by BA Tortuga
“Deal, son. You got a deal. Now go rest.”
Knowing he was being fobbed off, knowing he couldn’t do dick about it, Hollis went on to bed, needing the rest more than he wanted to admit.
He needed Jeremy more. But that he would have to do without.
HOLLIS WAS sore. Still.
He was grumbly. He was fucking missing Jeremy, and no one would even let him talk to the man.
Goddammit, he was gonna go crazy. He hadn’t stretched in weeks, it seemed like, and he was tight as a drum. He just wanted to go back to before, when shit seemed right.
He thought about calling Charlie, but Hollis didn’t know if he could handle that mix of sympathy and smug satisfaction. It might just make him explode.
So he plinked away at his guitar instead. Writing songs. Yeah. That was it. Writing.
The bus door opened, Ann Marie’s head popping in. “Hollis? Jeremy’s replacement’s here.”
“What?” He blinked at her, just…. No. Jeremy wasn’t getting replaced.
“Chris… uh… something. Your new trainer. He’s here.”
He’d be damned if that blond guy he’d seen hugging Jeremy didn’t bebop on the bus. “Martin. Chris Martin. Hey there, nice to meet you.”
“Hi. I’m sure Ann Marie can call Charlie and get you a check cut for your time, but I’m not in the market for another trainer.” He just…. No fucking way.
“Oh, now, I’m just as good as Germs was, I swear. We went to school together. Hell, Charlie says that Jeremy gave him my name as the best replacement.”
Hollis stared the man right in the eye. “He’s not replaceable.”
“Okay, I know you two were friends, but you need a trainer, and I’m hired. I swear not to deviate from Germ’s methods, okay? He did a great job with you. You look fabulous.”
Ha. Like he was gonna let this man smoke a doobie with him and rub him in the places Jeremy had. Hollis sighed, setting the guitar aside. He was getting used to not getting what he wanted, wasn’t he? “Whatever, man. You’ll sleep out here.”
“Sure. I called the hospital, got notes and all. Jeremy was damned thorough. Too bad about his legs and all.”
“Yeah, too bad.” Gingerly lifting up off the hard little couch, Hollis creaked, heading toward the bedroom. “Night. Night, Ann Marie honey. I’d like those fancy-assed wheat pancakes for breakfast.”
“Sure thing.” Chris nodded, plopping down a duffel bag beside the sofa.
Hollis closed the door to his little bedroom and leaned on it with his eyes closed. Jesus Christ. It wasn’t Chris’s fault, was it? His momma would be appalled at how rude and diva-like that was. So would Jeremy.
Hollis sighed, heading back out. “I want to apologize, man. I’m just in a mood.”
“No sweat. I bet you’re still sore as hell. You want a massage?” The guy seemed genuinely decent. Of course, he would be. Jeremy was his friend.
Hollis debated that. It felt odd to say yes, but the man had to earn his pay, and Jeremy wouldn’t have recommended him if he couldn’t do a good job. “Sure. Let me change into my shorts.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get the table set up.”
“’Kay.” He went and changed into a soft pair of shorts, ignoring the bruises that still had yet to fade.
It was fucked-up, like the bruises were the only proof Jeremy’d ever existed, ever even known him.
Lord, he could be a maudlin son of a bitch. Hollis stretched out, tense as a piano wire.
“Easy, man. I’ll take it slow. You excited about your concert?” Chris’s hands landed on him, working out his tension.
“I ought to be, huh?” If he closed his eyes and floated, it wasn’t so bad.
It wasn’t Jeremy, but it wasn’t bad.
THE CONCERT had been the best of his whole fucking life.
Hollis had sung his fucking ass off, doing his rockabilly best to move people, get them on their feet and get them screaming. Hell, he’d even let the stylist unbutton his fucking shirt to there, letting his fairly new six-pack rock the house too.
He was pumped. Fucking flying. Ann Marie gave him a big old hug, his band gave him all sorts of shit, and when he got to the bus, Hollis bounced right on, ready to tell Jeremy all about it.
Of course, it wasn’t Jeremy there, was it? That was the only sour note.
Chris grinned up, wearing nothing but a pair of itty-bitty workout shorts, applauding. “Man, you could hear the crowd from here.”
