By Wednesday afternoon when I got home from class, I was ready to get the whole thing over with and move on with my life. I thought about bringing Ty along for moral support, but I hadn’t told him I was meeting Carter, and it seemed like the kind of thing I had to do solo.
I showered, made my hair look as good as it was going to, and stood in front of my closet for half an hour trying to figure out what to wear, finally settling on a cream-colored cable-knit sweater that set off the green in my eyes, and my favorite pair of midwash jeans that made my ass look decent but were worn enough to be comfortable. I grabbed my jacket and a scarf, threw on some practical but stylish boots, and headed out the door before I thought too hard and called the whole thing off.
I arrived at Radio City, bypassing the massive line of fans already stretching down the block, and went around the back to the stage-door entrance Carter had directed me to. It was easy enough to find, with two massive trucks featuring the band name and logo in the loading bay next to a locked door with a passcode key. A couple of girls, all done up, were off to the side, probably hoping to get a peek at one of the guys in the band, but apart from that it was deserted. The girls stared at me suspiciously, wondering if I was someone they should recognize or if I might be able to help them get inside. I ignored them and knocked on the door, willing myself not to be an embarrassing sweaty mess when I finally saw Carter.
A massive guy in a well-fitting suit, whom I immediately started referring to as “Barracuda” in my head, opened the door a crack and grunted at me.
“Hi! Cold out tonight, isn’t it? The band, well not so much the band, but um, this guy I know, Carter West, told me to come here? I swear I’m not a creepy stalker or anything. I really know him. Well, I used to, I guess. Haven’t seen him for a number of years, but he wanted to see me. He told me to be here around seven, but I guess I’m a little early. I can come back later if you want. I mean, not too much later because, um, it’s almost seven, and I don’t know if he has to, like, get ready or anything?”
Oh God. Smooth, Chase. Barracuda stared at me during my idiotic ramblings, like I’m sure he did for every other groupie stalker swearing up and down he knew the band.
“I really know him!” I blurted out to fill the awkward silence, answering my own internal dialogue and inevitably making myself seem like more of a pathetic loser.
“Name?” the guy rumbled monosyllabically.
“Chase? Collins?”
I was so bad at this I couldn’t even commit to my name being my name. He checked the clipboard I then saw he was holding in his Goliath-sized palm. He grumbled, opening the door wide enough for me to pass through, and made the slightest nod to affirm that I was, in fact, on the list. I thanked him, and he motioned for me to follow him down the painted cinder-block hallway. We walked through the loading dock—past a couple of other men in the same style of suit, a handful of technicians clad all in black, and a myriad of lighting and sound gear I wouldn’t even try to identify—until we started passing dressing-room doors.
The numbers on the doors moved in reverse order, signs with names and the band’s logo taped to each one. Two rooms for the opener, then a private room for each member of the band. I recognized their names from unofficially following them online: Beau Davis, Asher Wright, and Dean Phillips. My personal security barracuda led me to Dressing Room 1. The sign proclaimed it belonged to Carter West. My heart was in my stomach, and I felt light-headed. It was a miracle I hadn’t sweated through my jacket at that point.
Barracuda rapped firmly on the door. We waited. We waited. It felt like a fucking eternity, but we waited. I was absolutely going to simultaneously vomit on myself and pass out while the waiting continued. Finally the door swung open, and there he was.
I had only a second to look at him before he processed who was standing in front of him, during which time I cataloged the changes between the boy I knew and the man he had become. His jaw was a little sharper now, covered with just the right amount of stubble. His cheekbones were high and beautiful, begging for my thumbs to run over them. His eyes were the same milk-chocolate-colored pools I could get lost in for hours if he would let me. The familiar long eyelashes that both our moms had always been envious of. He had grown a fraction taller. He was always bigger than me growing up, but he was the perfect height now. Tall, but I could still reach his full rose-pink lips if I stood on my toes. Not that there was any chance of that happening anytime soon, I scolded myself. His hair was longer, dark chestnut-brown waves which fell almost to his shoulders, skimming the collar of his worn black leather bomber jacket. Damn. Even after five years without him and his shattering my heart, this man pushed all my buttons without doing anything more than existing.
