5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
T ate Maddox quickened his pace when he heard voices across the parking lot, almost making it onto Winter’s Wrath’s bus before he heard North. His stomach clenched, but he kept moving, closing the door behind him and standing on the steps for a minute, hoping he could actually pull this off.
This being act normal. Face his band who he’d ghosted for months, only showing up for practice, only answering calls when he knew they’d come looking for him otherwise.
The act was gonna be fucking tough. Reese liked to give the band drug tests before every tour, then sometimes sprung another on them about halfway through to make sure they weren’t doing anything stupid. She didn’t give them a hard time if they got a positive for cannabis, but any hardcore shit and they’d either be sent to rehab or shown the fucking door.
He’d gone cold turkey about a week ago so nothing should show on the test, but his body was being torn apart from the inside out and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to eat anytime soon. He’d tried getting some sun so he didn’t look sick, but he was still too pale. And he’d lost weight again. Enough that he’d decided he was gonna live in this damn hoodie.
The alternative would be everyone figuring out something was wrong with him. Exposing the deal he’d made. A deal to keep Connor and North from going back to jail.
Reminding himself that over and over was the only thing that kept him sane over a summer of endless hell. Being too numb from day to day to remember most of it was a blessing. One he’d lost. There was nothing he could take that wouldn’t have him too zoned out to avoid notice—and not show up on the test. Nothing that would kill the cravings either. Sweets weren’t gonna be enough this time.
His eyes burned as he adjusted his schoolbag on his shoulder. Why had he even come? He should just let the band replace him. Tell them…tell them he didn’t care about playing anymore. That the second surgery on his eye might not work and he was just…he was done.
But that left him trapped with Ray. Ray who’d only let him leave because he liked having a famous drummer as a ‘boyfriend’. He’d be checking in from time to time, but he wouldn’t show his face anywhere near the band. If North or Connor saw him, he’d lose his power over Tate. They’d go after him and Ray’d release the video of them beating him in Venice. Get them arrested again, but this time, the charges would stick.
Tate couldn’t let that happen.
“Why aren’t you more excited about the tour?” Ray sat up in bed as Tate brought him a cup of coffee, eying Tate as he took his first sip. “You get to be with all your fuck friends. I told you I don’t care if they use you while you’re with them, so long as you keep your mouth shut and come back to me when you’re done.”
Tate bit back a scowl, rubbing a sore spot on his thigh where the last injection Ray had given him days ago had left a bruise that still hadn’t gone away. “They’re not my ‘fuck friends’. And I’m excited, I’m just worried about the test.”
“Don’t be. I told you, I’ve taken plenty of them. That’s why I didn’t let you have anything, no matter how much you begged.”
Throat tight, Tate simply nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed because he knew walking out would make Ray mad. He’d say Tate was avoiding him. That he wasn’t ‘trying hard enough’ to make their ‘relationship’ work.
“Cheer up. If you’d rather stay, I got a new buyer who likes you. A lot. ” Ray’s lips slit into a cold smile. “One I’d consider letting have you a few times because the business he’ll bring in is worth keeping him happy.”
A chill crawled up Tate’s spine. “You promised you wouldn’t—”
“Did I?” Ray tapped his fingers on his chin. “I don’t remember that. But I do remember I told him you’d be on tour, so he’d have to wait. Informing him that’s changed would make securing his patronage much easier.”
Fisting his hands on his thighs, Tate forced himself to face Ray. “He wants me because he knows I’m yours. Wouldn’t it look weak if you just handed me over?”
Setting his coffee on the nightstand, Ray crooked his finger. “I love it when you say things like that. You’re mine, are you? How about you come here and prove it.”
Footsteps coming toward him jerked Tate from his memories. He looked up, fighting back tears when Malakai came into view. Still all muscles, deep tan, and dark, close-shaved hair, wearing a snug black shirt and black jeans. So familiar it was like not a day had passed since Tate had seen him last.
Fuck, he missed the man. And it hurt to see the guarded look in Malakai’s eyes, but he’d have weeks to fix that. To come up with a good excuse for not hanging out, or calling, or…or being there.
“Hey.” Malakai reached out, taking Tate’s schoolbag when he handed it over, then shaking his head and grabbing the suitcase when Tate tried to haul it up the steps. “How’ve you been?”
“I…” Tate inhaled slowly. He hated lying to Malakai, but there was no way he could tell him the truth. So he simply gave him a tired smile and brought his hand to his face, where an eyepatch covered his right eye. “Worn out. Spent a lot of time with specialists trying to get this fixed.”