Hollis tried not to stare. Hell, it had been a while, hadn’t it? And Chris was a well-put-together man. Hollis smiled back. “Thanks, man. It was good. Real good. It really was sold-out.”
“Fucking A. You’re looking pumped, man. What can I do for you?” Chris stood, all of those muscles just rippling.
“Uh.” His brain went rabbit rabbit. “I’m good. Really. I could use a beer.” He winked, just trying to keep it light.
“You mind if I join you? I haven’t had a cold one in weeks.”
“Nope. Come on, have a sit.” That was easier, right? Buddies, having a beer, him on the chair, Chris on the couch. Separate.
Chris sprawled out, long legs going up and up. “Man, you must be on cloud nine, huh?”
“It’s pretty good, man. That crowd was rocking.” He grinned just thinking about that roar and applause.
“I don’t know how you do it, get up there and sing. I could dance, probably, but that doesn’t involve remembering the words.”
“Oh, that’s fine as long as I don’t think about it. And it helps that I write a lot of my own shit.”
“Yeah? Germs didn’t tell me that.”
“What all did he tell you?” It seemed prudent to ask, considering.
“That you liked your biscuits. That you worked hard. That you were fine.” Chris winked and grinned. “He liked the way you did your thing. I can’t blame him.”
“Thanks.” That was kinda… odd. Having Chris look at him like that. Just really odd.
“Oh! He said to say good luck. I completely forgot to tell you.”
“Yeah? I can’t get ahold of him. I’ve tried.” He’d called and called. The number didn’t work. “If you have a number for him….”
“He said he was finally leaving the hospital and all. He had like three different surgeries, but his folks were taking him back to Texas.”
Jesus. Charlie was supposed to keep him posted. Three surgeries. Bile rose in his throat, and Hollis took another swig of beer to wash it down. “Well, at least he’s got some help.”
“Yeah.” Chris leaned forward, hands on his knees. “You want a massage? To cool you down?”
“Huh?” Hollis glanced up, met the man’s bright eyes, trying to remember why Chris was there. “Oh. Sure, okay.” Hell, Charlie was paying the guy.
Those hands moved up, digging into his thighs. “You’re all tight.”
Hollis sort of stared down at Chris’s hands, then glanced up to meet the man’s eyes. “I’m not sure this is the way we ought to go about the massage, man.”
“No? I can be real discreet….”
“Oh, I’m sure.” He put his hands on Chris’s shoulders, pushing a good distance between them. “And I bet you’d work me out but good. I’m just not…. Sorry, man.”
“Oh. Dude. I misread that, huh?” Chris blushed but gave him a grin. “I hear you. You can’t blame a man for trying.”
Hell, if Chris wanted to think he was straight, that would make things easy. “You never know, right? If it’s not gonna be weird, I could still use that massage.”
“You got it. Let me get the table set up, and we’ll work out the kinks.”
He wasn’t sure if anyone could work out his biggest kink, which was missing Jeremy. The massage, though? That he’d take.
HE DIALED, sneaking his cell phone on, just once, hoping to catch Hollis before the Bowl concert. He was going to go home tomorrow, start the four-day drive in the back of the folk’s SUV. Jeremy rolled his eyes. Joy.
Back to Houston
.
“’Lo?”
Dude, that wasn’t Hollis.
“Uh. Sorry. I’ve got the wrong number.”
“Germs? Dude! How are you?” Oh, Chris. His replacement. Goodie.
“I’ll be released from the hospital tomorrow. I just wanted to wish Ho… Mr. Lee good luck tonight.”
“Oh, I’ll tell him. He’s in the shower, and then I’m going to give him his preshow rubdown. You did a kickass job with him, Germs, I swear. He’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. He bulked up nice.” Did he ever ask about me?
“I’m taking care of him for you, man. He’s something special. A little growly, but I’m working on that. I have hopes.”
“Apparently. You’re answering the man’s private line, after all.” Not that he was feeling growly himself. No.
“Yeah, well, you know how it is when you’re on the bus. Close quarters.”
Yeah. He knew. “Doctor’s coming in, man. Tell Mr. Lee I said good luck.”
