by Peter Styles
Table of Contents
End of Book 3 – Please Read This
Get Your FREE Peter Styles’ Book
Important information…
Damian
Jordan
Acknowledgments
Love On The Road
Love Games: Book 3
Peter Styles
Contents
1. Get Your FREE Peter Styles’ Book
2. Important information…
3. Damian
4. Jordan
5. Damian
6. Jordan
7. Damian
8. Damian
9. Jordan
10. Damian
11. Damian
12. Damian
13. Jordan
End of Book 3 – Please Read This
Acknowledgments
1
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2
Important information…
This book, “Love On The Road” is the Third book in the Love Games Series. However, this book and every other book in the series can be read as a stand-alone. Thus, it is not required to read the first book to understand the second (as so on). Each book can be read by itself.
3
Damian
He has a plan.
The plan is simple: any time he starts to feel bad, or useless, or even just stuck, he picks up and drives off. Not necessarily into the sunset—he’s driven away from places in the middle of the day and at the darkest hour of night. The point, though, is that he’s always ready to travel. He keeps a bag readily packed for shorter excursions, of course, but he also has very few items to begin with—his entire life fits into a backpack and the storage on his motorcycle. Furniture? What’s furniture? He can eat at the counter in his kitchen.
The point of the plan is not to help him run from his problems. He doesn’t use the plan if he’s feeling useless because he can’t figure out how to create a résumé from scratch. He uses the plan when he’s feeling like a useless human being with no point in life. The plan is a way for him to refocus and remind himself that he doesn’t have to be the next Bill Gates. Maybe I don’t have a plan for life, but maybe that’s fine. Maybe you can’t plan life.
“You’re quiet.” The man speaking is the bartender, whom Damian has come to know very well in his three months in town. Not that he’s an alcoholic—he’s a people watcher. He likes having one drink at his elbow an entire night while watching the people around him play out mini dramas.
“Thinking.”
“I’m shocked.”
“Okay, listen—”
“Joking,” the man says, hands spread in silent apology. “What about?”
“Running away.”
The bartender snorts, shaking his head, and walks away. Damian does not pout. He swings his legs as he sits on the barstool, evaluating his hands. They’re both blank slates, devoid of the tattoos that cover most of his arms and back. He’s always battled with whether or not to add something to them but he can never decide.
“Damian, right?” The question surprises him and he turns, blinking, to see a woman who looks vaguely familiar, as if he knows her face but not her.
“Uh—yes, um,” he stumbles, trying to come up with either a name or a question. The woman, thankfully, seems to take pity on him, laughing brightly.
“Lina. I worked at the small video game company you came to work at for a few weeks. It was—oh, wow, like, three months ago? Four?”
It clicks for him once she explains. He can vaguely remember her from his run-in with Leo and Austin at the bar. This bar. She seems nice enough.
“Oh. It’s good to see you,” Damian says, feeling a little bit like a liar. He always feels a little disingenuous when spouting niceties. All the how-do-you-dos make him itchy. He can’t say it’s good to see someone he barely met in the first place.
“Going solo tonight?”
“Fortunately,” Damian replies before biting his tongue. His skin warms. Why did you say that? Why? He can already imagine her angry response. Not that he said it sharply; it was just kind of rude. Instead of anger, however, he is treated to more laughter.
“I won’t butt in,” Lina promises, “brood all you want.”
“It’s important work, brooding,” Damian admits, feeling a little more comfortable. She is nice. Probably better company than half the people that come in. “What about you?”
“Down one drinking partner,” she smiles. “He’s off to help family in another state. Hopefully he comes back.”
“Nice of him,” Damian notes, sipping at his glass. “Why do you think he’d stay?”
“Oh, he met someone,” Lina smirks.
“Ain’t that the way,” Damian snorts, shaking his head. People making people stay. He knows how that goes. It took creating his plan to get him out of his hometown. Too many years in one place—and for one person—did him no good. And in the end, the other person hadn’t even wanted him to stay.
“I’m glad. He’s always been a little quiet. Reclusive. If he has a chance, I’d want him to take it.”
“Hm. You’re a good friend, then.”
“Maybe. Not that I wouldn’t miss him,” Lina adds. “I’ll make him bring me cupcakes from the family bakery every month like clockwork. And if they get married, I’m going to need to be in the wedding.”
Her smile is cheerful and they both laugh, but Damian can see the hints of sorrow in her expression. He’s felt that sorrow before. It’s a nostalgia that pulls you home, to a person or place that holds a piece of your heart. The bigger the piece, the bigger the pull. Sometimes, it takes an asteroid to knock you out of orbit.
Most of the night is quiet. Lina is good company, rarely saying anything except for when a particularly interesting drama plays out between patrons. Damian and Lina seem to share that interest in common, at least. They chat about a couple who seem mutually drunk and goofy, wondered about a young woman and man who must be related and are apparently celebrating a birthday. Life unfolds and Damian starts feeling a little more stuck, as if he’s standing on the sun, watching the universe move around him.