A grin broke across his face as he recognized me. And just like that, I was sixteen again. Hopelessly and helplessly in love with my best friend. My straight best friend who wasn’t so straight anymore, and apparently wasn’t back then either.
He tentatively took a step forward, arms open but unsure, hesitation in his eyes but reassurance in his smile. He wrapped his arms around me, and I was enveloped in the smell of his leather jacket and his pine aftershave. Our bodies fit each other naturally, the top of my head effortlessly finding a perfect spot cradled under his chin. I snaked my arms around his back, and we stood there holding each other, letting all the distance and hurt of the past five years go for a moment to just be with each other. I hugged him. I hugged him and breathed him in. I was overwhelmed with emotions; mostly I was happy, but I also remembered at the back of my mind the last time I touched him and how heartbreaking his rejection had been. I refused to get teary, and when I was on the verge of losing that battle, Barracuda broke the tension by clearing his throat.
Carter released his hold on me, stepped back, and thanked Barracuda, giving him his leave. Carter pushed his dressing-room door open, held it for me, and let me lead the way inside.
While I had been in enough dressing rooms and theaters in my life to know the basic provisions, his room was cushier than most of the spaces I had seen. A maroon-colored sofa took up the center of the room, with matching chairs and a glass coffee table rounding out the setup. A TV screen hung on the wall opposite the couch, next to the door, with a live feed to the stage where the opening act would be starting their set shortly. Signed photos lined the walls—past bands and celebrities who had performed here. A small kitchenette at the back wall held some fruit, snacks, water bottles, and the makings for coffee.
The door clicked shut, and I turned to face Carter. I finally relaxed the muscles in my back I didn’t know I’d been tensing.
“Hey,” he said simply, his face beaming so brightly I forgot anything else existed.
“Hi,” I replied, mirroring his smile and hoping I didn’t look as stupid as I felt. “It’s, uh, it’s really good to see you, C.”
“Yeah?” he asked, and for the first time I was aware he might be as nervous as I was. “I wasn’t sure if you would want to. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. I didn’t think I would ever hear from you again.”
“It’s been a long time, C. We’re not the same people we were when we were sixteen. I don’t want to lie. What you did hurt, a lot, and for a long time, but I don’t hold it against you now either.”
“Can we sit down and talk? I have some things I want to explain; not to excuse what I did, but to maybe help you understand?”
I nodded. He offered me some water, which I took more for something to do with my hands than anything else, and we settled at opposite ends of the sofa.
Carter
“LOOK…,” I started nervously, inhaling slowly to collect my thoughts.
I didn’t want to fuck this up. I wanted to help him understand and then let him decide what to do with the information. Obviously I had a stake in which way he decided to take what I had to say, but more than anything I just wanted him to finally know the truth.
“I’ve wanted to reach out for a long time. Years. I didn’t know how t
o start or what to say. That day in your kitchen before I left? What I said? How I acted? I’ve never regretted anything in my life more than that moment. I’d never told anyone I was gay. Hell, I’d never even said the words out loud. I knew deep down, but I had a hard time acknowledging it.”
I paused.
“You were always so comfortable with your sexuality. You had such courage, Chase. You knew who you were from day one, and fuck anyone who had a problem with that. I know how hard it was for you to be out, and I felt like such a coward for not saying anything about myself to take some of the heat off you. It took me a long time to accept myself. It honestly hasn’t been until the last year or so that I’ve been completely okay with it. I told my parents a couple months back. They were surprised, I think, but they were more understanding than I thought they might be. I want to stop hiding. To be at peace with myself. To be a role model. The band is doing so well, and I don’t want to lie to little kids out there who might be looking up to me. Hell, I don’t want to lie to myself anymore.”
“I’m not so brave,” Chase said quietly. “It was never easy for me either. There was never an option. It was just what it was.”
