by L. A. Witt
“Y-yes. I love it.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I put on a little more lube, and then started thrusting. The harder I fucked him, the deeper he slipped into that headspace, his eyes unfocused and his lips apart, as if nothing existed but this and all the hell of Daniel’s death was a million miles away. I fucked him so he couldn’t think about anything else. I fucked him hard, making damn sure it hurt, so he knew we were both alive.
And damn it, I liked it too. For the last few days, I’d swung back and forth between crippling guilt and total numbness, and this felt good. God, it felt amazing. Being over him and inside him and driving him far enough out of his mind to make him feel even a little better... I loved it. I shouldn’t have, but I did. So, so much.
Jordan gazed up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. Then he tilted his head back, pressing it into the pillow and exposing his collared neck. Though his eyes were glazed and barely focused, the plea was there, clear as day.
I swallowed. What the hell? If there was any point where this wasn’t wrong or fucked up or just completely insane, we’d passed it before we’d even made it into the bedroom. He wanted this. He needed this. He needed all of this.
I wrapped one hand around his throat, then the other. The lingering ache in my wrists and elbows reminded me why I was here, why he was broken, and I forced those thoughts out of my head. Still fucking him, still thrusting hard enough to make Jordan and the bed groan, I gripped his neck tightly, but didn’t cut off his air flow.
His eyes slid shut. His hips rocked, as if he wanted me to move even faster. His forehead creased. His lips pressed together and his pulse beat savagely beneath my hands as his helpless moans vibrated against my fingers. Goddamn, he was so close. And so was I. Much more of this, and—
He tightened around me, turning my vision white for a second.
With what seemed like an insane amount of effort, he opened his eyes. “J-Jase, please. Please, may I come?”
I didn’t answer.
I just thrust a little harder.
And squeezed.
Instantly, his entire body tensed, his ass clenching around my cock so hard I couldn’t help crying out myself. My head spun, and my equilibrium shifted, so I let go of his throat and grabbed his hips for both balance and leverage. Jordan gasped for breath, still shaking and moaning as I fucked him right through his orgasm and my own.
Then I pulled out and sank down next to him. He wrapped his slender arms around me, and for the longest time, we panted and trembled together.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
I kissed just above his collarbone. “Anything for you.”
After a few minutes, when we’d caught our breath and stopped shaking enough, we got up. I took care of the condom and then took him into the shower, and we washed off the sweat and lube and semen in between kissing lazily beneath the warm water. Any other time, we’d have started getting hot and heavy again, and there’d have been a second rough fuck before we’d even dried off from our shower, but this time... Christ, I was exhausted. He seemed to be too, leaning against me as our kisses went from lazy to almost lethargic.
“Maybe we should get back in bed,” I said.
“Okay.”
I turned off the water and handed him a towel. We dried off, and after we’d hung up the towels, went back into the bedroom.
As Jordan climbed into bed, the scattered clothing caught my eye. Black slacks. Black jackets. A tie strewn across a shoe and a pair of boxers like a black silk snake.
Funeral clothes.
Funeral.
Daniel.
Fuck.
And with that, I was awake.
Wide awake. Had we really done this? Come home from Daniel’s funeral and fucked? Not two hours after leaving the cemetery, I’d been inside Jordan with my hands around his neck and—
“Jase?”
I turned to him.
“You coming to bed?”
“Yeah. Of course.” I toed a pair of slacks and a shoe out of the way, and came around the side of the bed. As I settled under the covers, Jordan cuddled against me and rested his head on my chest, hopefully oblivious to the unsettled feeling behind my ribs.
I kissed the top of his head. “Feel any better?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Good.” I wrapped my arm around his shoulders, trying not to notice that he’d lost some weight in the past few days. A guy his size couldn’t afford to lose much.
Damn it, Jordan. You need to take care of yourself.
Stroking his hair, I lifted my head and kissed the top of his again. I need to take care of you.
Neither of us spoke. Jordan’s breathing slowed, and his whole body felt limp against mine. It should’ve been a relief after I’d held him while he fell apart earlier. Feeling him in this serene, blissed out state should’ve reassured me. Given me hope that Jordan could come back from this instead of collapsing under its weight.
Right now, he was more relaxed than he’d been since the moment I’d broken the news to him. Breathing easy, and hopefully not dreaming at all. At peace for the first time in days.
So why the hell did I feel so much worse?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jordan
I opened my eyes, the sliver of sunlight seeping through the curtains smashing into me just like I’d smashed that glass. My vision was so damn blurry I couldn’t make out the clock, and when I tried to sit up—
Dizzy. Pain. Fuck.
“Jase?” I croaked, wincing at the raspy burning in my throat. His side of the bed was cold and empty. How long did he let me sleep? “Jase?” I repeated, louder this time. “Where’d you go?”
Bare feet scraped on carpet, and a familiar tall, solid form appeared in the doorway. “Right here. You okay?”
“Um... not sure.” I fell back on my pillow, hurting all over—muscles screaming, head pounding, gut lurching like I was riding a fucking roller coaster. I groaned and rolled onto my side, praying to God I didn’t puke all over the bed.
