by Jaime Samms
“I’m home,” he whispered.
He could hear the smile in Preston’s voice when he whispered, “Me too.”
Epilogue
“YOU’RE SURE?” Adam peered at Preston, a confused look on his face. “Here?”
“Yes, here.”
“He’s pretty nervous. He might want you backstage to—”
“I’ll sit exactly where I always have. Where he’s used to seeing me, whether he ever knew it or not.”
Adam harrumphed. “Fine, fine. How many seats?”
“Four.”
“For you, and…?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about this.”
“For myself, Azure, Calvin, and Holland.”
“I can’t believe they’re coming.” Adam shook his head but hooked the reserved signs on the backs of the four best seats in the tiny theater.
“I don’t pretend to understand how they work,” Preston said with a sigh. “Maybe since he agreed to dance their opening show, or something. Anyway, Holland called to ask, and it didn’t feel right to put up a fuss when Coby said yes. It was his choice, and I’ve always had his back.”
“You’re a better man than I am,” Adam assured him. “I would have put up one hell of a fuss.”
“I did put my foot down on them coming to the house before the show. If Denvers absolutely must come see his ex dance, then so be it. He isn’t going to mess with him before he gets onstage, though. I refuse to allow that much.”
“You refuse.”
Preston offered a wolfish grin. “Even the biggest diva needs someone to check their ego. Cobalt has me.”
“You’re very proud of that fact, aren’t you?”
“Extremely, yes.”
“Adam?” Matt stood at the front edge of the stage and waved a hand, beckoning his brother. “We have a problem.”
“What now?”
“Chris just threw up in Cobalt’s shoes, and Cobalt—sort of—” He glanced at Preston and wrung a hand. “—he’s a little tense.”
“Come on.” Adam didn’t give Preston a choice but took him by the arm and dragged him up the stairs on the side of the stage. “Ego check time. I’ve never seen Christopher anything other than completely game for anything. If he’s puking, he must be really nervous. The last thing he needs is Cobalt going diva on him.”
Preston wanted to laugh, but he sensed only Adam would really see the humor in the situation, so he stifled it and schooled his face to something resembling calm as he stepped backstage.
“What am I supposed to wear?” Cobalt’s voice pitched upward, the chill in it blistering the air so Preston expected to see people’s breath coming out in clouds as they huffed at him.
“Coby?”
Across the stage, standing in the wings with his back to Preston, Cobalt stiffened.
“What’s wrong?” Preston crossed the stage quickly and settled a hand on the small of Cobalt’s bare back. He had on only a flowy, very wide-legged pair of pants that would shimmer under the lights. The pants hung gracefully over Cobalt’s ass in a way that made Preston’s mouth water. He was wondering if he could get away with a quick grope when Cobalt made a sound not unlike Preston’s angry cat in full-on bitchy mode.
“He”—Cobalt shot an accusing gesture at Christopher, who was cowering, pale and a little shaky, in a corner—“puked in my shoes. I was going to dance in them. They’re ruined.”
Preston moved a step closer so Cobalt couldn’t help but feel his heat and solidity at his back. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it, babe.” The faint odor of vomit lingered, but a stagehand was already replacing a runner over some cables, then dragging off a tied garbage bag.
“I’m sorry,” Christopher muttered. “God. Matty, I can’t—”
“Shh. Yes.” Matt crouched between Cobalt’s prickly anger and Christopher’s misery. “Babe, you can do this. It’ll be fun.” He cupped a hand around the back of Christopher’s head and pressed their foreheads together. Whatever else they said was too quiet for any of the bystanders to hear, and Preston left them to it. He took hold of Cobalt’s wrist and dragged him away, into a small room off to one side.
“You need to settle down,” he ordered.
“Fuck off, darling. I’m screwed. I don’t have an extra pair of shoes.”
“Do you need them to dance?”
Cobalt stared at him. “What?”
“Can you do the dance without shoes? Will you hurt yourself if you do?”
“Of course not. I just—I—”
“Calm down.” Preston gripped the back of his neck and shook him lightly. “Take a breath.”
Cobalt did, a deep one, drawing it in with an audible gasp. His cheeks paled. “Ohmygod. That poor boy.” He gazed at Preston, shock in his eyes. “WhatdidI—” He gulped in a deep breath. “What did I do?”
Preston chuckled, pulled Cobalt against his chest, and wrapped arms like steel bands around him. “Breathe, baby. It’s fine. You’re okay. He’s okay. Matt will fix him.”
Cobalt moaned and sagged against him. “I’m a bitch.”
“Yes.” Preston squeezed. “It’s okay. You’re nervous.”
“I am not!” He pushed free of Preston’s embrace and propped his fists on his hips. For a split second, he huffed and glared. “I don’t get nervous.”
“No, darling. You get cold as ice and shut everyone out. You get impossible.”
Preston whirled at the words to find Calvin leaning in the doorway. He looked pale, haughty, and somehow softer than Preston remembered. “You shouldn’t be back here,” he growled, taking a step toward the interloper.
“Calm down, bulldog.” Calvin held up a hand to him and took a small step into the room. “Baby, you’re nervous,” he said to Cobalt. “And you know why?”