“I’m heading home,” Lina says, checking her watch at midnight. “I like sleeping in on Sundays, but only if I go to sleep by one.”
“Godspeed,” Damian waves, watching her gather up her jacket and bag. “Don’t drive.”
“Okay, Dad. I called a car,” Lina adds, grinning as she waves goodbye.
He wonders about Lina’s friend as he sits alone for the next hour. The man who went home. Is that all it takes? Go home to do a noble deed, and the universe rewards you with true love?
“Of course not,” he mutters into his glass, one-third full. It’s a silly thought. For all he or Lina knows, the poor guy will get dumped before his time at home is up. Or he might find out the person is married. Or has a criminal record.
In Damian’s experience, good things don’t happen just because you do good things. Karma might be real—he’s had his share of retribution for bad behavior—but sometimes, even when you try, the universe still doesn’t think it’s enough to give you a break. It’s things like hitting parked cars that prove his point. You can be as careful as you want, but sometimes, life just really wants to take you down a notch.
—
It’s probably the universe laughing at him that sets things into motion. He must have done something, he thinks, to tempt retribution. Maybe he stepped on a flower; he doesn’t know. All he knows is that when he goes out for groceries the next day—Sunday—he runs into Austin and Leo.
Leo is someone Damian had a one-night stand with in college. Austin was Leo’s bo
yfriend at the time—and now, it seems. Damian can feel his skin prickle with a hot blush, discomfort crawling up his spine. He almost wants to dive into the pit of watermelons at his side when he notices them walking his way.
“Oh. Damian.” Austin smiles, waving vaguely. There’s nothing hostile or awkward about his manner. He seems blasé, which is unsettling to Damian. He should hate me. Or at least feel… weird. Right?
“Hi,” Damian says quickly, the word sounding like a strangled puff of air escaping his mouth. He clears his throat a little. “How… are you guys?”
“Great,” Leo grins, glancing at Austin as though they share some kind of secret. “How have you been?”
Damian isn’t sure what to say. Part of him is panicking—do I say good? Is it bad to say good? Do I try and figure out how the hell they ended up together again? Should I hide in the watermelons? He decides it’s too late to hide and settles on answering the question to the best of his ability.
“Good,” Damian says, wincing when it comes out unbelievable. Quick. Say something else. “Awesome. Great, really. Um—yeah. Just grocery shopping!”
Austin seems to cue in on his discomfort while Leo just looks amused. Damian fiddles with the handles of his basket, the plastic making his palms sweaty as he tries to think of a way to gracefully exit the awkward conversation, or at least just leave it.
“Still working odd jobs?” Leo asks, unfazed.
“Um… kind of. I mean, I do yard work for people. Pick up work where I can.”
“Are you looking for something?” Austin asks, a faint note of concern ringing in his voice.
Isn’t that the question?
Maybe? It’s not like he’s going to deny that he’s been running around the state for the past few years. Since college, all he’s done is travel. He’s never been able to sit down in one place or settle on anything. Not a job or a home or a person. Maybe he is looking for something. He just doesn’t know what. He’s almost selfish, nothing is ever good enough to keep him planted.
“No,” Damian finally answers, knowing he’s a little delayed in responding and it probably doesn’t sound good. “No, I think I’ll actually be moving soon. No big deal. I’ve been staying with a friend, so I don’t have to worry about breaking a lease.”
“Okay,” Austin says, nodding slowly as if he’s trying to figure something out. “Well, I hope you have a good trip.”
“Me too,” Damian says quickly, relieved, and then he waves as he walks away. He tries not to run.
Damian forgoes the rest of his grocery shopping, leaving with a few ramen noodle cups and breakfast bars, and checks out as quickly as possible. He has to fight the urge to constantly look back, pretending to casually glance around as he shoves items into a plastic bag. By the time he’s done, he nearly runs out the door, making his way down the sidewalk and back to his friend’s apartment.
He tries to tell himself that he was thinking about leaving already—it’s time, he feels—but it seems vaguely disingenuous given the fact that he just ran into Austin and Leo… who look quite happy together. Maybe it just piled on after Lina talking about her friend—maybe it’s been piling on, weeks and months and years of watching people settle. It’s not a bad thing to want constant movement, right? It’s just very inconvenient for his life, much less his love life.
“That was quick,” Ellis says when Damian opens the apartment door. The man’s mouth is full of sandwich as he sits, relaxed, at the table. Damian flips him the finger, listening to the man snort around his food. “Someone talk to you?”
“Maybe.”
“Right. You know, you don’t have to buy microwavable food, you can use the pots and pans.”
“I don’t know how to use pots and pans.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I’m allergic to them.”
Ellis shakes his head but he’s smiling. Part of Damian wonders if he could get used to living with the man again. It had certainly worked well in college. If he’s being honest, he even had a bit of a crush on Ellis. The guy has always been put-together and responsible, unlike most people and especially unlike Damian. It’s that maturity that always pushed Damian away, though; he doesn’t want a babysitter in his life. Doesn’t want to force someone to become his babysitter by virtue of his sloppy lifestyle, even if that someone is a person he’s known since childhood.
