking it out or something.” I tucked one arm under the other. “I don’t know what their personal vendetta is, but we can’t let them win.”
    A tendon in his neck twitched. “This isn’t a game.”
    “I know—”
    “Do you?” His jaw pulled tight.
    I gripped the door edge. Couldn’t he see I was trying to do the right thing for the center? We couldn’t afford any bad press right now.
    Face softening, he started toward me but backed up instead. “I . . . I’m sorry. I gotta go.” He hustled down the staircase. The exit door opened and sent a draft soaring in his absence.
    I locked up, sank into the corner of the couch, and balled one of the accent pillows in my lap. He’d only stayed because he was that kind of guy. I shouldn’t have thought—
    A ring from my cell pulsed into the stillness.
    “Good morning,” Riley said. “How’s my dance partner doing?”
    His sweet voice washed over me and drained the tension back down. “Better