by Jaime Samms
By the time both hands were cleaned to Stanley’s satisfaction, Damian was shivering violently despite the warm spray, and leaning hard enough Stanley didn’t think he would stand on his own if Stanley moved. Shutting off the water, Stanley kept his grip on Damian tight and reassuring.
The younger man said nothing as Stanley wrapped a plush towel around him and guided him out of the shower, out of the bathroom, and tucked him into bed.
Damian lay on his back, hands carefully resting on a towel on top of the comforter.
“You want that other whiskey now?” Stanley asked.
Damian shook his head. He barely blinked. His gaze followed Stanley around the room, not looking away when Stanley changed into sleep pants.
“Do you want something to put on?” Stanley asked.
“No, thank you.” Misty gray-green eyes met his. “I’m good.” He wiggled farther into the bed and a faint smile flitted over his face. “I like your bed.” He squirmed. “My naked ass in your bed.”
“You’re a brat,” Stanley admonished, but he couldn’t put any fire behind it. Damian was a brat, and Stanley loved that about him. Granted, he loved it more when the brattiness wasn’t hurting the singer. He gazed down at Damian, studying him, from his limp hair to the still pools of silvery-green in his eyes, to his face, stripped of makeup and pretense. He was a striking figure when he decked himself out completely, but he was beautifully captivating stripped bare.
“What am I going to do with you?” Stanley asked quietly.
“Band-Aids?” Damian asked, lifting his hands and letting them fall again with a wince.
Band-Aids might help his hands feel better, protect the damage that had been done, but this man needed a deeper fix than that. Something more permanent.
Stanley drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and nodded. “It’s a start, I suppose. Wait here.”
“Did you think I was going anywhere?” Damian asked as Stanley went into the outer room to the phone.
“Quiet, brat!”
From the other room, Stanley heard a small, startled noise, but nothing else, and he couldn’t help the smile of satisfaction that curled his lips as he picked up the phone. He called down to the front desk for the necessary first aid supplies and hung up.
When he went back into the other room, Damian was lying as Stanley had left him, but he’d moved over two feet, which left room on the spacious mattress for Stanley. That was a dangerous, if unspoken, invitation.
He was about to say something—he wasn’t sure what—when his cell rang.
“Hey,” he said, after glancing at the display and seeing Vance’s face.
“Hey. We have a problem.”
No preamble. No warning. Stanley caught his breath and glanced at Damian. The singer’s eyes were closed. Despite his flirting, despite the wordless invitation implied when he moved over, his face was still pale, and his lips were tight.
“Hang on.” He went to the lounge and closed the door to the bedroom. “What are you talking about?”
“I have a nearly manic guitar player here, Stan.”
“Do you.” Stanley lit on the edge of the couch cushions. He shouldn’t be surprised. It had been in the cards since that very first night at the Evangeline when they’d gone to see a band play grunge. Vance had been smitten then, and he sounded proprietary now. “Damian is here. Pretty busted up. You know something about that?” But the picture was becoming clear in Stanley’s mind, through the injuries on Damian’s hands, too personal to be a random bad hookup, and the way he’d refused to say what had actually happened. And now Len was effectively AWOL since he hadn’t come back to the hotel.
He ground his teeth, a sigh leaking out through them. “Do me a favor, Vance, please.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the singer mock growled at him. “Already have him locked up, safe and sound. This guy is a live wire, Stan. Trouble.”
“I’m beginning to see. Here I thought Damian was the troublemaker, but I think it’s more complicated. Can you please make sure he stays there? I’m guessing he can be a slippery customer when he wants to be.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“Vance?”
“Uh. It’s fine. He’s fine. Safe. Don’t worry. He ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
“Vance.”
“What?”
“Did you fuck him?”
Silence.
“For God’s sake, Vance!”
“I’m goin’ to take care of him, okay? Ain’t that all you need to know?”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
“For now.”
“Vance.”
“You really want all the dirty details?”
But Vance hadn’t given even a vague clue, which in itself told Stanley everything he needed to know. Vance had made his move, and if Lenny was still there with him, there was a good chance the move had been accepted. Stanley hoped it would be good for both of them.
Stanley glanced at the closed door between him and his occupied bed. “Guess not. Just be careful.”
“Trust me, Stan.” Vance’s voice curved around the corner from defensive to affectionate, the voice Stanley knew intimately. The voice that always got him worried about what came next. “I know broke, yeah? I got this.”
“Yeah.” Stanley sighed. And let the tension flow out of his shoulders. He couldn’t take care of everybody and he trusted Vance, now that he was sober and staying that way, to be able to look after himself. And maybe, just maybe, he would be able to offer the solution Firefly and its members needed to survive this business. “I guess you do. I’ll talk to you later.”
“You will. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks.”
“Ain’t any trouble, buddy.”
The line went dead, and Stanley ended the call and stared at the phone for a moment. “Stop saying ‘ain’t,’ cowboy,” he muttered, wondering if he should worry. Lenny was all manner of trouble, and he truly hoped Vance recognized that. The pairing could land him with two volatile musicians, not only to chase around the globe, but to settle love disputes for. Lord, he hoped not. He wanted to think they would temper each other. There were a lot of things in life he wanted, though, and a lot he was still hoping for.