His hand felt so nice and cool on my forehead. “You’re feverish.” He checked my eyes and frowned. “Be right back.” He headed into the bathroom, returning with a glass of water and that familiar vial I kept in the medicine cabinet. “Here. Take a couple of these.”
Oh, you beautiful, amazing little white pills. Come to papa.
I swallowed them with a generous slug of water, but when I tried to hand the glass back, Jase shook his head. “Drink it all. You’re dehydrated.”
“Yes, sir,” I murmured.
I’d meant it to be funny, but he didn’t crack a smile. He just smoothed back my hair before disappearing into the bathroom again, returning with a moist cloth in his hand. He laid it over my eyes, his lips brushing my forehead. “I’m gonna get you something to settle your stomach, okay?”
“’kay.”
I lay there trying to concentrate on breathing instead of vomiting until this glorious, blissful numbness crept over me—a sure sign the pills were kicking in. Then came a high-pitched shriek, and—
No, not my ears ringing. It was coming from the kitchen.
Jase padded back in a couple of minutes later. “Drink this,” he said, taking away the glass and replacing it with a warm mug. I cradled it in both hands before taking a sip. Tea, not coffee—some herbal-type stuff, with plenty of honey to help disguise the otherwise bland taste. It soothed my throat, and slowly, sip by sip, the hot fist clutching my stomach let go. “Good, huh?”
“Yeah.” I peeled the cloth off one eye so I could see him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, concern writ large and crinkly all over his face. “Where’d you find the tea?” I asked. “I don’t remember asking Yolanda to buy it.”
“It was in the cupboard, next to a bunch of health-food type stuff.”
“Oh.” It was Daniel’s. He’d gone on a vegan kick the last time he got out of rehab, which had lasted about as long as his recovery. I took another sip, then set the mug on the nightstand.
“Thanks.”
“You should rest.” He stood. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
Didn’t he want to stay? I almost asked him, until my stomach resumed roiling. If I had to run to the bathroom to vomit... well, that was a show he didn’t need to see again. “Okay,” I said.
* * *
The room was pitch dark the next time I woke, Jase’s warm, solid presence gracing the mattress beside me. He snored softly, his arm looped around my waist. Protecting me, even while we slept.
My stomach had settled, but now my bladder ached. I slid out from under Jase’s arm without waking him, and, still shaky, not only made it to the bathroom under my own steam, but even managed to hit the bowl.
Ten p.m., the clock over the toilet read. A little early for Jase to be hitting the hay, but he’d been through as much hell as I had the past few days—maybe even more, if I wanted to be honest. He was the last one to see Daniel alive. The only one besides me who could’ve convinced him not to... well, if we’d only known.
My head was pinging, but nowhere near as bad as before. My eyes were still burning, though. I splashed some lukewarm water on my face before reaching for my robe, an itchy restlessness slithering under my skin. Time to get some air.
Looked like Jase had cleaned up the living room—no more glinting shards left over from my tantrum this afternoon. He’d picked up everyone’s glasses and wiped off the coffee table too.
The kitchen was spotless. I’d never know there’d been ten people here for lunch today. Jase had even taken the extra leaves out of the dining table and put them away.
My empty stomach growled. I grabbed an apple from the basket on the table, but instead of wandering toward the balcony, I drifted downstairs. It was dark, except for the distorted glare of the street lamps through the pane of bubbled glass near the entryway. I could still see that blob of bright Ferrari red on the other side, though, right next to Jase’s SUV.
The slap of my bare feet echoed down here. Never noticed that before. I’d confined myself to the top floor most of the time to give Daniel his space. The only thing down here was his room, and one floor below, the basement.
Any other night, I would’ve gone upstairs and sat on the balcony until I got sleepy again, or got out my guitar and tried to compose. But tonight I let my feet carry me to the one place I knew I shouldn’t go. The door of Daniel’s room.
No police tape, but the door still stuck. I rattled the knob, bumped it with my hip, and it swung open. It was a mess in here, bed unmade, clothes littered everywhere, spilling out of the suitcase he still hadn’t unpacked from rehab. And the bathroom...
The police had carted away all the drugs and paraphernalia, but it still looked like a junkie’s den. Traces of coke, meth, heroin and God knew what else streaked the sink and floor. For a second I was tempted to drag my fingers through it, snort as much of it as I could and go lie down on Daniel’s bed—
Where Jase would find me, and have a fucking heart attack.
No, I couldn’t do that to him. He’d been through too much for my sake already. He’d been so good to me, and I’d given so little back. He kept saying he understood, that he was fine with it, but it didn’t seem fair. Who else would’ve stuck with me through this fucking shit-storm my life had become?
Guitar strings glittered in the pale light poking in through the half-open blinds. The acoustic guitar Daniel usually played during rehearsals, or on those rare occasions back in the day when he’d accompanied me for an acoustic set. I picked it up, strummed it. Huh. It was actually in tune.
I sank to the foot of the bed and started playing. Started with “Forth Into Light,” then segued into some of the new songs. The ones Daniel would never have a chance to play. I’d never even had the chance to play them for him.
