by E. Davies
We both stay quiet as we finish our glasses. The moment feels special, gazing out over the lake. There’s a stone bench out there. If it weren’t so freaking cold, I’d suggest sitting there to look at the stars.
But we can stay warm and see them from right here. I can even forget the quiet gurgle of the pump running in the background.
“This is magical,” I finally murmur, handing him back my empty glass when he holds out a palm. “I can see why you love doing this.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle with pleasure. “Yeah. It’s a dream come true.”
I smile and turn to watch him as he lets go of me, heading back over to put the glasses in the industrial sink in the corner and turn off the pump.
“Let’s go to bed before it turns back into a pumpkin,” he suggests, rejoining me.
My brow crinkles as I put a hand on his arm. “That’s not how the story goes.”
“It’s our story,” Tag says, so softly I almost miss it. Then he flicks the lights out and leads us outside.
I swallow hard, my heart thumping against my ribcage. It takes my breath away to think that he’s right. That we get to write our own story. At last, I’ve found everything I’ve been waiting for.
I’m too tired to look around at his house very much. It’s close to eleven o’clock now, maybe even midnight. We just head straight up the stairs. At the top, the staircase opens up into a spacious master bedroom stretching across the whole floor.
The blinds are open, and Tag moves to close them, but I shake my head. “It’s pretty,” I murmur. I like watching the moonlight shine through the window. “Nobody can see in, right?”
“We’re all alone here,” Tag promises. He flicks the lights off, and then I hear him undressing.
I sit on the edge of the bed to do the same, any nervousness gone. I forgot to bring pajamas, but I think Tag will happily keep me warm tonight.
My eyes adjust after a minute to the shape of him moving toward me in the darkness, carefully joining me on the other side of the bed.
When my clothes are neatly folded on the bedside table, I pull back the warm comforter and crawl underneath, snuggling up close.
This first moment of being pressed up to him, naked from head to toe, isn’t awkward at all. Not after having shared so much intimacy earlier.
It’s the most natural thing in the world, turning so my back’s to him and he can wrap himself around me. His warm, fuzzy arm slides over my side, and his hand gently rests on my chest as I put a hand on top of his.
My back is pressed against his chest, and every breath he takes gently whispers across my skin.
It’s all so very new to me, yet within minutes it feels as comfortable as anything.
Fairytales do come true.
16
Tag
When I wake up, I’m smiling before I even know why.
Then I open my eyes to the sight of Caleb’s curls, his body still tucked against mine after the whole night together. My dick has something to say about that.
But then I shift and frown. His leg can’t be over mine, not at this angle.
Then the lump on my legs moves, and I sigh and peek over the edge of the comforter.
Big brown eyes look back at me. Queenie tilts her head and grins at me, her tail softly thumping on the comforter. There’s no door in this house that can keep her out.
Now that she knows I’m awake, I have about sixty seconds to get out of bed or the chaos will start.
“Quiet,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. I clear my throat and scoot away from Caleb while Queenie stands up. Luckily, I manage to extricate myself without waking him, and then the race begins.
Will I get dressed before the Lab starts barking?
Underwear, jeans, T-shirt, socks—warn Queenie to stay quiet again as she jumps to the floor…
Yes! I made it.
She leads the way downstairs, and I take a moment to look behind me once more. I wish I could have slept in, just to draw out these precious moments a little longer.
But at least I can make him breakfast in bed before work.
Caleb looks angelic, asleep in the rumpled sheets with his curls all over the place. The pink rays of dawn’s light stream in through the room, lighting it up in that beautiful early winter way.
Queenie makes a quiet chuffing sound that I know means she’s about to start barking, so I hastily shut the bedroom door and walk downstairs as calmly as I can.
Despite my best efforts, when I get to the bottom of the stairs, it’s all over. She can’t stop her excited barks before I manage to get the front door open. The harsh sound echoes off the walls and all through the old farmhouse.
No way is Caleb still asleep now.
“Thanks, girl,” I say with a sigh, but her excitement about a new morning is always infectious. I can’t stay mad at her. When she comes in again, I fill up her bowl with kibble and set to work on our breakfast.
It doesn’t take long for my smile to return. I hurry to grab things from my pantry: a loaf of organic bread from the little place on Church Street, and a carton of eggs from the farm down the road.
Breakfast might be simple and quick, but at least he’ll know that I’m trying. I’ll save the pancakes and hash browns and sausages for a weekend.
Maybe, if I’m very lucky, this weekend?
I am lucky already.
I can’t believe how life works. I just happened to drop off that case of mead at the right time. Instead of keeping my head down and fleeing for my cold truck and warm home, I was ready to look around—and Caleb caught my eye.
And it’s not all luck on my side. He got up so much courage to perform for the very first time that night.
I just wish it had gone better. Well, I think it went great, but he’s clearly embarrassed.
If only he had another chance…
Wait. Why doesn’t he?
Telling Caleb that I have faith in him makes him bolder. I can do even better, though. I can talk to Tanner and organize a little event to spotlight Caleb. I’d coach him through it, or share the stage—whatever he needs to feel comfortable.
