by L. A. Witt
“Eric?”
He nodded, going over to the fridge to get some ice. He wrapped it in a paper towel and pressed it between his wrists, his grunt of relief audible all the way across the room.
“Looks like you were right all along,” I murmured.
“I should’ve recognized the signs,” he went on. “He was behaving like Eric at the end, all calm and quiet and... blank. He’d made the decision to end it, he was just waiting for the right opportunity.”
And I’d wanted him to be well so fucking badly, I’d ignored too much of what I shouldn’t. He’d been sleeping ten, twelve hours at a stretch. Hardly eating. Showing no interest in anything. This time there’d been none of his usual mood swings. He’d been depressed the whole time.
“I guess it was bound to happen, no matter what we did,” I said.
Jase sat down across from me, deep creases between his eyes. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”
“Not like I haven’t already lived this scenario in my head a thousand times. Sort of a relief, y’know? Getting some... closure.” I stood—still shaky, but okay. “I’m gonna go call Martin, see about making the funeral arrangements.”
* * *
The one fucking day in my life I wished it was raining, but instead it was hot as hell. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades, gluing my white cotton dress shirt to me as the minister droned on, reciting prayers I hadn’t heard since I left home. It was a small, private graveside service, exactly what Daniel had asked for in his will. Just me and the rest of the band. Milo. Martin. Jase, standing right behind me, shoring me up.
One by one, the guys went up to give their private remembrances of Daniel. Andy talked about that time a few years ago when the whole band went out for a bar crawl and ended up getting chased down the street by a bunch of fans. Daniel played air-guitar to distract them while Greg ran up to the next block to hail a cab. The fans practically tore Daniel’s shirt off, but he just laughed.
Back in the day we still thought fans freaking out over us was hilarious. Long before it got so bad we needed bodyguards and security at the house. Before we’d let our lives be devoured by the hype and dubious glory of fame…
Jase’s hand brushed mine, giving my fingers a brief squeeze. “It’s your turn.”
Fuck. What was I going to say? I tried to write a proper eulogy last night, but nothing came to me. Nothing was coming to me now. How was I supposed to sum up everything Daniel meant to me in a few lame sentences?
Sweat prickled through my pores, soaking my scalp and skin. I stared blankly at the casket, at the huge spray of lilies and roses on top of it. At the elevator it sat on, ready to lower it into that perfectly rectangular six-foot deep hole in the ground.
This is real. Daniel’s gone. My best friend. My first love. I’m never gonna see him again.
“Jordan.” It was Greg, sliding his hand onto my shoulder. “It’s okay if you don’t want to say anything. This is rough on all of us—”
“I’m fine,” I snapped. I had to say something. This was the last thing I would ever do for Daniel. I couldn’t let him down.
So I opened my mouth and started singing.
“When we were lost
In a land not our own
You rode the wind with me
Promised I’d never be alone...”
Just my voice at first—weak, thready, on the verge of cracking—then Jase joined in, his smooth baritone blending with mine. Greg started singing next, then Andy and the rest of the band. Then Milo, and finally, Martin.
By the time we got to the end, I could barely breathe from the sobs trying to claw their way up from my throat. I shook all over, ended up flubbing the high note—the climax of the whole fucking song—
And that was it. I couldn’t finish. My heart hurt too fucking bad. Daniel’s guitar solo from the full band version played in my mind. Stark. Simple. Romantic. His love song to me. Why did it take me so long to realize it?
Jase’s arm snaked around my waist. “Time to go home,” he whispered, leading me back to the limo.
Everyone piled in, and we drove through the cemetery’s front gate—past the throng of fans keeping vigil, gathered around a small shrine decorated with cards and flowers and photos of Daniel—and back to the house in silence. I’d hired a caterer to prepare lunch for us all, but no one seemed to have much of an appetite. Booze, on the other hand, flowed freely. I poured myself a stiff vodka and went into the living room, where everyone else was already gathered. Jase immediately got up from the couch and let me have his seat.
All heads snapped up as Martin cleared his throat. “I, um, know this is the last thing any of us wants to think about right now, but we need to make a decision with regard to the new album. Are we going forward with it or—”
“No,” I said flatly. “I’m not ready.”
“I thought you’d finished most of the songs.”
“We haven’t had a chance to rehearse them all yet.” I darted a “little help here?” look at the guys, but they glanced down at the floor. “Besides, who’s gonna play lead guitar?”
“Well, I assumed either you or Marcel—”
I shook my head. Daniel’s guitar was the spine our sound was built on. No way did I have the chops to take that over. Neither did Marcel. “We need more time.”
“How much more? Three months? Six?”
Staring at him, I rose, ice clinking in my glass. “Will you knock it off with the fucking ball busting? What difference does it make?”
“Because I need to book you studio time, and the place is scheduled out months in advance—”
“You really think Millennium’s gonna turn down one of its top-grossing acts wanting to cut a new album? They’ll make time for us.”
“Maybe.” Martin shrugged. “Maybe not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“An indefinite self-imposed hiatus, after cutting the last tour short—it doesn’t look good. A lot of bands don’t bounce back from something like that.”
