Chapter 23
Tai
To say I woke up the following morning would imply that I actually slept, when I spent the night paralyzed.
Connor spent five agonizing minutes outside my room, and it took every ounce of my self-control not to break my resolve and invite him in. Instead, I sat on the floor, fixated on the ebb and flow of his shadow beneath the door as he spoke to me in hushed, too-gentle tones.
Then he was gone, and I was once again left to hold myself together in his absence.
It took me a half hour to drag myself off the floor, only to fall into bed and stare at the ceiling all night.
Now morning sun seeps into my room, and I glance at the clock with a tired sigh.
I climb into the shower and let my head thud against the tile as water sluices over my body.
My throat threatens to close, so I slap the wall in frustration. Droplets spray from under my palm, and I stare at the floor, counting the holes in the drain until the panic finally releases its grip. I force a shaky inhale.
How am I supposed to do this?
How is it possible to exist when he’s here… actually here, no longer a figment of my imagination but a tangible reality?
Shampoo. Conditioner. Body wash. Razor. Towel. Toothbrush.
I go through the steps like I’ve trained myself to do, ticking them off the checklist inside my head. As I’m pulling on a pair of sweatpants, there’s a quiet knock at my door. I tiptoe to the peephole and peek through.
Connor’s broad back fills his doorway as he makes his way into his own room, and his door clicks shut. A full minute passes before curiosity wins out over pettiness. I crack my door open to find a cold brew and a brown paper bag with two donuts inside.
A spark of anger ignites into a wildfire in mere seconds. The paper bag crunches in my fist as I storm over and pound on his door. His expression is wary when he answers, and he swallows nervously before his gaze shifts to the bag and cup in my hand.
“What the fuck is this?” I demand.
His eyes fly back to mine as he opens his mouth, hesitates, then shuts it again.
My anger is doused in another wave of accelerant. “Cat got your fucking tongue, Jugs?”
“That is not who I am to you.” He takes a step forward into my space.
“You’re right,” I retort. “You aren’t anything to me.
” Hurt flashes through his eyes, and it pisses me off more.
“Do you think you can come here after everything you did and expect me to forgive you? You think remembering what I like for breakfast is something special? Do you think I’m so fucking easy that I’ll jump back into your bed and forget? !”
“Of course not,” he argues. “That’s not my intention.”
“Then what is your intention, Connor? What are you playing at?”
I curse my body as he takes another half-step forward. My heart roars inside my chest, tears threaten to spill from my eyes, and a tightness grips my throat as I meet his gaze, refusing to look away.
“I don’t want you to forget,” he says softly. “I want you to remember.”
“Remember what?” I spit the words at him, blinking hard as I fight the tears trying to fall.
“What we had.”
My chin quivers as a rogue tear finally breaks free. His mouth drops open with a noise that’s somewhere between a whimper and a soft sob as he reaches for me, brushing it away.
“Oh, sweetheart—”
“No,” I snarl, jerking back and hurling my cup at him. Coffee drips off his hair and down his cheeks, soaking his shirt and creating streams that flow onto the carpet. His eyes are wide as he gapes at me.
“What we had is over,” I hiss.
His face twists in frustration, but there’s hurt there too. “If you would stop and give me a chance to explain—”
“There is nothing to explain!” I shout, not caring who hears.
“If you think I could forget any of it, you’re a bigger idiot than I realized.
I wish I could forget. I wish it didn’t run through my mind on goddamned repeat day after day.
” I fling the bag of donuts at him to drive my point home. “I wish I’d never fucking met you.”
The pain on his face is almost enough to make me double over. “You don’t mean that.”
“Well, we’re even, then, because you never meant a word you said to me, either.”
“Oh, bullshit!” he argues, finally losing his grip on his temper. He closes his eyes and shoves a hand through his hair, shaking his head. A fresh wave of coffee drips from his hairline, and it pulls a mean smirk onto my lips.
“We both know that isn’t true,” he says as he swipes at his forehead.
“No, we fucking don’t,” I snap back. “I don’t know a damn thing other than you lied… and then you fucking left.”