I know he can do it. He’s captivating, and his work is beautiful. It deserves a bigger audience than just me and Queenie.
I’ve been standing here with the fridge open, my hand on the butter, for way too long. I distractedly pluck the foil-wrapped block from the fridge and nudge it closed with my toe.
My mind is racing. I’ve been thinking about ways to get more locals aware of the Silver Crown brand name. If sponsoring an event boosts mead sales at the bar, Tanner wins too.
I know how to hustle for gigs. It wasn’t all slick radio hits and acting the part of the obnoxious rock star. If I show him what I learned from that part of my life, he might not judge me so much for… well, for selling out.
I can help keep Caleb from selling out or giving up. I’ll be the wind beneath his wings. Maybe he’ll end up performing or publishing a book of his poems. Who knows?
He needs someone in his life who believes in him unconditionally. I want to be that man.
There’s literally no downside.
Queenie barks as Caleb’s footsteps on the stairs warn us of his approach. “Good morning,” he greets a moment later, smiling as he crouches by Queenie for a cuddle.
“Oh, I see how it is,” I laugh, but I’m not offended.
“I’m saying hello to the mistress of the house first.”
“And then her loyal and obedient servant,” I point at myself with a grin.
“Bingo.” He winks and straightens up, slipping around the breakfast bar to stretch onto tiptoe and kiss me good morning.
“Mm, good morning,” I whisper against his lips and kiss him back. Then I remember I started heating the stove for the eggs. “Oops. How do you want your eggs?”
“Over easy?”
“Done,” I salute him with a spatula.
Caleb sits down at the breakfast bar, blushing adorably. “Breakfast? You’re spoiling me.”
“It was going to be in bed, but Queenie had a lot of loud thoughts.”
Caleb grins and looks around my house. “It’s gorgeous here.”
“Thank you.” My chest swells with pride at the admiration in his glance, but I’m impatiently waiting for my chance to bring up my idea. “So, I have an idea…”
Caleb raises his brows, so I draw a breath and launch into it. “Would you consider trying another event if I were there alongside you the whole time? Coaching you, helping you practice, whatever it takes.”
Caleb’s eyes go wide, but not with fear or annoyance. He actually looks touched. “You’d do that for me?”
“Duh,” I tease and wink before grabbing plates. “I’d be really happy to organize that. I can talk to Tanner and set something up.”
Caleb draws a breath and lets it out. He bites his lip. “Only if you’re there with me again.”
“Of course,” I promise, meeting his gaze as I switch off the heat to the stove. “Every step of the way.”
He smiles so much that dimples appear in his cheeks. “I’d love that, then. I think I can be brave again if you’re there.”
“Yes!” I nearly drop the toast in my excitement, but recover it just in time and flip it onto the plate as he giggles. “Awesome. I’ll set it up today.”
“How come you’re so good at public speaking? Can you really help me get better?”
The toast is getting buttered pretty hastily. I want to distract him before we go down this road. “I promise it gets easier. Every business owner starts out nervous. When you’ve pitched a room of potential clients…”
“Oh,” Caleb laughs softly, accepting my explanation with such ease that I almost feel a little guilty.
I’m not lying, exactly. Omitting the full story, definitely. But I don’t want to live in the shadow of my Google results and tabloid photos and the whole damn life I left behind.
Ironic, really, that Caleb thinks I’m the brave one. If only I could have been the real me all along, I never would have gotten into that mess. But then I wouldn’t have run away here and met him…
Meant to be? I sure hope so.
“Here you go,” I say, a little too loudly. I slide the plates across the breakfast bar with a flourish, then sidestep around it to join him on the other stool.
Breakfast doesn’t take long, unfortunately. These last few, precious minutes fly by in what feels like seconds.
Then I grab a case of mead and hop in the truck with Caleb to drive him back home. This time, I leave Queenie at home because I’ll have to track down Tanner.
But first, I have to say goodbye to Caleb for another long day or more. My spirits sag as I pull up outside his apartment and apply the parking brake. “Here we go. Your carriage has arrived, sir.”
Caleb smiles and unbuckles, sliding across the seat toward me. “Thank you for an amazing night.”
“No, thank you.” I smile and cup his cheek affectionately, my heart twinging. I don’t want to let him go.
For God’s sake, it’s not like we’re saying goodbye at the airport. But all my heart knows is that we’re parting. And now we’ve had a taste of what it could be like… it’s going to be hard to spend a night alone.
“I’ll see you soon,” Caleb promises, like he knows what I’m thinking. Then he kisses me once, pressing his lips against mine. “And I’ll text you even sooner.”
I grin. “I’ll hold you to that,” I murmur, my fingertips slipping free from his hand as he slides out of the truck and waves. I raise my hand for a wave and watch him go into his apartment.
Now it’s time for the plan.
When he’s gone, I get out and lock up the truck, then hoist the case of mead into my arms.
Tanner lives above the bar, so he might be around—he doesn’t seem to sleep. I don’t think it matters whether I talk to him at seven in the morning or at night, he’ll still reply in as few syllables as humanly possible.
If Tanner isn’t awake yet, I’ll drop off the case with one of the guys at the bookstore… and then text Tanner to make sure none of the bottles take a hike. I know those bookish types.