And my bottom line’s gonna take an even bigger hit if you don’t get back out on the road soon.
Money. That was all Martin cared about. All Millennium cared about. We were just another fucking cash-cow to them. But if they thought they were going to force me back in the studio before I was ready, they could suck my dick.
“Look, I’m just going to say what everyone here’s thinking,” Martin went on, rolling to his feet. “Daniel was a distraction. He put the whole band’s future in jeopardy every time he snorted another line or stuck a needle in his arm, and... well, I know we’re all sad he’s gone, but the best thing for the band is to move on. Sooner rather than later.”
I glanced around the room, taking in everyone’s expressions—or trying to. Milo wouldn’t look at me. Neither would Greg or Andy. The other guys seemed more relieved than anything. Grateful that Martin had said it, and saved them from taking the heat for it.
“So you all agree with him, huh?” I said.
Silence, while everyone went on averting my gaze. Everyone except Martin and Jase.
White-hot anger rolled through me, shooting down my arms. My empty hand curled into a fist, but the other one—the one holding my drink—pulled back of its own accord and hurled the glass against the wall.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Fuck, Jordan, what the hell was that for?”
“Nobody disses Daniel in my house.” Jase’s hand landed on my arm, but I shook him off. The guys had all sprung to their feet, brushing off tiny bits of broken glass. Didn’t look like anyone had taken a direct hit, not that I gave a flying fuck about that right now. “Get out of here, all of you.”
They stared at me like they thought I was joking. Or that I’d lost my mind.
“Are you fucking deaf? Get out of my house!”
I’d never seen a room empty out so fast. The catering staff cleaning up in the kitchen shot me Holy fuck, get me away from this crazy asshole looks, u
ntil Jase went over to talk to them.
Everyone decided to leave at once. The low murmur of voices, a parade of footsteps down the stairs, the click-bump of the front door closing, and then Jase was back, wrapping his arms around me. This time I didn’t push him away. Fuck, it was all I could do to stay upright, even with him holding onto me.
This is it. This is real. You’re not gonna wake up and find Daniel down in his room. He’s not gone to rehab. He’s gone for good this time.
What was it I said to Jase the other day about closure? God, what bullshit. There was no closure, not for something like this. No comfort for the pain pulsing in my chest. Nothing but breathing in, breathing out, and getting to the next fucking moment without collapsing.
Then Jase’s lips brushed my neck, and that was it. My legs turned to water and I slid to the floor, dragging him with me. “It’s okay, I’m here,” he whispered. “Let it out. Let it all out, Jordan.”
I sobbed and screamed, not even fucking caring about shredding my voice. I buried my face in Jase’s neck, fingers sinking into the soft wool of his suit, and hung on. Clinging to the last shred of sanity I had left in the world.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jase
After the last few days, I was so emotionally exhausted, I couldn’t have fallen apart right then if I’d wanted to. I held onto Jordan, whispering to him and stroking his hair as he finally shattered the way I’d known he eventually would. I had nothing left. Nothing at all. The only thing I could do now was hold him and keep us both upright. Ironic—now that we’d both been ground into dust by this whole thing, the only thing I could still find the strength to do was to be the anchor he needed right now.
Jordan’s sobs quieted, but he didn’t let go of me, and I wasn’t about to push him away. We just held onto each other, alone on the floor in that huge, empty house.
“I am so sorry, Jordan,” I whispered after a while. “This has been hell, and Martin was way out of line to bring all that up today.”
Jordan exhaled hard. He sat back, wiping his eyes. “Would you expect any less from him?”
“I’d expect him to be human every once in a while.” I gently pushed his hair behind his ear. “He’s lucky you kicked him out when you did.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he was one idiot comment away from my foot in his ass.”
Jordan managed the closest thing to a laugh he could probably muster. Then he shifted his gaze toward the living room. “I should clean up that broken glass.”
“It’s not going anywhere.” I drew him close and kissed his forehead. “And I can take care of it.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Sighing, he wrapped his arms around me and rested his head under my chin. “I’m the one who threw the damned thing.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
We fell silent again, and I kept stroking his hair. He was so still and quiet, I thought he might’ve gone to sleep. Not that I’d have been surprised—he hadn’t slept in days.
After a while, though, he said, “I don’t know what to do now.” He held me tighter and exhaled. “Just getting up and cleaning up that glass... I can’t even plan beyond that. How the fuck am I supposed to know what comes next week? Or next month? Or next—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Fuck, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.”
“No one’s expecting you to know that now.” I winced as soon as the words were out.
“No one except the company that owns me,” Jordan growled.
“Fuck them. You have a right to grieve your friend, and no one has any business expecting you and the band to function right now.”
“They didn’t have any business expecting us to function the last couple of years. Fuck.” Jordan sniffed sharply, and his voice shook. “We never should’ve agreed to go out on tour. Not while Daniel was still recovering.” He paused. “Oh my God, what did I do?”
“Shh, Jordan.” I held him tighter. “This is not your fault.”