“I know.” I put my hand on his knee in reassurance. “And that’s what I always admired so much about you. That being gay was nothing you were ashamed of or wanted to change. It simply was.”
“And the other part? You said you were… had feelings? For me?” Chase looked up through his eyelashes shyly, and it was absolutely impossible to see how anyone wouldn’t be in lo—have feelings—for him.
“Of course I did,” I admitted. “You were sweet and sincere. Adventurous. Funny. Kind. We were best friends. You could talk about music with me in a way that nobody else could. You were everything to me. I had feelings for you for so fucking long. I was just scared, you know?”
Chase nodded, his beautiful cheeks flushed.
“I was wrong to push you away and to call you such a horrible word. I knew it at the time. Everything inside me was screaming at me not to stop kissing you. I had wanted to kiss you forever. I was stupid and scared, and I hated myself for a long time after.”
After another pause, I finally gathered up the courage that generally evaded me. “I know we don’t know each other anymore, but I want to get to know you again. To make things right. I am so, so sorry, Chase,” I said with sincerity, laying everything on the table.
“I want to get to know you again too, C,” he said tentatively.
It would take time to fully earn back his trust. I knew that. But I would take whatever he was willing to give to have him back in my life.
“Friends?” I asked.
He nodded. “Friends.”
I broke into an embarrassingly big smile, which made him smile back at me. We stared at each other, each of us refusing to drop the other’s gaze, until he finally went cross-eyed and stuck out his tongue to get me to break. Our smiles turned into grins, which turned into giggles and then into full-out laughter, the tension from the moment and all the bullshit from the past five years taking a first step toward healing.
After laughing reached the point where it hurt too much to keep going, I leaned in and lowered my voice. “Okay, so I gotta know. Did you ever, you know, think of me… that way? Or was it an in-the-moment thing? Kissing me?”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course I did. But I thought you were straight, and I had… maybe not accepted that but at least respected you enough not to say anything.”
“Kinda messed up, isn’t it?” I chuckled. “We both wanted the same thing but couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Yeah.” A smirk slowly drew across his face. “God, sixteen-year-old me would be combusting right about now if he knew Carter West was going to admit he had a crush on me. At the Grammy Awards, of all places.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes.
“Certainly would have made high school more bearable if we had been fooling around,” I joked, finally feeling a little lighter and like he was someone I knew again.
He laughed nervously and then replied.
“Is it bad that I’m kinda happy we didn’t? I mean, it would have been awesome at the time, but we were a couple of horny and stupid kids. We would have fucked it up, ruined what we had.”
“Ooh, so the truth comes out after all these years. You thought I was stupid,” I teased.
God, this felt so good. Relaxing and laughing with him again. Even after such a short time, all my feelings for him came rushing back—if they had ever gone away at all. It was always so easy with him. I tried to keep my emotions in check for the moment. Whether something more was on the table was for future us to worry about. It felt so good to have him back in my life again, in any way I could have him. I wanted to focus on that.
“Well, I mean, I wasn’t the one who broke my arm falling out of Mr. Harlow’s apple tree trying to impress everyone at Timothy Macalbee’s Halloween party.” He winked.
“The branch broke. Could have happened to anyone,” I said, pretending to be offended.
But he continued to bait me. “Annnnd I wasn’t the one who only passed sophomore English because I volunteered to play Desdemona for extra credit in the school play when Tina Carlo got stage fright an hour before curtain.”
“I was doing Mrs. Burns a favor!”
“You should really tell the rest of your band that story. Make sure they know how multitalented you are. Maybe even do a Broadway play if the rock music doesn’t work out,” he mused. “There are a lot of stories I could sell to the press now. I do have a bunch of student loans to pay off eventually.” He grinned at me.
“Oh, screw you. I’ve got shit on you too!” I said, lobbing the banter back at him.
The program-sound speaker suddenly coming to life cut off our laughter. “And that’s intermission, Thorns. This is your fifteen. Fifteen minutes, guys.”