But when I knock on the back entrance, I’m happy to find Tanner himself pushing open the door. He grunts, tips up his chin, and reaches for the case in my arms.
“Hey, uh, can I ask you something?”
He shrugs. “I’m here.”
I bite back a smile. He’s not that grumpy, really, he just doesn’t say much. And I can respect that. “Can I run a little event?” I ask. “I was thinking Silver Crown could sponsor Caleb for a little poetry event… call it, I dunno, Bees and Beats?”
The name is terrible, but Tanner only raises a brow for a moment. “Knock yourself out. How’s Monday?”
“Perfect.” That’s probably their slow night, so we can bring in a little extra business and everyone wins. I grin and just manage to stop myself from shaking hands since he’s still holding the case. “Awesome. Thanks. I’ll print out some posters and drop them off.”
He grunts again and nods, and then I turn to head back to my truck, whistling under my breath.
Everyone wins. How perfect is that?
It feels like I’m going back to my roots, when we first formed. Way back before success bred its own problems, I was always the guy hustling for gigs. I was the youngest by a few years, and some bars insisted on drawing Sharpie Xs over both my hands if I played there after nine o’clock or something dumb.
God, that feels like a different lifetime now. Long enough ago that it’s a fond, pretty funny memory instead of a sharp pang making a home in my gut.
I keep whistling all the way back home, where I greet Queenie and wash up the breakfast dishes, before I realize what tune is playing in my mind.
It’s another old Jet Slack song I haven’t even thought about in years.
I dry my hands off, and before I can think twice about it, I head down to the cellar. There’s a few boxes I’ve never unpacked, and I know exactly which one I’m looking for.
I blow the dust off the lid, then ease it off the white carton. I pull out a few handwritten pages, hardly able to breathe at how familiar it all seems.
Holy crap. I can’t believe I kept this stuff. I ditched nearly everything—or let them auction it as part of what I call the divorce agreement. At least some fans got mementoes, and I got the money to come out here and start my new life.
Pretty much all I kept was this box. It’s all the rejected lyrics.
I remember the arguments like they were yesterday. I wanted to take Jet Slack a different direction, stop doing the same thing over and over. Start being real again, like we were before we lost our way.
But I guess I was the one who’d lost my way. I was the odd one out.
Not even as the gay one. They were fine with that. But they were happy to live that life, smashing up hotel rooms and getting the hottest girls in the club.
I played along, sometimes. I didn’t like when they blew our money on losing our hotel deposits, but when they went looking for hot girls, I found hot guys. I kept up in the clubs, shot for shot, bottle for bottle.
I was young, stupid, and I deserve every word in my Wikipedia “Personal life” section. But… I can’t keep pretending I wasn’t that guy, either.
Maybe I can dust off that part of my life and put it to work now that there’s a good reason. If Caleb’s brave enough to show himself to the world every day, I can spend one evening revisiting my own past.
It’s time to see what I left behind.
17
Caleb
Tag knows how to tease a guy.
He texted on my lunch break to tell me that he’s got a surprise, but he won’t show me until I’m home from work. Part of me thinks it’s an excuse to get on the phone with me, but I’m totally willing to play along.
I thought a day apart from Tag would feel a year long, but daydreams keep me captivated and the time flies by in a haze of reports.
I can’t stop wonderin
g what kind of surprise he means. The sexy kind? I really hope it’s the sexy kind. Like candy underwear, or a well-composed dick pic to save in my Hidden photo album.
I’ve got a one-track mind today.
I’m glad for the desk and my tightest underwear hiding the shape of my thoughts. It’s technically ten minutes to quitting time. Gary doesn’t seem to mind that everyone else plays fast and loose with our working hours, so my coworkers just left.
I just have one more sheet of numbers to transcribe, which should take up the next ten minutes. And then I’ll be free, too.
But ten minutes feels like a lifetime. Every time I glance at the clock, the minute hand hasn’t moved. And when I double-check my spreadsheet, I spot a few sloppy mistakes.
For once, my brain has checked out early. It’s too fixated on the memory of last night.
I can’t shake the visual, clear as day: Tag kneeling over me, one his strong hand curled around his cock as he grips my curls in his other fist. Okay, maybe I’m embellishing the memory, but I love him playing with my hair.
My fingers tap on my number pad automatically as I glance around casually, like anyone’s here to see. I slide the other hand onto my lap, my palm resting on the bulge of my shaft.
My cock jumps under the touch, and little sparks shoot straight to my toes. I press harder, dragging the heel of my hand slowly over my erection.
Jesus, I’m so hard it hurts. So close to the edge already. It wouldn’t take long…
I sprawl a little bit in the chair so it looks casual, my gaze flickering to the window.
Someone would have to look inside at just the right angle to realize. Even then, they wouldn’t see anything…
No, my common sense kicks in at last, and I bite back a whimper as I look at that page. But there’s no way in hell I can do this while I’m so distracted.
You know what? Fuck it. It’s time to let myself play by other people’s rules. I’m always here ten minutes early. I’ll just do this in the morning.
“Caleb?”