Chapter Twenty-One #2
“Nuh-uh, nope. You’re not allowed to say that to me.
I don’t trust him with you, and I don’t trust you with yourself, and I think I’ve earned my suspicion seein’ as I’m the one who had to pump you with Narcan six months ago.
Not Dylan, not Pru, not Camila. Me . I had to, because of Shay.
” She tapped the bar and ordered two margaritas with extra salt.
Worry knitted her brows. “I’m not sayin’ he doesn’t seem dedicated—he does.
But you almost died, okay? You didn’t even have him and losing him almost killed you. ”
“I’m well aware. But It wasn’t just him. It was everything. I felt like I’d lost my whole life, and I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t okay. I am now.” Sorta . “I’m better, at least.”
“Be real with me.” She poked him in the sternum. “You think this is it? You and Shay? Because if you two don’t stick this out, the band pays the price.”
Aiden tongued at his cheek. Being with Shay felt immortal. Fast and sought after, like he’d opened Pandora’s Box and trapped the contents in his chest. So, yeah. Shay was it . First and last, then and now. But trying to convey that to Georgia would be impossible, so he just said, “I know.”
“And. . . ?”
“And Knight’s Blood comes first.”
She flapped her lips. “There’s no undoing this now that you’ve gone and done it, huh?”
“No. . .” His blush worsened. “No, I’m pretty sure we’re together together, so.”
Georgia nodded. She held her breath, watching him with clear, woodsy eyes. “While we were waitin’ for check-in at the hotel, Pru bet twenty bucks you two were canoodling. Should’ve listened to my gut, I guess.”
“She’s got eyes in the back of her head,” Aiden said. He offered a bashful smile. “I know it’s weird, okay? But it’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
“That’s the thing—doesn’t feel weird. Feels like it was bound to happen. I just didn’t think it’d happen right now.” She clutched her glass, walked back to the table, and took Shay by the wrist, hauling him to the other end of the bar.
Aiden sat next to Pru again, watching Georgia and Shay engage in heated conversation near a darkened window. At one point, Shay glanced at him while he spoke. Aiden looked away, blinking awkwardly at Dylan.
“Anyway, what’re we doin’ after this?” Aiden asked.
“We’re supposed to keep bar hopping, I think,” Dylan said.
He craned to look at Shay and Georgia. “If Mother Hen doesn’t peck your new conquest to death.
Speaking of which…” He stretched his arms across the table and drummed his hands in front of Aiden.
“I’m happy for you, dude. I really am! I’ve been waiting for you and Shay to take the leap for years.
But if you do , you know, kill him—not that you will, no judgement—let us cash a few more paychecks first.”
Aiden laughed in his throat. “Thanks, man. Will do.”
There , Aiden thought. Now they fucking know .
He popped an ice cube into his mouth and stared at white shutters hugging tall, slender windows.
He hadn’t expected to be relieved, but relief struck him, quick and violent, like a pin to an overfilled balloon.
For years, he’d wanted . Searched for ways to go without.
Pined from a safe distance. And in the span of twelve months, he’d learned how to hate, how to cheat death, how to become the worst version of himself.
Someone willing to do the unthinkable to stop wanting, searching, pining, loving.
Failing his own exorcism felt like relief, too .
Georgia and Shay returned to the table, carrying taut silence. Georgia grabbed her novelty cocktail cup and shrugged toward the exit. Shay shifted his jaw, stalking through the bar and onto the sidewalk. Aiden’s phone buzzed.
Shay Bennett: She can be kinda mean when she wants to be
Aiden Moore: i told you this would suck. what’d she say?
Shay Bennett: That there’s no way in hell I didn’t know you had feelings for me before I left the band
Shay Bennett: Except I DIDN’T because you never TOLD ME and I’d liked you forever and nothing ever happened so I assumed you just didn’t want to fuck up our friendship or something
Shay Bennett: Meanwhile I debated ruining our friendship everyday for like 3 years straight
Aiden Moore: you should’ve
Shay Bennett: I know
Shay Bennett: Could’ve avoided a scar
Aiden Moore: if you woulda fucked me before leaving us for chain you’d have a worse scar right now
Shay sent a heart emoji.
“Go a little easy on him,” Aiden said, bumping Georgia with his elbow. “He’s the one who wanted to tell the band.”
She huffed, annoyed. “You’ve been bunking with him since we started the tour.
It’s not like I didn’t know , I just. . .
I pretended not to know, because knowin’ meant having this conversation.
The one where I’m supposed to tell you Knight’s Blood comes before your happiness.
Which isn’t true, you know? Your happiness matters to me, like, more than most things.
We’re in this together. We’re best friends—all of us, even Shay.
But I can’t help thinking about our future, and you two going nuclear one day?
That could change everything. Again . You can’t expect me not to worry. ”
“I know. But if me and Shay go back to being whatever we were before this it won’t be at the expense of the band. I promise.”
“You can promise all you want, but that don’t make it true. You’re smart, Aiden. And I know you don’t believe a lick of that shit.”
He glanced at the sidewalk where Dylan, Pru, and Shay waited, and let out a defeated breath. “Okay, fine. How ‘bout we just keep drinking? That sounds like our best option.”
“For once, you’re right. C’mon,” she said, and looped her arm around his elbow.
The night welcomed them.
Georgia avoided Shay at the first bar, keeping close to Pru.
Dylan bought a round of shots while a band played bluesy jazz.
They stayed for two songs before wandering to the next bar.
