Chapter 20
Tai
Two Months Later
“Oh my stars, this is so much better than a tour bus!” Theo squeals, breaking away from the group and sprinting toward the sleek private jet. For the next two months, it will take us around the world. “Dante, will you kiss me like that sailor photo? Tai, take a picture while Dante dips me!”
Unable to deny Theo anything, Dante trudges over. He dips Theo with a sappy smile, and I snap a few photos for them. Once his fiancé is satisfied, Dante returns to the group, and Theo dances around the jet like an excited puppy.
The clipboard makes an appearance as Dante reads over his list. “Got your passports up to date?”
“You’ve asked that at least a dozen times,” Eric complains.
Dante glares at him. “It’s not my fault you two changed your names right before an international tour.”
Dmitri took Eric’s last name. Since the beginning, Eric’s family has been a constant source of support for the two of them, unlike Dmitri’s parents, who tried to tear them apart.
The Woodards have become a second set of parents to all of us, and now Dmitri has a family that loves him exactly as he is.
“Don’t worry, buddy,” Dmitri says, clapping Dante on the shoulder. “Passports are squared away.”
“Mr. Woodard took care of everything,” Eric purrs, wrapping his arms around Dmitri’s waist with those love-struck eyes he gets a hundred times a day.
I take that as my cue to slip away, and nod at Dante. The two of us diverge from the lovefest. “Where do I need to put my luggage?” I ask.
He leads me to a small rolling platform where a few suitcases and duffels already sit. “Throw them on there. The equipment is in the cargo bay, and the crew will load your bags for you.” He gestures toward a couple of airport employees hovering near the rear of the plane.
“This is weird,” I say as I examine the jet. “It’s a far cry from the tiny three-person bus we crammed into on our first tour.”
Dante’s voice turns nostalgic. “Surreal sometimes, isn’t it? Monica has been a lifesaver in planning all of this. I wouldn’t have been able to manage without her.”
“That’s your curse, buddy,” I say, bumping him with my elbow. “You always think you have to handle everything by yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles.
I laugh as I set my bags on the platform, then we walk up into the jet.
It feels like I’m stepping into a dream.
The modern interior, plush leather seats, and fully equipped kitchenette seem out of reach for a bunch of guys like us.
Theo reclines like royalty, digging through every drawer within reach.
“Made yourself at home, did you?” I tease.
He narrows his eyes before returning to his search. “Of course I did. Dante, how many servants did you hire to attend to my every need while we’re on this tour?”
“Um… none?” Dante answers, scratching his chin.
Theo gawks and scrambles to sit up straight. “Who will get my drinks and snacks for me?”
Dante’s brow furrows. “Uh… you will?”
There’s a tense, drawn-out pause, then Theo’s eyes slide to mine. “Do you hear this? How are you going to hire a private jet with a pilot and everything, and not have servants to feed me grapes and fan me?”
Dante’s face twists into hilarious exhaustion as he sighs. “Because a pilot is necessary, but we can’t waste money on errand boys?”
“Waste money, he says,” Theo mutters. “Unreal.”
“So, it’s just us and the pilot?” I ask.
Dante nods. “For now. Staff at the airports will help unload our gear to the transport vans Monica has arranged, and there are people at the venues to assist with getting everything inside and set up.”
It surprises me to realize our agent is missing from the chaos. “Monica isn’t flying with us?”
“Monica would’ve gotten me an errand boy,” Theo mutters under his breath.
Dante ignores his whining, though he does reach over and take Theo’s hand. “No. Not for the stateside stops, at least.”
The enormity of the stage we’re about to perform on makes my brain spin. Most days, it’s still hard to comprehend that we’re actually here—that the fame and recognition aren’t just a figment of our imagination and that we are, in fact, loading up a private jet to take us on a world tour.
Prior to flying overseas, the band is playing shows in several major U.S. cities, starting with a kickoff concert in New York City. After that, we fly to Chicago, Dallas, San Francisco, then Washington D.C.
Dante presses a kiss to Theo’s knuckles before answering. “We’ll pick her up in D.C. with the security team, and she’ll travel with us for the shows overseas.”
“Does no one else think hiring security guards is overkill?” I ask, crossing my arms. “We aren’t that important.”
Dante shakes his head. “Absolutely not. If I had my way, we would’ve had them in place for the first leg of the tour. The venues have their own security, but risking everyone’s safety over someone with an unknown agenda isn’t worth it.”
I sling my arm around his shoulders and tug him close. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say old age is making you sentimental.”
“You’re older than I am,” he says as he wiggles, trying to throw me off.
“Dante, I love you, but that’s bullshit,” Theo spouts from his seat. “Tai’s like, my age.”
The comment triggers another memory of Connor, but I push through it. “You know I’m thirty-seven, right?” I ask.
Theo’s eyes go wide. “No you aren’t,” he argues.
“I mean, I think I’d know?” I counter.
Eric and Dmitri are climbing on board, and Theo’s attention shifts to them. “Eric!” he shouts. “How old is Tai?”
“Uh, I think thirty-five? Six?” Eric shoots me an apologetic grimace.
