by Megan Derr
"Weird, how?"
"You've never attended our shows, man. Not sure how I feel with my brother watching me."
Jason snorted. "How do you know I've never been to your shows?"
Dai gaped at him. "You have not!"
Rolling his eyes, Jason tried his soup again, not even caring that it had gotten cold. "Yes, I have, asshole. Now shouldn't you be packing and getting the airport and all?"
"What? Is it that—oh, hell, it really is that late. Fuck. Okay, fine. You're getting rid of me for now, but I'll see you tomorrow. And, uh, good luck." He left before Jason could reply.
Jason stared after him, emotions in turmoil, nerves taut; he had not a single clue how to feel. But Dai didn't hate him for sleeping with Jet, and he was going to get to see Jet and hopefully work everything out.
So hopeful seemed the best thing to run with, and Jason actually managed a smile as he cleaned up the kitchen before going to double check he had packed everything he would need and to write a note for his housekeeper.
Track 07: So Close I Can't Touch You
"Where the hell is my New York Nights? It was right here, which one of you bitches walked off with it?" Dai demanded. Jet gave him a look. "What?"
"This is exactly why we never had to explain to anyone that you're gay."
Dai flipped him off. "Because I want to know which of you assholes stole my lipstick?"
"Because you know it's called 'New York Nights'."
"Fuck you, that's stereotyping. And fucking ridiculous coming from a man with Scrooge McDuck on his McD—"
"Oh, my god, both of you shut up and finish your make up," Kim said. He shot them an exasperated look. "Dai, your lipstick is on the floor there. Jet, we all know you bought that nail polish because it's called 'Firework-Me'. Give me your eyeliner."
"Purple, blue, or black?"
"Uh—purple."
Jet handed it over, then bent to fetch Dai's fallen lipstick, handing it to him before he pulled on a tight, sparkly red t-shirt. He gave his nail polish a critical look and swiped a hand through his hair one last time before calling himself content. Shrugging into his black leather jacket, he followed the others out of their hotel room and down to where a limo was waiting to take them across the city to the club where they were playing.
There were a few minutes of blissful silence, and then Dai finally asked the question Jet had been waiting for all goddamn day. "You good to play?"
Jet flipped him off, not bothering to look at him. He stared out the window instead; night had not quite fallen, and a shred of sunlight still teased over the city, but by the time they reached the club it would definitely be dark out.
His thoughts wandered helplessly to Jason, knotting his gut all over again, gnawing at his chest. He wanted nothing more than to pull out his phone and call or text or something. Anything. The silence was killing him slowly, and Jet wasn't certain how much more he could take. But he definitely wouldn't survive if he did reach out again and all he got was another rejection.
"Jet."
"I'm fine, mom," he replied, finally turning to glower at Dai.
"You flounced off to New York to sulk because you're fine? Try again."
Rolling his eyes, Jet replied, "Even if I felt like fucking talking about it—which I don't—I'm not doing it here and now. So shut up about it."
Dai narrowed his eyes. "If you don't want people to ask you what the fuck is the matter, don't run away to New York and lay about like a wounded princess. Stay put after the show 'cause we're talking."
"Fine." The rest of the band stayed silent, long used to keeping out of harm's way when Dai and Jet were at each other about something.
"Try not to take your anger out on Masterson, either."
"I'm about to punch you, Dai, so shut the hell up. I said I'm fine, so drop it before I drop you."
Dai huffed, but finally let the matter drop, and Jet went gratefully back to staring out the window. They pulled up in front of the club and he stifled a sigh when he saw all the cameras. Of course Masterson had ensured there'd be plenty of media around. Whatever put his name in the papers.
Jet waited until the others had climbed out, bringing up the rear with practiced smiles. He shook hands with a few people, signed autographs, and endured it when a girl managed to grab hold of him and yanked him close to plant a kiss that tasted like bubblegum chapstick. Blech.
Pulling away, Jet signed her magazine, and got the hell away as fast as he could without drawing more attention to the whole thing.