Once more, he glanced to the connecting door and visualized Damian’s pale, tense features against the snowy white linen. He was so screwed.
17
VANCE HUNG up the phone and returned to the couch where Len had settled. The half joke about Len kneeling still hung between them, and Vance knew either he made the demand now or he never did. It hadn’t felt like the right thing to do without checking in with Stan first, making sure Damian was safe and Stan knew Len was too. Now that was done, and Len watched him expectantly as he left the bedroom area and approached.
“Trev?” His eyes were wide, clouded over with concern.
“He’s fine. With Stan.”
Wow. How quickly could one guy go from a puddle of worry to cold? “With Stan?”
Vance pursed his lips, but remained standing in front of Len. “I didn’t ask. None of my business. None of yours, either, unless you plan to go back there and claim him for yourself.”
Len stared at him, waiting, but Vance wouldn’t—couldn’t—make this decision for him. It was time for him to choose the life he wanted, and if it wasn’t one free of Damian and the destructiveness they brought down on each other, there was nothing Vance could do.
“You said he’s bad for me,” Len said after a while.
Vance dipped his chin. “And you’re bad for him.” He wasn’t about to let Len forget or ignore his part in the disaster. Len rose and paced to the windows, stood staring out for a while, silent.
“So why would you ask if I was going back?” he asked at last, not turning.
“Old patterns, Len, even bad ones, are hard to get out of. You have to make the decision.”
Len turned to face him. His expression was slack, like there was s
o much going on inside he had no way to process it. “If you told me to stay, I’d have to stay.” His pale brows drew down in a delicate expression of uncertainty.
It was difficult to see him looking so lost. Vance wished he could make this easier, but Len wasn’t his. Not yet. Might never be.
“Isn’t that how this works?” Len asked when he didn’t say anything. “You tell me—”
“An’ what would I do with you here if your mind and heart are there? That’s only goin’ to lead to me gettin’ hurt too,” Vance said, softening his tone as much as he could.
Len studied him for a long time before returning to where Vance stood. “I can’t hurt you,” he said at last. “You barely know me. What I do doesn’t really matter to you.”
“Why would you say that? You can get into my head and see what I’m thinkin’?” He laid a hand over his chest. “See in here and know how I feel? What I want?”
Len shook his head. “But I know someone bought Damian’s contract from Granger. He didn’t tell us who gave him the money, but I’ve worked long enough with Krane to know it wasn’t him. He wouldn’t compromise his business with that kind of conflict of interest, for one, and he wouldn’t agree to represent us if we hadn’t found a way to get what we wanted without his help. Now, he’ll move mountains for us, but we had to prove we’d work just as hard to move them ourselves first. He doesn’t work for lazy or stupid people.”
Vance smiled, genuinely impressed. “Okay.” He nodded agreement. “Reasonable conclusions.”
“So I have to ask myself, why is a country music megastar bothering with a grunge band? Especially one barely established? One obviously on the brink of disintegration, who might never release another album? Unless he had some sort of stake in that band. You have the means to bail Damian out of his contract. Though I can’t really figure out why you would. But you’re acting like it matters what happens to us, so I guess I don’t know, but the evidence stacks up right.”
“And you think this,” Vance waved a hand between them, “is about your contracts with Stan?”
“Is it?”
An honest question. Len was full of them tonight, really taking this seriously, and Vance could only meet that with his own candor.
“Since it’s clear you’ve got this figured out anyway, yes. I did buy out Damian’s contract so Stan could sign him. I suppose I have a vested interest in his success. You should know that up front. But that was a business loan, and it has nothin’,” he moved a step closer and cupped a hand around Len’s cheek, keeping the younger man’s focus, “nothin’ at all to do with you.”
LEN WELCOMED the gentle heat of Vance’s skin on his, wanted so badly to lean into it. To believe. Everything hurt. Not physically. But everything ached inside. Only when Vance looked into him like this, touched him, some of that tight, restrictive pain eased. No one in his life had ever had that effect on him. Not Ace, because his brand of control had been so fucked up. Len had never been in denial about that.
Not even Trevor, his very best friend, had given him this peace. Sure, he’d been there in times of crisis and they had fun when they weren’t fighting. So much stood between them now, though, and he didn’t know how to get past it all. Maybe turning his back on it was cowardly. Maybe walking away was what they both needed. Nothing else had worked. It didn’t take a relationship expert to point out, if they kept on the way they were, there would be nothing left by the end of this tour. He wanted to save what they’d been, so maybe the best way to do that was from a greater distance. One where he could get perspective.
“Len.” Vance’s bass stirred him from his thoughts. That sound was as comforting as his touch, deep and honest. It stirred a spark in him he’d all but let go out from neglect.
Lifting his face, he met the big man’s eyes, and the care he saw there, the absolute trust in him to make his decision, fanned the tiny flame to greater life.
In that moment, he knew what he wanted. What he needed.
“I’m not going back,” he whispered.
