Protective Secrets (The Protective Series, Book 3)

Chapter Thirty-Two

[Jarmo's P.O.V]

I quickly scrolled through the calendar on my phone, skimming over the list of events that were scattered across the days with differently coloured labels. It was the thirtieth of November today, which meant we had an entire three days before we needed to go halfway across the globe to our first destination for the tour: Ontario.

The group had never toured Canada before, so it would be a very new and interesting experience for all four of us. A lot of countries and cities we were booked in for this time around were places none of us had ever visited before, even back in the days of Naildown. Spain, Brazil, Italy, and France were amongst the list of places we were yet to journey to during the end of the year through to the beginning of next year. While most other bands would be on break around that time, we viewed it as an exciting opportunity to make the most of our time while we were still young.

You're not the same stud as you once were, a voice reminded me in the back of my mind. You're thirty-four, going on thirty-five in little under two months.

Asko and Dominik were quiet, seated opposite me at the small circular table we'd found outside one of the restaurants. Michelle was due to come over to Australia the following day. I suspected Dominik was already having withdrawals, since he kept picking up his smartphone every five seconds, checking his lock screen for any notifications.

"You're so pussy whipped," I smirked, knowing my taunt was sure to get under his skin.

"I am not," he narrowed his eyes at me, promptly dragging them back down to his phone for the hundredth time in the past five minutes. "I'm just on standby, just in case we get a call."

"Do you hear that, Asko?" I gave him a mocking sideways glance, "is that denial I'm detecting, or just the overpowering stench of BS?"

"It's hard to say, Jarmo," he smirked, folding his arms across his broad torso. The absence of his short-sleeved hoody left very little to the imagination. His muscles were pressed up firmly against the taut fabric of his grey t-shirt, almost bursting through the shoulders. "It could be an elaborate lie, masked by the pretence of seeming like denial."

Dominik shook his head. "You're both jerks. If you need me, I'll be getting a hot chocolate over at Max Brenner."

He pushed himself out from the table and rose, leaving Asko and I in complete silence. The only audible thing between us was the different pitches of electronically generated melodies as he rifled through the list of pre-installed, generic Apple ringtones.

I exhaled a long, dreary sigh from deep within my chest, feeling my lungs deflate with the effort. Striking up a conversation with Asko hadn't been this challenging in the past. Normally, I would've started with a simple 'hey' or 'what's up Ascot?'. But now, for the first time in months, I was utterly speechless.

"I don't know what to say."

The flimsy paper creased and bent beneath the weight of my thumbs, which had suddenly and inexplicably become very heavy.

The words handwritten in fine, joined cursive blurred the longer I stared, until they made no sense at all. I knew this particular type of writing style belonged to Jed, and I knew the blotches of smeared ink running down the page were a result of his tears. What I couldn't grasp, though, was why he did this to us.

"If he needs time to sort his life out, then who are we to stop him?" Asko attempted to smile, but the gesture didn't reach his cheeks. "We've dealt with this kind of stuff before. Jed is still young. He has less experience than us when it comes to grieving for the one he loved."