“I did,” he whispers, deflating right before my eyes. “I fucked up, but I have regretted it every single day since. We can’t walk away from each other again, sweetheart.”
I jut my chin up to face him head-on. “Watch me.” I spin on my heel and storm back to my room, slamming the door and throwing the bolt. I’m not sure whether I’m keeping him out or trapping myself inside.
The crowd in D.C. is wild as we count down the final minutes until we step onto the stage.
Eric senses the spike in my stress and refuses to leave my side, hovering so close that he’s practically breathing on my neck.
Normally, that would annoy me and I’d give him a piece of my mind.
Tonight I’m thankful for it, because it’s keeping Connor at a safe distance.
He looks fucking immaculate in jeans that hug his thick thighs and a dark t-shirt stretched across his broad chest. His stubble has grown longer than it was at the resort, turning from a shadow into a scruffy growth that doesn’t look intentional.
It’s more like he simply forgot to shave for a few days and it took on a mind of its own.
Somehow, the man does nothing at all and still looks delicious.
“You ready to be on a plane for twelve hours tomorrow?” Eric asks.
I shake my head. “I hate flying, and you know that, so no, I’m not excited about spending an entire day in the air. Stop asking stupid questions.”
His smile doesn’t fade. “Some of the security guys are pretty hot, aren’t they?”
“I didn’t notice.” My fists clench at my sides, fingernails digging into my palms.
Eric slings his arm around my shoulders and guides me to face Connor and Aaron, who are deep in conversation a few yards away. “You didn’t notice? Really? A blind man would notice the muscles they’re packing.”
“Don’t you have a husband to bother?”
He chuckles, which only irritates me further. “Dante’s been boxing with those guys for years. I always kind of assumed he was bluffing when he said he could kick my ass, but with Jugs as a trainer… well, that guy could pick me up and mop the floor with my hair and never break a sweat.”
I grunt, but don’t respond.
“My gaydar is pinging on Aaron,” he continues. “Have you picked up on the way he looks at Jugs?”
“What?” I snap.
Connor and Aaron are huddled together now. They’re at a respectable distance and Connor’s arms are crossed, but his head is tilted toward Aaron, nodding at whatever is being said to him. Connor responds and Aaron throws his head back in a laugh.
Jealousy flares hot at the easy way they interact.
Yeah, laugh it up. He’s really not that funny.
“I can’t get a read on Jugs,” Eric says, “but he’d definitely top.”
My jaw tightens at the memory of Connor begging me to fuck him. The needy way he had taken me, bent over that bathroom counter until he came in his suit pants. Top, my ass. He’s the neediest bottom in existence, and fuck, I miss how he looked at me like I hung the damn moon.
His eyes suddenly swivel to mine, and I curse under my breath as I turn the other direction. “Shouldn’t you be worrying about the show?” I ask Eric. I close my eyes and listen to the roar of the crowd, trying to distract myself from everything else.
“What’s there to worry about? We’ve rehearsed this set so much that we could play it half-asleep and blindfolded.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I want to be left alone,” I snap, but I’m hit with an immediate pang of guilt.
His hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes as his voice softens. “I know you do, brother, but I also know that you need me right now. Whenever you’re ready to share what’s happening, I’m here.”
“I told you what happened,” I argue weakly.
“You did,” he agrees. “But things have been different the past few days. It’s hitting hard right now, and you need to remember that you don’t have to go through it alone.”
Thankfully, Dante comes over for a last-minute check, and then it’s time to go on stage.
The roar of the crowd crests into a tidal wave of sound as we walk into the spotlights.
Eric takes charge, leading the group with his hands held high and pumping up the audience as the rest of us fall into formation.
Dmitri counts us in, and music blasts through the amplifiers, so loud that it demands to take over.
I willingly submit to its rule, and for the first time in hours I can breathe again. I don’t think or remember.
I just play.
Every time I open my eyes, those hazel ones watch me from the side of the stage, not even attempting to hide the way he stares. But right now, with the music surging through my blood and the lights searing my face, I can pretend.
That I’m not broken.
That everything is okay.
That one day I’ll wake up and move on.
Pretend, pretend, pretend.