This was it, then—my one chance, and I gave it my all. I sang from my heart, even if my sore, scratchy throat couldn’t keep up. I played the last few bars hunched over the strings, trying to breathe through the awful ache growing inside me. It’d been like this when my folks passed too—a horrible, horrible emptiness. A hole in my entire world.
“What’re you doing down here?” Jase said softly from the doorway.
I gave a start. “Oh, I um... sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Guess I shouldn’t have let you sleep all day, huh?” Chuckling, he came over and ran the back of his fingers over my cheek. “How’s the head?”
“Better, I guess.”
“You’re not as warm as you were. We should probably get you back to bed, though.”
“In a minute.” I skimmed my fingers over the strings, picking out the melody for that last verse of “Forth Into Light.” The one that kept eluding me. The one I could only play a few notes of before the rest flew out of my head. Like right now. “Fuck. I just can’t get it.”
“Let me give it a try.” He slid to the floor as I handed him the guitar. He fiddled with the tuning, then started to play. “Nice guitar for its age. How long has he—er, did he have it?”
“My folks bought it for us the year we both turned sixteen. Money was kinda tight, so we had to share it. We wrote our entire first album on that guitar.” I smiled at the memory. “Back when we were so fucking poor, Daniel had to borrow Greg’s roommate’s Stratocaster when we went out on auditions.”
“Those were the days, huh?” He still didn’t have the melody yet, but he was getting there, and I liked the path he was taking. His fingers floated deftly over the strings, running through chords, teasing out notes even I had trouble with. And then—
There it was. He had it—the melody. A couple of minutes later, and he had the chord progressions. The hook. All it needed now were the lyrics.
I stared at him. “I can’t believe you figured that out in five fucking minutes.”
“Well, I’ve been listening to you work with it all this time. Guess it just sank in.”
“Let’s get upstairs and record it before we forget.”
“Good idea.” We stood. Jase still had the guitar in his hand. “Should I, um…?”
Bring Daniel’s guitar? So we can record the song on it?
“Yeah, I think…” I had to wipe something wet off my cheek. Fuck. “I think he’d like that.”
We headed for the stairs—or I did, at least. Jase was taking his time looking over the bottom floor. “Ever thought of turning this into a rehearsal space? Or better yet, a recording studio?”
What? Talk about a one-eighty, complete with whiplash. “Uh, not really. I know a lot of musicians have studios in their houses, but—”
“It could help you gain some independence from Millennium. If you don’t need their facilities, that’s one less thing they can use as leverage next time your contract’s up.”
Which made sense, except for why we were talking about it now. My neck prickled, my grip on the bannister tightening. “Daniel hasn’t even been buried a day, and you already want me to gut his room?”
His expression crumpled. “No, no, Jordan, that’s not what I meant at all.” He came over, sliding an arm around my waist. “It’s just... an option. Something to think about, when you’re ready to move on.”
We went up to the living room so Jase could record that snippet of song, but I wasn’t really paying attention. A low buzz of nausea-inducing white noise was swelling at the base of my skull, and would no doubt engulf my entire fucking brain pan soon.
Jase used the bathroom while I fell into bed and reached for my little white pills. I wasn’t supposed to take more than two every six hours, but since the headache was coming back, I figured two more couldn’t hurt. Three, and I’d sleep like a corpse.
I swallowed three. I could use a little oblivion tonight.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jase
While Jordan slept in, I drove into town for some coffee and bagels. The cupboards were almost bare since neither of us had been out much in the week since Daniel died, and we’d used the last of the coffee yesterday.
Whether it was sleep or a migraine, I did the best I could to move silently through the house and put the groceries away. I craved coffee, but I was too afraid the smell would wake him up, so I settled for a cup of tea to tide me over until I could safely brew the good stuff.
Tea in hand, I went into the living room and eased myself onto the sofa. The room was oddly peaceful. It had always been that way—one of my favorite things about Jordan’s house—but that serenity seemed alien now after everything that had happened here recently. As much as I was desperate for the world to return to normal, I’d forgotten how weird the transition could be.
I drummed my fingers on the side of my cup while I waited for the tea to cool. My fingers were sore from the guitar strings, and it felt good. I needed to build up my calluses again. It had been too long since I’d played regularly. Hell, I’d have picked up the guitar and played right then, but... Jordan. I could get back into the swing of the guitar after he’d slept off his migraine or just slept like he so desperately needed to.
After a few hours, I was starting to get worried. I left my half-empty tea on the coffee table and went upstairs to the bedroom.
I’d barely stepped into the room when he rolled over, blinking up at me.
“Hey,” I said softly. “How’s your head?”
He grumbled something and rubbed his hand over his face. Then, “I’m all right.”
“Hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“I went to the store. There’s food and coffee.”
“Coffee. Awesome.” He sat up slowly. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll get something cooking.”
Jordan nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Before I headed back out to the kitchen, I ducked into the bathroom to take a leak. I noticed one of us had left his bottle of migraine pills on the counter, so I picked it up to put it in the medicine cabinet, but paused, holding it up to the light.