“No, no. It’s break a leg, remember?”
His laugh was bitter as pecan shells. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember.”
He didn’t think he’d forget that.
“JEREMY ALLAN Winger! Get your elbows off the table.” Jesus, when had his mother become a harpy?
“Chill out, okay. I’m ju….”
“Being a bad example for the grandchildren. Straighten up. Sit up.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Jeremy!”
Jeremy closed his eyes and counted to thirty, clenching his teeth before focusing back on the classifieds. He just needed one room on the first floor.
Just one room, because if he heard one more time about going to see the priest or going to confession or the wrath of God, he was going to have a stroke. Hell, he looked like fucking Frankenstein—with the huge metal brace screwed into his leg, the crutches, and the fading bruises and….
He wasn’t going to have to worry about being led into temptation. Nobody was going to want a broke, unemployed, scarred gimp with no future.
And a streak of self-pity a mile wide, Christ.
He wasn’t totally lost. He managed to get half his salary from Mr. Gill, and after what the record company didn’t cover from the wreck, he had six thousand dollars left.
Six thousand dollars would take him six months if he lived close to the bone, and then he’d…. Uh.
Do something.
Yeah.
Something.
HOLLIS COULDN’T believe how fucking hard it was to get ahold of one short, beat-up trainer. Ann Marie, Chris, Charlie—all of them were conspiring against him to keep him in the dark, stupid.
He wasn’t gonna take much more. Nope, he was gonna go fucking crazy. Hell, he considered himself a man of action, right? Hollis figured he’d just go get Jeremy and to hell with the rest.
Now, if he could just figure out how to escape the Hollis Lee Nazi cadre, he’d be good to go.
Surely he could do that. He hadn’t been a hell-raiser most of his life for nothing.
JEREMY SAT and stared.
God, the man was still fucking hot.
He was still a fucking loser, but Hollis?
Damn.
He clicked around on the official Hollis Lee website, grinning as he remembered Hollis’s position on email. Computers. The whole thing.
“Baby,” he’d said, “that’s what I hired Ann Marie for. I don’t do computers.”
Which made it easy to pretend that it wasn’t lack of cash that kept him from joining the Hollis Lee Lover’s fan club, but instead a wealth of pride.
HE’D BEEN pretty good, he thought.
He’d been strong and steady, going to the phys ed, going to the docs. He’d gotten a little apartment outside Pasadena. He’d been revamping his resume. He’d sold everything he didn’t need—cell phone, DVD player, furniture. Everything.
He’d been strong.
Of course, after Dad dropped him off at the apartment once the brace came off, he went into the little bathroom, stripped off his sweatpants, and stared.
He was hideous.
Skinny and spotted, pale and unbalanced. Weak.
It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. He reached out, touched the cold glass of the mirror, wincing as the person in the mirror reached back, tears in his eyes.
He turned the lights off and headed for the sofa to wrap up in his Granny’s quilt.
It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.
It just couldn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Three
HOUSTON.
Who fucking lived in Houston?
Even other Texans had no respect for the place, and even at the holiday season, he hated the weather.
Only for Jeremy, man. Hollis sighed, pulling his gimme cap down over his head more firmly, adjusting his sunglasses. Clean-shaven and dressed in a hoodie and jeans, his feet in sneakers not boots, he didn’t look much like him.
No one had even recognized him at the grocery store where he went to get whatever fruit he could scare up and a bunch of yogurt and shit. Eggs. Bread. All the shit he needed to make breakfast.
The apartment building wasn’t in the best area, but it seemed clean enough, and Hollis shifted from foot to foot before biting the bullet and pounding on the door.
“I don’t want any, go ’way.”
He frowned. Shit, was that Jeremy? His Jeremy?
Didn’t sound like him, only it did. Hollis growled, knocking harder.
“Jesus. Hold on.” He heard clunking and thudding; then the door opened an inch, bloodshot eyes peering out. “What the fuck do you…? Hollis.”
“Yep. Let me in.” Jesus fuck, Jeremy looked like shit. Pasty and skinny, with dark circles under his eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah, come in.” It took a second, but the chain came off, the door swung open. Jesus Christ. It smelled like a frat room—blankets piled up on the couch, mail piled up on the little pass-through bar.