Cobalt made a face at him but bit. “Did you just come here to fuck with me?”
“No. I came to see you dance. Here.” He held something out. “Thought you might want this.”
Cobalt took the offered item. It was a bedraggled snip of black ribbon with a tiny charm tied to one end. “Where did you get this?”
“Found it when I was packing my apartment up.”
“You moved?”
Calvin shrugged.
“With…?”
“Oh, please. So not the point.” He huffed, shrugged. “But yes. I suppose yes. I moved into Holland’s.”
“That… good, then.” Cobalt nodded once. “Good.” He fingered the ragged bit of ribbon. “Good.”
Preston frowned. “What is that?”
Cobalt’s face turned crimson. “Nothing.” But he rummaged on the makeup counter for a safety pin and proceeded to pin the ribbon on the inside of his waistband.
“It’s a horseshoe,” Calvin said. “He wears it for every performance. It must have got left behind when he… left.” He shifted his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Surprised you never missed it, all this time.”
“I thought it was gone. You knew where it was all along?”
Calvin shrugged. “I was an asshole. Established fact. I’ve given it back now.”
Cobalt nodded. “Thanks.”
There was a tense silence as the two men stared at one another.
“Shine bright,” Calvin said at last, his voice dropping to a soft husk.
“Yeah.” A twitch of a smile flashed over Cobalt’s lips. “Thanks.”
“Yeah. See you out there.” Calvin bobbed his head, then turned to go. Holland was waiting for him in the wings on the other side of the stage, and Preston thought it was almost sweet the way he guided Calvin off the stage and into the shadows.
Preston turned back to face his lover. “A horseshoe?”
Cobalt’s cheeks flared pink again, and he scowled. “So?”
Preston’s lips twitched. “What were you? Like… sixteen when I gave you that?”
“Who says it’s the same one?”
“I gave that to you for your audition.”
Cobalt turned to the mirror to fuss
with his spiked hair. He didn’t meet Preston’s eyes. “I suppose it brought me luck, then,” he conceded.
“You have no idea how long I wished it hadn’t.”
“We were kids.”
Moving to stand behind him, Preston yanked until Cobalt was leaning back on him. “And now we’re all grown up.” He took Cobalt’s wrists in his hands and wrapped around him like a living straitjacket. “And it’s adorable that you kept that charm for over twenty years.”
“What if I can’t do this anymore?” Cobalt asked. “What if—”
“Shhh.” Preston kissed his temple. “You can. You will.”
There was a knock on the doorframe, and they glanced up to see Christopher standing there. “Hey.” He smiled faintly. “Sorry about your shoes. I’ll get you a new pair.”
Cobalt waved a hand. “No issues, sugar. It happens. You okay now?”
Christopher nodded.
“Good. Let’s get the curtains closed, and we can warm up.” He shook Preston off and turned to face him. “Shoo. Go.” He waved his hands at Preston. “Go away now. I need to concentrate.”
“As you wish.”
Cobalt’s smile was calm and happy, and Preston found his way back to his seat in the audience.
“Everything okay?” Azure asked him when he got there.
“Yes. He’s fine.”
“Good.”
COBALT DREW in a breath, held it for a count of eight, and let it out slowly. He’d learned a long time ago that controlling his breath was about the only way to keep the panic at bay. It never really went away, and he didn’t remember a performance he hadn’t felt nauseous and shaky before he went onstage. Tonight was no different.
Someone whispered encouragement as they scurried past him offstage and the lights went down. He took one second to grope at his waist for the warmed, hard bit of metal pinned inside. The familiar feel of the tiny horseshoe calmed him. He tiptoed out onstage and took his position. He was ready. It was going to be fine.
The lights shimmered up.
The music hummed quietly through the auditorium.
Violins swelled and sank away. He swayed his torso, the movement an echo of the vanished sound.
Another swell of music, longer, louder, tapering off just as he swayed and slid a foot across the stage, coming to rest again when the music began once more. This time he swayed into motion before the music stopped, joining the crescendo with a series of long, fluid steps that carried him to a back corner, where he stopped, back to the audience.
He was ready.
He could do this.
When the music exploded, so did he, twisting, spinning, flying down to the front of the stage, bursting to life with the exuberance of the music sweeping through his soul. As his feet left the floor at the apex of the piece, he felt that bit of Preston, the broken-off piece of his lover’s soul, bloom inside him. It tethered him as he soared, offered security he’d never felt, no matter how confident of the steps he’d ever been.
He could float forever, the wings of sound holding him aloft. Or he could land.
Smooth, steady, his feet found the floor. Bare toes gripped and he dropped down into the heavy beat, swung back up, arms up and out, all his being lighting up with knowing he was exactly where he had always been bound: dancing, loving, the very center of his own heaven on earth.
More from Jaime Samms
Dance, Love, Live: Book One
Dusty has finally landed a job he thinks he’ll be able to keep long-term, even with his broken brain and bum knee. He didn’t anticipate that cleaning a dance studio would reawaken his yearning to dance—even though he is no longer capable—or that meeting the studio’s director would rouse his dormant libido. Or his sleeping heart.