Vance smiled, and like everything else about the man, it soothed Len.
“I can stay?” He hardly dared hope.
“Of course. You know there will be rules here. Not like anythin’ you’ve known in a long time, if ever.”
Len nodded. “I know.”
“Important rules, Len. Ones you won’t have a choice about.”
He hadn’t moved. The expression in his eyes hadn’t changed, but his words sent a shiver of apprehension through Len. “What rules?”
“Counselin’, for one.”
“What?” That hadn’t been even remotely what Len expected. Here he was thinking Vance was going to start laying down rules about his sex life, and the guy was going totally in another direction.
“You have anger management issues,” Vance said flatly.
Len stared at him a moment. “Obviously,” he said finally, when it seemed Vance was waiting for him to make some sort of response.
“Shit has happened to you, Len. I don’t know what, exactly, and you don’t have to tell me, but you have to talk about it to someone, and honestly, I’m not really equipped to be the person to help you with those issues. I’m a Dom, not a therapist.”
Len blinked at him. A Dom. He said it so plainly. So open and out there, and that left nowhere for him to hide the truth about what it made him. What he wanted it to make him. If he had the guts to admit it.
“Okay,” he said tentatively, but aware Vance was making a reasonable request and one he wasn’t the first to suggest.
“And you walk away from Firefly.”
“What? No!”
Lenny had assumed “distance” would mean no more apartment sharing. No more staying in the same room on the road with Damian, maybe even riding in the second tour bus, away from him, if Vance demanded that much separation. He wasn’t prepared to give up his career.
He shook his head violently and jerked away from Vance’s hand. “Fuck that.” A quick glance around and he spotted his jacket and headed for the door. He’d walk back to the hotel if he had to. “I don’t want you up my ass that bad, dipshit. I am not giving up my music.”
“Leonard!” Vance’s voice boomed and Len couldn’t help the flinch or stopping, frozen prey in his tracks. He braced for… something. He didn’t know what.
“Calm down, Len,” Vance said, his tone immediately reverting to the gentle one of a moment before. “I’m not askin’ you to give up your music, or even to leave the band permanently. Only to take some time. A leave of absence.”
“We’re in the middle of a tour. I can’t just quit.”
“It’s a condition I am not willin’ to compromise on, Len.” He drew in an audible breath. Even with his back to the other man, Len could picture the way his chest would swell and his stance heighten, and the image alone made him want to turn around and go back, so strong was the draw and his desire to be enfolded in the warm comfort.
“You want me to yourself that bad? You think after I’ve been away a while I won’t want to go back?” He fought his desire for Vance and for the perceived safety. He wouldn’t be controlled.
“I want you to build yourself a better foundation. Goin’ on the road for most of a year is hard. It wears you down. Bein’ in the company of the same four people, day in and day out, onstage with them every night, practice every day, exhausted and crammed onto that bus, it’s a terrible thing to do to those friendships. If you aren’t stable to begin with, how can you hope to keep the relationships strong? I want what’s good for you.”
The therapy made sense. That was good for Len and way past time he did it. How was taking away the thing he loved best going to be good for him? Isolating him from his friends, hell, his family, was not going to make his life better. He said so, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Vance’s strong hands closed over his shoulders from behind.
“I have no intention of isolatin’ you from any of them but Damian. And I don’t expect even that to last forever. Jus
t for now. Just until you both get a bit of perspective on what you’re doin’ to one another and what you both really want. I would never ask you to stop playin’. You can play with me, or find another band. You can write. Learn another instrument, do all sorts of things. Firefly is the only band you’ve ever known. It isn’t the only band there is. And hell, what do I know? You might go out and play a dozen other gigs and discover you want to go back. That’ll be your decision, but right now, I think you need to step back.”
The apartment went still. Outside, the sound of the rain pattering on the glass filled some of the empty space.
“How long?” Len asked finally.
“Long as it takes.”
Len shook his head. “I can’t give you that. Not without talking to the guys. This is about them as much as it is about me.” He freed himself of Vance’s grasp, desperate to keep the connection, but determined to take his stand on his own two feet. “We’re in the middle of a tour.” He said it again, because it bore repeating. “I have a commitment to finish that.”
“I know.”
“So I can’t just quit.” Some of the tightness constricting Len’s breathing eased at Vance’s admission.
“I know.”
“But you said it’s nonnegotiable.”
“I did.”
“I’m confused.”
“You have a commitment. They’re your family. You owe it to them to tell them what’s goin’ on and help find a solution. I agree you should talk to them before you give me your answer.” He touched Len’s face lightly. “Let them help you too.”
Once more, Len found himself staring into Vance’s eyes, losing himself in their depths and wishing he could stay lost. Vance’s touch strengthened, traveled, fingertips sliding along his jaw until they tingled at the back of his neck. A spray of goose bumps trickled up through Lenny’s hair and down his spine and a sound, the softest, neediest moan he’d ever heard, issued from his mouth.
“I know,” Vance said, his twang rounding out the two simple words to form a bubble of understanding around them, encompassing them and protecting the moment just before their lips met.