“Jesus, baby. What have you been doing?” Hollis muscled in and set his bags down, just staring in amazement. His bus had never been this bad. Had it?
“Sleeping. A lot.” Jeremy headed over to the sofa, moving carefully, a little wide-legged. “What are you doing in Houston?”
“What the fuck do you think I’m doing here?” An athlete like Jeremy should be doing better by now. Should be mostly on the mend. This was so not good.
“Growling at me, apparently. You shaved.” Jeremy hadn’t.
“Yeah, well. I wanted to be able to get you breakfast.” He glanced around at the takeout boxes. “Guess I shoulda got Krispy Kremes.”
Jeremy chuckled, eyes just eating him up. “It’s good to see you. I’m sorry I couldn’t finish the tour out. Chris says y’all… y’all worked out just fine.”
“He’s an asshole, but he kept me going.” Goddamn, he felt weird. Fuck it. He just went right over and bent down, his hand cupping Jeremy’s cheek so he could tilt Jeremy up for a kiss.
“Hey, baby.”
“Oh. Hey.” Jeremy’s hands slid up his arms, fingers feeling so fucking good.
“Missed you.” His ass almost missed the couch when he twisted to sit down, but he made it and leaned in to make the kiss deeper, better.
Jeremy groaned for him, gave it up like he’d been dreaming of, even if the body against him was all kinds of wrong. Too light. Too sharp. Hell, Jeremy had always been lean, but this was…. Hollis let it go for now, the kiss too good to let bad shit intrude.
“Hollis. Damn. I.” Jeremy moved awkwardly, trying to push closer.
“Shhh. Let me do the doing, okay?” Hollis shifted, settling Jeremy back against the cushions, leaning over him. Hollis wanted to shake the man, but he wanted to hold him more. Protect him.
“I missed you.” Jeremy’s fingers traced his face, his jaw, just touching him like he was fucking precious.
“I called your cell. They said it was disconnected.” He kissed those fingers, turning to rub his lips over Jeremy’s palm.
“Yeah. I
got some serious fucking bills, you know, and I…. It doesn’t matter right now.” Jeremy gave him a grin. “I have better things to worry about.”
He filed that under the “ream Charlie’s ass” file and let it go. For now. “Yeah. Yeah, I found you, huh? Been looking.”
“You did. Brought me breakfast.” Jeremy’s hand slid around to cup his head, pulled him into another kiss.
Grinning into the kiss, Hollis thought about the shit he’d gotten to make smoothies. Jeremy was in for a shock, he’d bet. The kiss felt too good to stop and poke fun, though. Nope, it was far better to ease Jeremy back even more, careful of those legs, putting some pressure behind the meeting of their mouths. It felt good, Jeremy’s cock hard under those loose sweatpants, rubbing against his belly. Yeah, someone was happy to see him.
“Let’s get these off.” That had to be done carefully, he figured. He’d been sore for weeks, and all he’d had were cuts and bruises.
“I. No. It’s ugly.” Jeremy blushed dark, pulled away a little. “You don’t want to see.”
“Baby….” Shit. He hadn’t planned on that. “You’re never gonna be ugly to me. If you can stand my old Frankenstein face, I think I can handle it.”
“Frankenstein face?” Those hands turned his face this way and that, just really looking hard. Then Jeremy’s tongue slid over his scar, tracing it right up to the corner of his mouth. “Beautiful.”
Lord. That just. Whoa. “Well, that’s how I feel about you, baby. Now let me see.” He yanked on those sweats, pulling them down over Jeremy’s hips.
Jeremy had a shitload of puckered scars that he could see, the marks worse on one calf, still a little raw.
“Oh. Poor legs.” He wasn’t disgusted at all, but it hurt to see. He slid one hand down over the scars that weren’t harsh anymore, just marveling at how Jeremy was even up and moving.
“Yeah. I got the screws out just last week.” Jeremy leaned close, face hiding in his shoulder.
“You’re doing better than I would, baby.” Stroking Jeremy’s back, he nuzzled at the overlong hair behind Jeremy’s ear. “’S okay.”