I hadn’t realized how long we’d been talking, or that I’d missed the opener’s entire set. I normally watched it from the wings, but this perfect guy in front of me made me forget the outside world existed.
“You gotta go?” he asked.
“Yeah, gotta head out there in a second. But can you stay to see the show? It would mean a lot to me if you listened to us play.” What the hell, might as well go for it. I still had no idea what his personal situation was, or anything about his life; all I knew was getting him to stay to see the concert and maybe have dinner with me afterward was a good first step.
“Yeah.” He smiled at me. “I’ll stay.”
“Perfect.” I couldn’t hold back the goofy grin blooming again. What was it with this guy? I never stopped smiling around him.
He grabbed his coat, and I snatched a water on the way out. I headed in the general direction of the stage and found Cory, our manager, in the Green Room on the way. I let him know Chase was going to watch the show and asked Cory to find Chase a seat and for someone to bring him back to my dressing room after we were done. We said goodbye, far quicker than I would have liked, but I made sure to squeeze his shoulder on the way out the door. It wasn’t exactly the amount of physical contact I wanted, but God, it felt so good to touch him.
He winked at me before allowing himself to be led in the opposite direction from where I was headed. “Break a leg, rock star.”
Chase
I FOLLOWED Carter’s manager to the front-of-house area. He was walking quickly, and I was straining to keep up. Things were… surprisingly easy between Carter and me. It wasn’t awkward after the first few minutes, and by the end it felt like we were almost back to the way things had been before that last night.
And yet something was there that hadn’t been before too. I had always been attracted to him, from the time before I even had a name for it. Now it was… mutual? Or I’m pretty sure it was at least. So much time had gone by. We needed to get to know each other again before we thought about going down that road.
There was also the not insignificant obstacle of him being an internationally
known musician. Did I want a life where privacy wasn’t always guaranteed? Not to mention the touring. Despite living in New York and planning a career that had a certain amount of profile to it, I was essentially a homebody.
Though I’d never had a real relationship that had lasted more than a few months, I knew casual wasn’t my thing. I wanted to come home to my guy at the end of the day. Hide under a blanket in thunderstorms with him. Cook a turkey and laugh about the ridiculous size of it for two people at Thanksgiving. A partner who was gone for months at a time? Being hit on by countless attractive men (and women) who thought he owed them something because they liked his music? I didn’t know if I could, or would want to, handle that.
We reached a half-empty row of seats, amazing seats, basically as close to the stage as one could get. Cory (Cody? Colby?) gestured for me to sit and said someone would meet me here after the show. I sat down, put my jacket on the back of my chair, and spent about twenty seconds getting comfortable before the house music abruptly cut out and the lights went down.
The screams were deafening. The energy from the audience made it real. I had purposely not seen an Inevitable Thorns concert. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to watch Carter in such an anonymous way without giving him the option of seeing me back. I didn’t know if I would be able to handle seeing him sing like a god and move like sex on a stage in front of thousands of faceless fans, knowing he could never be mine.
Carter had always had charisma, was always able to charm his way into an extra cookie when we were kids or, as I had reminded him, talk the drama teacher into letting him play some ridiculous drag version of a Shakespearian damsel to pass a class in high school. A true extroverted introvert, he was the center of attention on the outside, but someone who kept so much of himself internalized.
The collective screaming got louder as the Thorns, minus Carter, made their way to their instruments on the still-dark stage. And then, when they were settled, rising from a trapdoor in the center of the stage floor on some sort of fancy elevator system, there he was. I would have rolled my eyes at the overly dramatic entrance if they hadn’t been completely bugged out of my head over how unbelievably sexy he looked. He was facing away from the audience, guitar thrown over his leather-jacket-clad back, wearing a pair of black jeans that I somehow hadn’t noticed the tightness of when we were backstage together. He should just do the entire concert like this, I thought. His ass in those jeans was well worth the price of admission on its own. Clearly the rest of the audience agreed with me; if I thought the noise was deafening before, it was verging on unbearable now.
Next to Me Page 3