Who Knows When (Joger/Dealor)

Chapter 44

"What?" John and I responded in unison, both just as confused as the other about Brian's suggestion.

"Why?" Freddie joined in, giving the man sitting adjacent to him a strange look.

Brian threw his hand in my direction, asking, "Don't you think it's about time Roger and Tim made amends with one another? I mean, what better occasion than this week away?"

"I really don't think it's a good idea, Bri," I objected coldly, the thought of spending a whole week with Tim near unbearable. All I wanted to do was strangle the guy, not only for leaving us, but for trying to take John away now too.

"Yeah, and blondie over here still doesn't know his fucking entrances," the singer growled, glaring at me. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"He can work on those when he gets back," the guitarist offered, waving a dismissive hand at him, "But I really do think this week away will do them both some good. Roger can make up with Tim and John can see whether likes playing with them better or not. Besides, then you and I can work out the rest of the songs. I really think this opportunity for John will be good for all of us."

I stared at Brian with furrowed brows, trying to figure out what he was getting at. Something didn't seem right to me—like there was more to his suggestion than he was leading on.

"Are you on something?" Freddie interrogated him, pounding a fist down into the table, "We are behind schedule, darling. We have weeks before the label's expecting us to have our finished product! We can't afford anyone taking a week off to go fuck off with—"

"Ring Tim up," the curly-haired man addressed John, cutting the singer short and nodding towards the phone hanging on the wall. We barely used the ancient thing, calls rarely coming through or going out. We've settled on it serving more of a decorative purpose, something to look at and complain about when there was nothing better to do, and I'd much rather argue over that than this any day.

"Let him know you're going and bringing a friend along," he added, his eyes trailing over to me and a smirk appearing on his face.

*****

"Hey," I muttered, pulling Brian out of the focused state he was in with his guitar strapped around his shoulders and a notebook on his knee. We were the only two left in the apartment after this morning's unexpected feud. John was off, meeting up with Tim again after having decided that he wanted to discuss the opportunity he'd been given in person. As for Freddie, he had left to find himself another vest...with my wallet. I tried to object, but he said it was the only way he was going to forgive me and that, if I was smart and remembered we had an album to finish, I wouldn't argue him on it. So, I didn't.

"What is it, Rog?" the guitarist inquired, a genuine sincerity to his response, accompanied only by a fractional amount of irritation.

I dared to take the seat beside him and bit my lip, glancing down at the notebook I'd brought in with me and staring at the words I'd added. "Why is it that you want me to go with John on Tim's tour so badly?"

He shrugged. "Like I said, it's about time—"

"Bullocks," I cut him short, looking over at him to see that he'd started writing an idea down, avoiding my gaze, "I want a real answer, Brian. You know I'm not stupid." I leaned in and—even though it was only the two of us—whispered, "I know you know about John and me."

He sighed and set his pencil down, his hazel eyes finally meeting mine. "And I thought it'd be nice for you two to get away for a little bit. Is that so wrong, Roger?" I widened my eyes, raised my eyebrows, and shook my head once as if to say Uh, yeah, to which Brian rolled his eyes and set his notebook down on the coffee table, and his guitar to the side. "Look, I just...ever since John's been around, I don't think I've ever seen you happier, and that's all I want for you, Rog—to be happy."

An incredulous chuckle slipped past my lips as I turned my head to the side. "Really? Because the only thing I've felt ever since he's come around is confused and angry, and...and I don't even know if he likes me back."

"Oh, he does," the guitarist assured me rather quickly, standing up and wandering off to the bedroom hallway, "He likes you very much."

I scoffed and followed after him, skeptically inquiring, "And how do you suppose that?"

He stopped in the middle of the hallway and replied with his back to me, "Because he told me."

Those four words were almost enough to make my heart stop beating. The revelation that he had talked to Brian about me and that he revealed that he liked me shocked me so much that all I could get out was a timid yet curious, "When?"

The guitarist heaved a heavy sigh and spun around to face me. "A while ago."

"And you didn't tell me?" I snapped at him.

Brian folded his arms over his chest and frowned at me like I was a misbehaving child, even going on to say in a very authoritative way, "You're not listening to me, Rog."

"Well, from what you just told me, it sounds like you've been trying to double-cross me from the start!" I exclaimed, waving my hand at him angrily, "Telling me to be careful when you've known all along that he likes me...why would you do that? I thought we were friends."

"We are friends, Rog, I'm just—" He smacked his forehead in frustration and muttered under his breath, "I worry, alright? But you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Just...try and enjoy yourself while you're with him, because I'm going to be honest with you—you might not get another chance."