“I should’ve told the label to give us more time. Or spaced our shows out more or—”
“Jordan.” I gently pried him off me and cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to look me in the eyes. “This isn’t your fault. I was there at the beginning of the tour. Daniel seemed like he had it together. You couldn’t have known how things would go.”
A tear slid over his razor sharp cheekbone. “I knew he was an addict.”
“But you thought he was okay.” I brushed the tear away with my thumb. “We all did.”
“But I know him.” He flinched. “I knew him.”
“And no one would ever question that you cared about him and never wanted anything to happen to him. I knew before I met you that you loved Daniel, and I’ve never doubted it for a second.” I drew him in and pressed a soft kiss onto his lips before adding, “I know you still love him.”
Jordan released a ragged breath. I thought he might say something. Maybe protest. Insist he was to blame for this, because God knew he’d blame himself just like I still blamed myself over Eric.
But he didn’t.
He grabbed onto me and kissed me. Tears soaked his face, and he was shaking, and though it seemed like the worst possible time and place, I couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed me this desperately.
Jordan shifted onto his knees and straddled me, pushing me back against the wall as we breathlessly made out like we weren’t still dressed for his best friend’s funeral. He shouldn’t have been that hard, and I shouldn’t have been that hard, and we shouldn’t have clawed at each other and kissed like that, but... Christ, I didn’t know what else to do.
“Bedroom,” he murmured.
I pulled back and met his eyes. “Bed... right now?”
Jordan nodded.
“But…” But you’re so fragile. But you’re hurting so bad. But this is the worst possible time for—
He ran his fingers through my hair. “I can’t think. I don’t even know what I feel right now. I don’t know anything except that I want to go in the bedroom with you and shut everything else out for a little while.”
And was there anything in the world I wanted more than to shelter him from everything? “I don’t... I don’t want you to associate this with—”
“Please,” he whispered. “I need to feel good. I know it’s not forever. I know…” He winced, closing his eyes for a second. When he met mine again, fresh tears shone in his. “I know it’s not a permanent fix. I just need a break from all this hell.” He took in a breath, and I could already see the “Please, Jase” in his eyes, but I didn’t give him a chance to say it before I kissed him.
This was wrong. So wrong. Like dancing on Daniel’s grave. We shouldn’t have even been able to get it up, never mind have any desire to do anything, but Jordan was absolutely feverish with need, and my body couldn’t not react to that.
He broke the kiss briefly to curse, and I realized it was a frustrated sound, not an aroused one. I pulled back, and saw he was struggling to loosen his tie. I gently grasped his hand, stilling it, and then nudged it out of the way. As I hooked my finger under the knot and loosened it, Jordan shivered, hips grinding against mine.
He reached up and opened the first button of his shirt. My breath caught. I’d been sure he’d taken off the collar—he had a key in case he ever needed to take it off when I wasn’t around—but as his starched white dress shirt fell open, the strip of leather peeked out from behind it.
I slipped a finger under the collar. He gasped, and when I pulled him toward me, he shuddered hard, his dick pressing hard enough against mine to almost render me unable to speak.
Still, I managed to whisper, “Tell me what you want.”
“I…” He swallowed, the front of his throat pressing my finger against the collar. “I just want to be gone for a while.”
I ran my tongue across my lip. My arms were still too sore to swing a whip or a flogger—too sore from trying to keep Daniel alive—I didn’t have the
focus right now to beat Jordan into subspace. God knew if either of us had any business even thinking about that in our current state, but I could fuck him. Hard, violent, painful. There was nothing left in the world that I could do for him. I couldn’t bring Daniel back and make things right. All I could do for him now was put him on his knees and hurt him until he didn’t hurt anymore.
“Go into the bedroom.” I took my finger out from under the collar. “Get undressed and get me a condom.”
He released a breath, holding my gaze for a split second before he started to stand up. When he was on his feet, he extended his hand.
“Bedroom.” I nodded sharply down the hall as I rose on my own. “Now.”
Right or wrong, he was already slipping into that headspace. His eyes were still wet and red, but now they were heavy-lidded too, and with a nod, he started down the hall. I followed, my heart pounding. Guilt roiled in my stomach. Was this one of those times I should’ve stepped up and said “No, this isn’t what you need”? Was I failing him now as a Dom, as a protector? What was I supposed to do?
I could only think of one thing. As we stepped into his bedroom, and he started taking off his clothes, I started taking mine off too. We dropped our pressed black slacks and black silk ties on the floor with our black jackets and black dress shoes, stripping away the layers of mourning clothes until there was nothing left but skin.
I wanted nothing more than to gather him up in my arms and just touch him and kiss him, but I’d given him an order.
Jordan stepped over our discarded clothes and retrieved the condom and lube from the bedside table.
“Put it on.” I gestured at my cock. “Then get on your back.”
Jordan quickly obeyed, rolling on the condom and applying plenty of lube before lying back on the bed. I got on top, and though I wanted nothing more than to come down and kiss him, I sat up and pushed his legs farther apart.
He bit his lip, arching under me as I worked myself into him. “Fuck…”
“Like that?”
He moaned.
“Jordan.” I forced my cock deeper inside him, hard enough to make him gasp. “I asked you a question.”