Chapter 12. #2
I circle away from him, grab Raj’s denim jacket off the back of a chair, and toss it over the nearest mirror, then lean back against the counter in front of it, fingers curling, trying not to shake.
“You deserve to know what you’re gettin’ yourself into when you get close to me.
There’s a reason I have no friends. Other than all the pressures coming from my manager and the label to seem a certain way, I’ve gotta deal with stalkers, obsessed fans …
I’m tellin’ you, people in my life, none of ‘em are safe. They’ve tracked down my brothers.
Sister. Mom. It ain’t fair to you, to put you through the gauntlet of bein’ in my life when you never asked for any of this. ”
“How about you let me decide what I put myself through?”
I lift my eyes off the floor, meeting his, struck.
He crosses his arms, hat still hanging from one of his hands. I don’t know what he’s thinking right now, but I definitely see the storm churning behind his eyes. It’s the first time since us meeting at the Horseshoe that I’ve seen him look so troubled.
Oh. Horseshoe. Raj wondered if I still like … horseshoes.
His little riddle lands a touch late.
He must’ve spotted Timothy in the crowd and helped smuggle him back here to see me. Knowing how good of a memory Raj has, it’s no wonder he recognized him.
“So you left me in the hotel … not because you don’t like me,” he concludes, “but because you’re afraid of me getting hurt …?”
My eyes flick to the door. Then I nod yes.
“So if I told you I’ll take my chances and tough it out … you’d be okay if I stuck around?”
I shut my eyes. “It ain’t that easy.”
“Why not?”
I guess I’m going all in. “My manager wants me to stay single. I can’t do relationships.
He and about three or four others already think I’ve got a hot guy hidden in the wings.
” I grip my forehead, frustrated. “If word got out, I’m tellin’ you, Timothy, there ain’t no goin’ back.
I’m sorry. But this is just how it is. It’s why I had to end things between us before it gets any deeper than it already has. ”
“And what if I don’t leave?”
His voice comes closer. I open my eyes.
He’s standing right in front of me.
I flinch, as if to back away, but I’m already backed against the counter with nowhere left to escape to. Is that some sign that I’ve already done enough running?
“What if …” he says, “I want to go deeper?”
“Timothy …”
It suddenly occurs to him to ask. “Is Austin your real name?”
“Yes.”
“You gave me your real, actual name?”
“Yeah, it’s my first name. Chase is my middle name.”
He puts his hands on the counter on either side of me, coming closer. “If you had told me the truth in that hotel room,” he goes on, “I would’ve made my own choice. And it would not have been to duck out before morning. I would’ve stuck it out with you.”
I’m quickly losing my grip. “Timothy …”
“You deserve to have what you want, Austin. You can’t give it up just because other people seem to be … to be running your life.” His eyes flick away, his own words hitting him, too.
Oh, of course. His parents. The family business.
“Then why aren’t you getting what you deserve?” I gently ask.
His eyes snap to mine. “What?”
“You’d have stood up to your parents by now,” I go on. “Told them you aren’t interested in taking over the business.”
“But I …” Now he’s the one sputtering. “It … isn’t as easy as—”
“Of course not,” I agree with him. “Nothing about either of our situations is easy. I … I made a mistake with you, alright? … I went too far. I entertained it for too long.”
“A mistake …?”
“The fantasy of us.” I wag a finger between us.
“You and me. I didn’t think it through. I just …
I let my feelings get carried away. But I can’t do that.
I can’t when so many people are relying on me.
I’ve gotta be Chase Holt.” I look down. “I’ve …
got no room in my life to be Austin, you get what I mean? ”
He closes his eyes. Says nothing back.
It hurts. All of this. I’m being punished by my own heart. With him returning. Making me say it out loud, all the words I didn’t jot down on that stupid piece of paper at the hotel.
Doesn’t he realize if things were different, I’d leap on him in a heartbeat? Some decisions, we can’t make on our own.
Sacrifice is the building block of every career.
Timothy takes a step back from me. Then he sets down the hat on a nearby table. I try not to see that as a goodbye. He goes to the door without a word, puts his hand on the knob, then stops.
“Quicksand,” he says.
I stare at his back, waiting.
“I heard your song,” he goes on. “I was on my way out those big stormy glass doors, giving up on finding you in the crowd … when I heard your song. It stopped me. Reeled me back in. Which I guess is a good thing seeing as it was raining buckets and I was not ready to drive all the way home in it.” He glances back at me over his shoulder.