Inside, the club was much calmer, a smooth little number with black walls, black carpet, black everything except for the gold that trimmed it. A cluster of men in tuxedos and women in top designer evening gowns fawned and admired in practiced socialite fashion.
After a few minutes of making nice with the patrons, Jet withdrew to the bar and ordered himself a rusty nail. He sat at the bar sipping it, wishing he were anywhere else in the world.
Well, no. He wanted to be in Jason's house, sitting in front of his desk taunting and teasing with everything back to normal even if normal had never been everything he wanted. It was better than nothing, and nothing was all he had anymore.
Jet took another sip of his drink, wishing he could down the whole thing and order another. But he didn't like to perform drunk—didn't usually drink anything at all, but he was wound so tight that if he didn't drink something he'd fuck up and let the whole band down.
He'd told Dai he was fine, so he was just gonna have to make damn sure he would be. Taking another sip, he threw down a ten and forced himself back to mingling, smiling, and making his usual lewd jokes and signing whatever people gave him.
Turning away from a cute little old couple, he stifled a sigh when he saw Masterson approaching with some olive-skinned pretty boy with a decidedly unpleasant air to him—something about the set of his mouth, the hardness in his eyes, made Jet jittery. But he gave them a professional smile as they drew up. "Mr. Masterson, it's an honor to play for your event tonight. I hope we drew in plenty of money for your cause."
"It's I who should be thanking you," Masterson said in a remarkably good impression of a man who did not think the world revolved around him. Jet almost complimented his acting abilities, but then remembered he was supposed to be behaving. "We're looking forward to the performance. Speaking of which, Mr. Alvese here is a huge fan and was hoping for an introduction."
Jet smiled brightly. "Dai is probably the one you want to meet, I can go get him. Looks like he needs saving from scantily clad women, anyway. Only that boy would be afraid of all that beauty." He winked and made to run away.
"No, no," Alvese said hastily, reaching out to grip his arm and give it a squeeze that made Jet want to pull away. "It is you I most wanted to meet, Mr. Kristopherson."
"Jet's fine," Jet said reluctantly, summoning another easy smile. "Always a pleasure to meet a fan. You into drums?"
"I admire your writing talents, actually. I know you do most of the song writing, and it is Forever's lyrics that have really made them popular, though certainly the sound is not lacking."
Jet relaxed slightly, though something about the guy still made him twitchy. He had that look of the guys from Pandemonium: muscle or lackey for some bigger fish. But that sounded ridiculous in his head, and Jet decided that as soon as shit quieted the fuck down he was going on a goddamn vacation. Alone. Somewhere very far away.
For the present, he just kept smiling and babbling about music until Alvese and Masterson finally drifted away to cozy up to other people. Jet looked over his shoulder, feeling his skin prickle—and his heart gave a lurch of alarm when he caught Alvese still watching him.
It wasn't the 'I want to bend that over and fuck it' look he was used to either. The look Alvese was giving him made him wish they'd brought bodyguards after all. Shaking it off, Jet drained his glass and set it aside on an empty table. He decided a bathroom break was in order and turned to make his way across the room, glancing casually over the crowd.
He stumbled to a halt when he saw the very last person he expected to see standing amidst a cluster of men and women who were all practically clinging to him. It felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to his gut when he looked across the room and saw Jason dressed in a tuxedo that made everyone around him look like they were wearing cheap mall knock-offs. Fuck. Fuck. And double fuck. Maybe even a triple fuck with a side of oh, god, why.
He turned away before he did or said something stupid and fled as if his ass was on fire.
Why was Jason at the damned concert? Why hadn't he mentioned it? But that wasn't fair. They hadn't actually talked about it, and the place was crawling with big names. It was entirely possible business had dragged Jason to it last minute.
Jet wanted to believe Jason had come for him, but … he did not dare get his hopes up. Jason's words had seemed pretty final and he'd never replied to Jet's email.
When he reached the dressing room backstage, Jason slumped into the ridiculously nice leather sofa and buried his face in his trembling hands. His ability to think had been reduced to an endless stream of fuck fuck fuck.