Alcohol brightened Aiden’s skin, turning him ruddy and warm, and loosened Georgia’s mouth into a smile.
Soon enough, Shay was hugging Georgia again, and Pru was complimenting the pretty bartender, and they were falling into each other, giggling and hollering as they cruised Bourbon Street.
Aiden remembered blood, though. On the cement in the alley, on his hands in the desert, at their feet in the bathroom, between Shay’s teeth in the parking garage, seeping into the tile underneath Thomas.
He saw red everywhere, on walls, splattered on faces, darkening clothes, and swallowed against the taste—copper and citrus—shooing the flavor with tequila.
You’re just drunk. He steadied himself. Blinked. Ordered another drink. It’s not real.
Heady summer heat pressed on them at an EDM nightclub filled with flashing strobes.
As Pru and Georgia danced near the neon bar, luring each other with curious smiles, Dylan ordered another beer, and Shay pulled Aiden into the crowd.
The balmy climate thickened, shining on sweat-slicked skin and inconvenient clothes.
Aiden pushed his palm under Shay’s shirt, feeling across his scar, his wide chest, and let his mouth fall open when Shay did the same, thumbing at his nipple, sneaking along his belt.
Bass vibrated everything—walls, bellies, plastic cups.
Framed by swaying arms, Aiden caught a flicker of Thomas.
His eyes, mostly. Glinting like a submerged crocodile.
Aiden tucked his face into Shay’s neck and found his pulse, sucking on his heartbeat.
Somewhere close, perfectly still in a sea of movement, he noticed Cit’s pointed chin and wide-brimmed hat.
Lasers streaked the dancefloor, faces blurred, and Aiden held onto Shay.
I’m awake. He rocked his hips, sliding against Shay’s thigh.
I’m here, I’m alive, I’m awake. They kissed like they were alone, panting into each other’s mouths, pulling hard at skin and clothes.
When he opened his eyes again, the ghosts were gone, and Shay was hard against his hip.
Awake. Awake. Awake . Before they made the mistake of stumbling into another bathroom, Shay took his hand and led them out of the club.
The walk to the hotel seemed endless. Aiden righted himself on wobbly legs and gripped Shay’s knuckles.
In the elevator, Aiden fumbled with Shay’s belt, mouthing at his neck, asking to be touched.
They fell into the suite, laughing, yanking at clothes, tripping out of their shoes, and managed to kick the door between the two rooms shut.
Aiden said senseless things. Heartfelt things he would’ve normally muted if not for the alcohol. Mi amor , spoken like a prayer against Shay’s shoulder. Carino, ven a mí , whispered into his mouth before another kiss. Eres mío, as Aiden fell onto his back and the bed took their weight.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Shay whimpered. “Sounds sexy, though. You’re sexy, you know that? That’s a stupid question. Of course you know that.”
Aiden’s laughter hitched into a moan as Shay pushed his legs apart. He got lost in their clumsy tenderness. Clutched white sheets and warm skin, and let his eyes slip shut. When he opened them again, he froze.
Blood, thick as oil, spread across Shay’s chest, along his throat and arms. Aiden touched his stomach and his palm came away red.
No , he thought. No, no. Wake up. The darkness smelled coppery and pungent, like sex and chlorine and opened flesh.
He still felt Shay inside him, still felt his thumb, rubbing where they were joined, still heard his heavy breath and raspy voice.
“You okay?” Shay asked, slowing to a stop.
It can’t be real.
Aiden placed his hand on Shay’s stomach. Fingers slipped through shiny blood. His eyes welled and he choked on a sob, suddenly sure his throat had filled with water. Immediately, completely, terribly aware that he was drowning, and Shay was bleeding, and they were dying, somehow.
Shay gave his hands a nervous once over, and Aiden realized he was checking for claws.
“Aiden, hey, you’re okay. It’s okay. Talk to me,” Shay whispered, and fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand. “What happened?”
Light flooded the bed. Shay stared at him, wide-eyed and afraid, and swallowed hard.
No blood. Not a single drop. He was his usual, flushed self.
Skin like barley, inked and freckled. Aiden gasped like a beached fish, forcing the invisible water to leave his lungs.
He coughed on nothing. Sat upright and breathed through the tightness in his chest until it loosened.
“I’m sorry.” Aiden gulped and heaved. “You didn’t do anything wrong—I’m sorry. I. . .”
Shay took Aiden’s face, cradling him. “Are you okay?”
“Felt like I was… Like I was drowning,” he said, and shook his head. “And I saw you. . . I don’t know. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m just drunk. I’m really, really drunk. I’m sorry, carino.”
“What does that mean? Carino?”
“Darling.” Aiden cleared his throat. “Baby, love, sweetheart, all that shit.”
“Oh,” Shay said, affection swelling in his voice. “Are you okay? Can you breathe?”
“Yeah, I’m just. . . I’m fine. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” Shay pressed his lips to Aiden’s temple, his cheek, his mouth. “It’s all right. You’re all right.”
They stayed like that, breathing together. Shay laced their hands. Gripped. Grounded him to reality, to them, right there, sitting on a messy bed in New Orleans. He bumped his nose against Aiden’s cheek and held him carefully, like something precious.
“Keep the light on,” Aiden said, and crawled into his lap.
“You sure?”
Aiden kissed him. He clung to Shay again. Dug his fingernails into his shoulders, welcomed slow tenderness and growing urgency, and thought of drowning in the middle of a brief, bright orgasm.