“Was that a new song? And more importantly, was it about me?”
Of course it was, I want to tell him. Who else would it be about?
Wily dug the hard bass line. Fiona played around with the chords a lot while popping jellybeans.
Raj just had plain fun. We’d thrown it together this afternoon after I had the lyrics nailed, just like we used to do back in the day with Cam.
It’d been years since I wrote a song so fast, a song that my bandmates clicked with right away—and the crowd ate it up.
I just didn’t expect Timothy to be part of that crowd.
“I take that as a yes,” he says to my stupefied face. “I just … couldn’t help but have a problem with it.”
That catches me. “With the song?”
“The whole thing sounds like you’re talking yourself out of the quicksand. But no one’s convinced. Least of all yourself. You have every intention of leaping into it. Letting yourself sink. So is that me?” He lets out a tiny breath—almost like a laugh. “Am I the evil quicksand?”
“No.”
“It sounded to me like I was the evil quicksand.”
I cross the room at once. “There ain’t nothin’ evil about you, Timothy, and it’s just a damned song.”
“Nothing’s just a damned song.” He turns his face to me, eyes sharp and sincere. “What I heard on that stage tonight was longing. You don’t avoid dangers. You dive in headfirst. Just admit it. You don’t want this to end any more than I do.”
I swallow hard, eyes drifting to his lips again. “It doesn’t mean this is a good idea.”
“Nothing good in life is a good idea.” He leans in. “If you really don’t want this … If you really, truly don’t want me …”
“Timothy …”
“Then I’ll go. For good. I’m not here to be in your way.
Until the concert started and I heard your song, I was fully prepared to do just that—to leave.
” His grip on the doorknob tightens. “I’m not here to get in your way.
But maybe I can show you … a different way.
A way to let you be Chase Holt … and Austin. ”
“It’s impossible,” I say automatically. “I can’t risk your safety. I won’t hide you, either. What are you expecting me to do?”
“I’m expecting you to heed the messages in your own fucking songs and stop letting fear run your life.”
His face seems to come closer. Or else I’m just drawn in to him like fire to a way out, growing too hot, too hungry to be contained a second longer.
“What do you want?” he asks. “What does Austin Holt want?”
My face is a stone when I look him in the eyes.
I want him to go, that’s what I want. Then I wouldn’t be tempted by his dreamy eyes to do something I’ll regret.
I won’t be reminded of what I’m sacrificing to keep this tour afloat, to keep Ian’s dreams alive, to keep all these people around me happy and employed and getting regular paychecks doing what they love to do.
I reach for his hand, prepared to take it into mine, apologize deeply, and ask him to leave my life forever.
My hand touches the doorknob instead.
I lock the door.
“My last name … isn’t Holt.” I meet his eyes. “It’s Love.”
He stares back. “You’re kidding me.”
I take his face right then and direct his lips to my own.
After a second’s shock, he clutches me like we never let go in the hotel room, and our kiss resumes right where it ended.
I stagger back, falling against a wall, as Timothy takes me over with our kiss. This is not the same kiss we shared in the hotel. It is ravenous. Out of control. Beyond anything I would have dreamed in my loneliest nights on the road.
Making up for every second we lost.
Trying to outrun something constantly on our heels.
I slip my hands around his waist to his back and tug his body closer, even though there’s no space left between us. He clutches me back with twice as much force, clinging to my shirt so tightly, you’d think he was afraid I’m about to disappear again.
“Austin,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Tim,” I say back, too out of breath from the kiss for the rest of the syllables in his name.
Something takes over, and my hands hook under his thighs to carry him straight to the counter.
He sits, legs spread, as I press into him, hands locked around the small of his back, keeping him close.
His hips grind into me from his new seat on the counter.
His fingers curl into my shirt, twisting the fabric.
I clutch him tighter by the waist, by his pants, by whatever I can find, as if it’s all I can do to keep myself together.
I can’t tell which of us is in control right now, if either at all.
Laughter echoes on the other side of the door, then goes, as if some crew members passed by in the middle of a joke. We stop for an instant and glance back at the door, then at each other.
Out of breath.
Lost in each other’s eyes.
I could’ve said no. Let him leave. I might have been ripped up for a while. Reminded of him now and then. I would’ve eventually moved on with my life, forgotten this episode with the boy from Spruce who got to me in a way I didn’t think possible anymore.