He jerked up as the door opened, heart dropping into his stomach and mixing with a good dose of dread when he saw Dai close the door behind him and approach Jet with that damned determined look on his face.
Jet really wished he had gone for a second drink after all.
"So I think I'll just cut the bullshit and say that I know about you and my brother," Dai said.
"What?" Jet croaked, but at the anger that flashed across Dai's face gave up the futile attempt at playing dumb. "Fuck, okay. How the hell did you figure that out?"
Dai shook his head and dropped down to sit next to him. "The way you fled to New York without talking to me. The way you and Jason have been acting lately. Come on, Jet. I'm not completely stupid. Why didn't you ever tell me you had a thing for Jason?"
"It's just—"
"If you say it's just fucking, I'm going to punch you and then you'll have to perform with a shiner and the paparazzi will hound you harder than ever," Dai said, the words almost cheerful, but with an underscore of death threat. "If it was just fucking you would have told me just to drive me crazy and you wouldn't give a damn right now. I've seen you with your just-a-fucks. Why did you never tell me you're in love with Jason?"
Jet turned his head slightly to glare. "Why didn't you tell me about Coop?"
"Fair enough," Dai said with a sigh. "But I feel like an ass. All the times I made fun of Jason or bitched about him or said things he probably didn't deserve 'cause I thought we were both just bitching harmlessly about my by-the-book brother—and you cared. You should have spoken up. You shouldn't have let that go. What the fuck is going on?"
Laughing raggedly, Jet said, "Fuck if I know anymore."
"What did you fight about?"
Jet frowned at the floor, deliberating. "I can't explain all of it," he said eventually. "Suffice to say I figured out a secret and I, um, persuaded Jason to uh—put up with me."
"You blackmailed Jason into sleeping with you?" Dai said. "I don't know if I should slug you or clap you on the back. I mean, you should be slugged, but fuck, I know a lot of guys who would love to know that secret. Anyway, from the way Jason has been acting, I don't think you really had to blackmail him. God damn, what the hell do you have on him?"
"Can't say," Jet said. "I've done enough; I won't take that from him."
Dai nodded, letting the matter drop. "I gave him a card to your room. Be smart and make sure you're waiting for him after the show. I figure you'll be stuck here another hour after we're done, but then you can slip away. I'll cover for you. Just be careful, yeah? You and Jason as a couple is a lot more complicated than me and Coop." He blew out a breath.
"Something going on with you and Coop you haven't told me about yet?"
"Not really," Dai said with a shrug. "His band is thinking of retiring. They've got other things going on these days and would rather quit while they're ahead. Coop said the press conference would be a good place to come clean and tell everyone about me, but they're still discussing it, weighing pros and cons. That's why I haven't said anything. And, come on, you're dealing with way worse shit."
Jet grinned. "If he comes out, then I'm thinking there needs to be a wedding."
"I think you need to get a damn life and stop ruining mine," Dai said, rolling his eyes. He sobered as he looked at Jet. "Seriously. When did you start looking at my brother and wanting to tap that?" His face scrunched up. "And please do not go into any of your goddamn sex details. This entire thing is weird enough without thinking about you and him given how much TMI I have on you." Dai's eyes widened as he stared at Jet. "You're blushing."
Jet flipped him off. "Shut up. Also screw you, I am not." Even though he could feel that he was, damn it. "Um. Can we just go with 'a long time' and stop there."
Dai narrowed his eyes. "How long have you been a sad, sad cable TV movie and had the hots for your best friend's big brother?"
"There is no way they would show that movie in a gay flavor on cable TV right now. But then again, I don't watch much TV so maybe they do—"
"Answer the fucking question."
Jet blew out a breath and tried to ignore that his cheeks had only gotten darker. "Fuck. Okay. Middle school. He was in high school. Obviously. Uh. I doubt you remember it, but it was that day he and Uncle Henry really got into it, you know? We were studying for a test or something stupid. Uncle Henry actually hit him, just slapped the ever living shit out of him."