“No way,” Theo says, grabbing my cheeks and twisting my face back and forth, his eyeballs almost touching my skin as he inspects it. “There’s no fucking way. You’re either lying or have a magic facial cream.”
Eric turns to Dmitri with a snort. “I’ll give you a magic facial cream.”
“For fuck’s sake, Eric,” Dmitri groans as his face flushes, and he shoves his husband toward a seat.
I turn my back to Theo. “Did you really think I was in my teens when we met?”
He wrinkles his nose as he considers it, then nods. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
My lips break into a bigger smile as I shake my head. An unfamiliar woman enters the cabin that Dante introduces as Jenn, our pilot. She reviews the safety rules and the mandatory technical bullshit before our departure. We all sit obediently and half-listen, minds too preoccupied to truly engage.
“Will you bring me a snack if I need one?” Theo asks when she’s done speaking.
Her laugh is a tinkling, joyful sound that makes me immediately like her. “Only if you’ll steer the plane while I do.”
“Do not tell him that,” Dmitri interjects. “He’ll try to fly the damn plane, and I’d rather not die on this trip if it can be avoided.”
“Rude.” Theo crosses his arms and huffs his way to his seat. Dante throws Jenn an apologetic smile before following him. She gives a few last-minute instructions, and then we settle into our chairs for takeoff.
Unlike a commercial plane, the jet has three clusters of four seats positioned to face one another, each with a small table at the center. Dante and Theo curl up in the first cluster, while Eric and Dmitri have their heads together in the next.
Their easy intimacy punches me in the chest, and that sensation of not belonging sits heavy in my gut.
I move past the happy couples and settle into the final cluster of chairs, leaning against the side of the plane and staring out the window.
As we take off, my fingers dig into the armrest, the leather creaking under my grip.
Flying is my nemesis on the best of days, and well…
Today isn’t the best of days.
Tomorrow isn’t looking so hot, either.
I’m finally able to relax when we’re soaring through the sky. The world below shrinks into tiny, insignificant specks. A blurred version of reality, one without value.
Fitting.
I curl into myself and close my eyes, begging my body for sleep.
My ears still ring from the concert in New York.
It was the biggest show we’ve ever played, with acoustics so powerful it felt like the chords could be heard all the way up into the cosmos.
We were flawless, and the crowd was absolutely wild.
Media coverage is blowing up our phones, with reporters and bloggers calling this the kickoff concert of the year.
The ride to our hotel for the night is also filled with noise.
Excitement and laughter ring through the chartered van as everyone discusses the show, recounting every minute of the performance as we drive through the city.
New York City is the only place I’ve ever been that has traffic jams at 1 a.m., and I stare, fascinated, out the window.
The streets and sidewalks are packed with a vibrant assortment of people, even in the middle of the night.
It takes us an hour to travel ten miles to our hotel. We’re trying to maintain our privacy and keep our location out of the public eye, so Dante and Monica arranged for our arrival to be discreet. We’re ushered through the back entrance like someone’s dirty little secret.
Like I was some dirty little secret.
Everyone breaks away to their rooms, sweaty and exhausted, and now I sit here, alone with myself for the first time all day.
It’s dark, except for the glow of my phone screen over my face.
I stare at the text messages I’ve sent to Connor’s number over the past few months, all of them unread and unanswered.
Is there a way to turn back time? To go back to before I met you? Because this hurts, Connor. You swore you wouldn’t lie to me, and our entire existence was a fucking lie. I hate you, and I hate what you’ve done to me.
Was any of it real?
I hope you nvver get off during sex again!!! Youfucking desevverre it!! Fucking asshole!!
The last one wasn’t my greatest moment, but I was drunk when I sent it.
The room feels too quiet. Occasional street sounds drift up, but most fade long before they reach me on the sixteenth floor. My fingers move over the keyboard as I type another message he’ll never see.
We played the biggest show of our career tonight, and it was amazing. But you don’t even know that I’m a musician, do you? Maybe you figured it out that night I played karaoke, but you didn’t know. Not really. I should be happy right now, and instead I’m lost.
I’m stuck in a moment of time that meant nothing to you and everything to me. Do you ever think of me? Does it fucking eat at you until there’s nothing left? Does it take your breath away even after all this time has passed?
Or did you not feel anything at all?
Angry tears mix with the sweat on my face, and I wipe them away roughly.
My throat closes as the familiar panic rises in my chest, and my breath comes in gasping inhales as I fight to find my oxygen.
I undress and step into the shower, deliberately setting the water temperature to scorching, yearning for the burn.
Hands pressed against the tile, water searing over my skin, I stand there until my throat opens and I can breathe easier. I go through the motions, just like I’ve trained myself to do—I wash my body and hair, dry myself, put on clean clothes, and drink a glass of water.
Even though I don’t want to, I take care of myself. I do what I have to do to keep this empty shell functioning.
Maybe someday it’ll be worth the effort and I’ll find myself again.
City lights pollute the night sky, erasing the stars outside my window as I curl up in bed and stare. Sleep evades me, as it usually does, so I just lie here, surrounded by the quiet.
I really fucking hate the quiet.