“You heading out again?” Ellis asks simply, without any emotion behind the question, as if he’s asking about the weather. That’s another thing Damian has always liked about him. He takes things in stride. Which I’m trying to do. Trying.
“I think so,” Damian says. I know so. He only ever feels a tiny bit guilty when he picks up and leaves. He always reminds himself that lives are complete before he enters them; they remain complete when he goes.
“Where to next? Or do you even plan like that?”
“Not really. I usually just hit the road and watch it go by. Most times, I just stop when it feels right. Or when I’m tired.”
“Hm. Well, be careful, then. Don’t go too far without rest. Oh—and let me get the rent you won’t be using.”
“It’s fine,” Damian tries to insist, edging towards his corner of the room as if it will solve anything. The downside to a studio apartment, though, is that he can’t actually escape unless he locks himself in the bathroom.
“No, really. I know it’s not much, but you’ll need it. Anyway, it’s not like I can’t make rent on my own.”
Damian gives in, stowing his few belongings into his backpack and bag before zipping them up, tossing the contents of his grocery trip where they fit in pockets and compartments. By the time he’s done, Ellis follows him downstairs and waits as Damian pulls his beaten denim jacket on.
“Thanks for letting me crash here,” Damian says, one foot still planted on the sidewalk as he sits on his bike. “It was good catching up with you.”
“Yeah. You’ll have to send me pictures, now that you have my number. Let me know you’re still alive and not being eaten by cannibals off the highway somewhere.”
Damian laughs. He feels the same familiar twinge that always comes with leaving a place—the nostalgia and regret and missing all setting in at once. He wonders about how lives will unfold, how people will develop while he’s not watching. All the little things he enjoys watching but never sticks around to finish.
Could I stay? He thinks he could. He could stay with Ellis, or even get his own apartment, and make his way into a job at one of the many auto shops in town. Or he could act in a tiny community theatre until he catches a big break. He could even work a shitty retail job. He could stay, and maybe even get closer to Ellis. To his other friends. He could fall in love or lust and he could stay, for however many years, moving into one of the houses in the beach neighborhoods. He could.
But he won’t. There’s still too much movement in his veins, too much anticipation. Like there is always something looming on the horizon and he just has to get to it, however long it takes. Maybe he doesn’t know what that thing is or if he will ever reach it, but that won’t stop him from trying.
Damian starts his trip at two o’clock in the afternoon, barely noticing Ellis slip something into his backpack, and he waves goodbye to his friend as he pulls onto the street and towards the inevitable flow of traffic. He is, in a paradoxical way, going back to the routine of being without a routine. He is on his way to someplace, somewhere, and all he knows is that he’ll end up wherever he needs to be.
4
Jordan
“That was…good. Um—let’s try that one again, okay?” He tries to sound upbeat and casual but his request just ends up sounding strained. Why do things always have to be so hard?
Jace is the only one that looks at all sympathetic. Maybe it’s because they’re cousins, or maybe it’s just because Jace is a sympathetic person. Either way, it makes Jordan feel a little less despondent to know that at least one of them understands his apprehension.
“We’ve been goi
ng at it for a while,” Sam says, flipping his drumsticks in the air and catching them before they hit the wide faces of the drums surrounding him. “Why don’t we get lunch?”
There are noises of excitement from the previously zombie-like road crew lounging around the band. Jordan can’t get a word in before they’re all gathering themselves, chattering about places they saw from the road on their way into Derry. The city of Derry itself is probably more alive than most of the people gathered, and probably operating on more sleep, too.
It’s not that Jordan is a workaholic or a taskmaster. He just wants to make sure that this—their first real tour—leads to something. Somewhere. Because if not, he’s failed. He is the effective manager of the band, always reaching out and planning concerts along with working on new material; if the band fails, it will be in large part because of him. Because he couldn’t balance his duty as a bandmate and planner at the same time.
“We’ll be fine,” Jace says, edging his guitar sideways so that he can stand closer to Jordan. They have the same almost-black brown hair and fair skin, but that’s where the similarities end. Jace is their singer and frontman, his easy personality and tasteful tattoos making him the perfect poster boy.
Jordan isn’t a poster boy. He’s probably the opposite. As a bassist, he’s always on the sidelines, even when his part forms the heartbeat of the song. He has, according to Sam, ‘a resting murder face,’ which generally drives people away before he can even open his mouth. If he gets to open his mouth, his words are not especially beautiful or touching. He can do business just fine; he can be charming and polite just like anyone else, if not better. He has the look of a rough man, he’s been told, with a scruffy face and dark eyes. His perpetual black leather jacket just adds to the image.
The point is, Jordan looks like trouble and people treat him as such. It doesn’t seem to matter that he doesn’t consider himself trouble. In his eyes, he’s the band mom. He gets them places on time and makes sure Sam doesn’t drunkenly break any equipment.
“I’m just anxious.” Jordan sighs, winding up some loose cables. “This is our halfway mark. We’ve had some people show up to multiple shows but if we don’t keep the momentum up, we risk losing our audience.”