Conrad thinks his life is finally complete with his successful dance studio and a steady stream of students. When Dusty arrives, he rediscovers his thirst for a man who will let him hand over control and give him the undivided attention he’s never had. The trouble is, Dusty isn’t sure he’s worthy of the studio director’s submission.
To make their relationship work, Dusty will have to trust his ability to dominate the powerful and beautiful dancer, and Conrad will have to stop talking long enough to hear Dusty’s promises.
Dance, Love, Live: Book Two
About to lose the only thing he ever loved, Adam Pittaluga is at a crossroads in a dancing career that has hardly begun. He has always wanted to be a ballet dancer, but now that it’s impossible, he turns to Peridot for comfort. Peridot has been rebuilding his life after losing his ability to dance professionally, his marriage, and very nearly his daughter. He has a lot of reasons to be leery of starting something new, especially with a man as young as Adam.
Adam and Peridot have to believe that starting again can lead to love and success and that sometimes, the strength needed to love like you’ve never been hurt can be borrowed from unexpected places for a while. But ultimately, they must find it inside themselves to be each other’s happy ending.
With so many fences between them and happily ever after, two men wonder if it’s worth opening the gate.
Ten years ago Eddie Crane, an actor on the rise, loved his costar and dreamed of the day they could be together. But his love, with his submissive nature, couldn’t handle fame, and before Eddie could help him, he died in a car accident—with Eddie at the wheel.
Now, guilt-ridden, Eddie buries himself in bad decisions and prays that a stunt—on or off camera—will go wrong.
Teenaged fantasies about the actor on his wall distracted Arthur Pike from real life—his dead father, runaway mother, gruff grandparents, and his unrequited love for his cousin’s straight husband. Now grown and off the farm, Pike is a horse stuntman hired to teach a reluctant Eddie to ride.
Pike is drawn to Eddie’s dominant nature despite the sadness clinging to the actor. Eddie let one lover down, but in Pike’s submissiveness, he sees the possibility for redemption.
Singer Coby Kennedy and his drummer twin, Bruce, have a band called Patchwork Heaven. They have been rising steadily up the country music charts, but unfortunately, that rise has attracted unwanted attention. Faced with anonymous letters, sinister gifts, and the wanton destruction of their personal space, they hire The Detail, a specialized security firm. Coby never anticipated Gregor, The Detail’s owner and his personal guard, would be quite so intriguing.
As the stalker gets closer and more violent and questions pile up, Gregor fears his past might get in the way of him finding who is threatening his client when he becomes suspect number one. Even though Coby is convinced Gregor is not behind the threat, Gregor is not sure he’s the right man to keep Coby safe, either from the stalker, or from his own interest in the singer.
After a disastrous five years away at college, Joe returns to his aunt’s farm and finds his childhood sweetheart Cameron eager to rekindle their relationship. Joe has a hard time confessing that he didn’t come home until now because he’s only just managed to leave Andre, his controlling boyfriend, and has a harder time renewing his submissive role in his affair with Cam. Cam thinks he has to find a way to remind Joe how to be strong. But what Cam doesn’t realize is that Joe is strong, strong enough to leave behind a life of shame—though he’s terrified his past will catch up to him. Joe must confront his ex and take back his own life, on his own terms, before he’s able to give Cam everything they both desire.
Readers love the Dance, Love, Live series by Jaime Samms
Like No One Is Watching
“I loved the characters. They were messy, imperfect, real, and so very different. They caught my attention and held on…”
—Hearts on Fire Reviews
“…this is a beautiful romance. Jaimie Samms creates a wonderful sense of place and two very captivating men.”
—Inked Rainbow Reads
“A beautiful story about impossible odds, and the importance of dancing like no one is watching.”
—Rainbow Reviews
Like You�
��ve Never Been Hurt
“This is an intriguing story about passion, broken dreams, and the wonders of family and friendship.”
—Three Books Over the Rainbow
“Like You’ve Never Been Hurt is a worthy second installment in a series that I feel gets stronger with each new story.”
—The Novel Approach
“Jaime Samms has a way of writing broken, complicated men that is unlike any other author.”
—Diverse Reader
JAIME SAMMS has been published since the fall of 2008, although she’s been writing for herself far longer. Often asked what’s so fascinating about stories where men fall in love with other men, she’s never come up with a clear answer. Just that these are the stories that she loves to read, so it seemed to make sense if she was going to write, they would also be the stories she wrote.
These days, you can find plenty of free reading on her website in addition to her stories scattered across several publishers.
Spare time—when it can be found rolled into a ball at the back of the dryer or cavorting with the dust bunnies in the corners—she’s probably spending time crocheting, drawing, gardening (weather permitting, of course, since she is Canadian!), or watching movies. She has a day job, as well, which she loves, and two kids, but thankfully, also a wonderful husband who keeps her fed and caffeinated.
She graduated some time ago from college with a Fine Arts diploma and a major in textile arts, which basically qualifies her to draw pictures and create things with string and fabric. One always needs an official slip of paper to fall back on, after all….