"You developed a crush on my brother because my dad slapped him?" Dai asked, almost but not quite laughing. The levity faded, however, as he said, "I remember that day; they were both hell to deal with the rest of the damn month. It was one of the few times my mom refused to talk to my dad until he apologized to Jay. Of course, apologize was actually nothing close to apologize, but Jay chilled out and my mom thought everything was okay. I don't get why my brother getting slapped turned you on."
Jet shook his head. "Fuck you, it wasn't that. He stopped looking prissy. There was this one moment in the kitchen when I went to get a soda and he just looked … touchable for once. Not all perfect and out of reach and too good for the rest of us. Normal. Something just … shifted. I kept trying to shift it back, but it was a one way ticket, man. Then there was one night, not long after we had really started to get somewhere with the band, he and I got into a fight in his office and were both drunk … and I'll stop there since you're such a fusspot."
"Thank you," Dai said, rolling his eyes. "You really do sound like a fucking romance movie. Or a romance novel, actually. One of those stupid books you're always reading."
"I really don't want to hear it from a guy who has a soppy country ballad written in his honor—oh, yeah, now who's blushing?"
Dai punched his arm. "Shut up. So are you actually fine now?"
Jet shrugged. "How come you're so cool with it? I always thought you'd murder me if you knew."
"I just want you to be happy, Jet. You're miserable, have been ever since we ran away from home. We've had great times, and I know we've been pretty pleased with life, but happy is Cooper. Happy for you is apparently my stuck up brother. I'm still kind of weirded out, but I'm rolling with it. Just, seriously, no details. Ever. I'll kill you."
"Now you're just making it a challenge," Jet said with a grin. "Come on, surely you must be curious about how good your brother is at sucking—"
Dai slapped his hands over his ears and shouted, "Lalala—"
They both broke off as the door flew open and the rest of their band mates piled in. "There you are," Misha, their bassist, groused. "Come on, man, we got setup and final checks to do. You coming or do you ladies need some more quiet time to talk about your fucking feelings?"
"Sounds like maybe you need to get your feelings out, Misha, my love," Jet said, standing up and going to a mirror to make sure he hadn't ruined his makeup. "Come on, then, let's go get this show going so we can get i
t done. I have better places to be than with your ugly mugs all night."
Almost as one, the band rolled their eyes. Ricky shot Dai a look. "Did you give him those pixie stick shots again? For crying out loud, Dai, we had a talk about that."
Dai held up his hands. "I didn't give him shit. I think he's had a bit to drink, but not much. I watched."
"Christ, I'm surrounded by nannies," Jet muttered. "Ladies, if you please. Stop gossiping about me and let's go do our job. Honestly." He bolted before they could murder him and headed for the stage.
When the opening act had cleared out of their way, Jet set to work with the crew to get Forever's equipment set up just the way they liked it, making a face at the stage which was not as up to par as he would have liked. But it was a charity event and the crowd was probably already at least half drunk. They wouldn't notice if he played naked—not that he would, he was still getting yelled at for the last naked time.
Thoughts of naked time always led him down the same path. Helplessly, Jet looked out into the crowd, and it took only a moment to find Jason in it. Fuck, the man got more stunning every time Jet looked at him. Jet wondered who he was talking to and why the woman had to be so fucking clingy.
But Jason wasn't his, had never been his, and even though Dai seemed to think they were going to resolve something in the hotel room later … Jet had his doubts. What was there to reconcile? Even if they did move back to speaking terms or whatever, the sex was definitely over. Without the half-assed blackmail as an excuse …
And even if, by some miracle, Jason wanted something real, how real would it ever be when it was quite literally illegal for them to be anything? Coop and Dai held back by choice and the necessity of their jobs. If Jet went back to being ordinary tomorrow and no one gave a flying fuck about him, he still could not go out on dates or marry his goddamned cousin. There would be no public displays of affection for him.
Fuck, he'd settle for private displays of affection. Not lust laced with anger or desperation, or Jason feeling sorry for him because his father had died or because he was a client.