Malakai’s expression softened. “I would have come with you.”
“I couldn’t let you spend all your free time taking care of me. Hell, I was in and out of physical therapy and appointments all the fucking time. It sucked.” He lifted his shoulders. “But it helped knowing you got to be with Brave and Shiori. That you were happy.”
At least that much was true. And he had been to a lot of appointments. Not enough to justify going weeks without even talking to Malakai, but hopefully the man would forgive him.
For years, Malakai had been like a big brother. He’d looked out for Tate, sometimes so protective Tate felt like he was in a damn bubble, but fuck, he’d have climbed right back in if he could. Instead, he’d pulled away from everyone. From Malakai most of all.
Nodding slowly, Malakai motioned for Tate to follow him. “We spent a lot of time in LA with Brave and Shiori’s nephew at her grandparent’s place. Was a bit surreal—you know they’ve got a private jet? Brought us back and forth from practice so Shiori’s grandparents could get as much time with her as possible. Not sure why she’d want to spend months on a bus when she’s got that to go home to.”
“Because she loves us. And she’s building an awesome career.” Brave looked up from where he was bent over a pad of paper in the lounge area, sitting on one of the long, black leather sofas stretching across the cozy area where the band spent most of their awake time. A spill of black hair he kept long at the top and shaved at the sides fell over one eye as he studied Tate for a moment. “Good to see you, kid.”
“You too.” Tate dropped his gaze, not sure what to make of Malakai and Brave acting like nothing had happened. He didn’t want them yelling at him and demanding to know why he’d cut himself off, but he’d kinda expected it.
Did everything go back to how it always was now? They went on tour and hung out and had fun and got on each other’s nerves after a few days on the road? Could coming back really be that easy?
The tension in the room told him otherwise. Brave went back to his notes and Malakai carried Tate’s stuff to his bunk, dropping his schoolbag on the mattress before stuffing the suitcase in the small closet between the bunks.
He turned to Tate, putting a hand on his shoulder, hesitating like he wanted to say something, then shaking his head. “I hope you know…I’m here, Tate. If there’s anything, and I mean anything , you’d tell me, right?”
Why was remembering to breathe getting so hard? Tate’s face was like an elastic, stretching in all the right ways, into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. His whole life had been so fake for so long, he wasn’t sure he could do real anymore.
But he had to try. “Of course. You’re my brother, Malakai. That ain’t ever gonna change.”
Malakai’s throat worked as he swallowed. He looked away. “Good. That’s…that’s good to hear.”
Nothing was normal. Malakai was hurt, but for some reason, he wasn’t laying into Tate like he would have before. Pretending wasn’t gonna make things better, but what else could Tate do? He dropped onto the edge of his bunk and tried to think of a safe subject.
“So…where is everyone? Shiori didn’t come with you?”
“She headed downtown with Danica to do the hair and nail thing.” Malakai jutted his chin toward the back room. “Jesse and Alder are back there. Dariel’s hanging out with his cousin, but he should be here soon.”
“Cool.” Tate rubbed his thighs. “It’ll be great to be back on the road. Playing again for real.”
That brought a smile to Malakai’s lips. A genuine one this time. “Damn right it will. The physical therapy paid off. You sounded great at our last practice and the fans are gonna love seeing you back on stage.”
“You sure they wouldn’t prefer to keep Quinton?”
“Not a fucking chance.”
Tate arched a brow. “But he’s cuter.”
“Now you’re fishing for compliments.” Malakai chuckled, reaching out to brush Tate’s hood back. His eyes went wide when the hood fell. “Oh fuck, Tate. What did you do?”
Bringing his hand to his head, Tate grimaced. He’d known he shouldn’t mess with his hair, but it’d been the only thing he could control. The fact that Ray hated it was a bonus, even though his moodiness over Tate’s sudden change hadn’t lasted. He’d accepted the lie that Reese had asked Tate to go for a drastic hairstyle makeover to give his return more of an impact.
More likely Reese would strangle him when she saw, but he’d deal with that when the time came.
Making a strangled sound, Malakai moved Tate’s hand, staring at the top of his head like Tate’s hair would magically change back if he focused on it long enough.
He inhaled roughly. “Ah…did you go glam punk when we weren’t looking?”
“Oh fuck off, it’s not glam.” Tate frowned at Malakai, then yanked his hood back up. “It’s just fucking blue. No big deal.”
“Yeah. Seafoam blue. Like a mermaid.”
“Mermaids have red hair!”
“ One mermaid has red hair!”
“Holy shit, why are you guys yelling about mermaids?” Alder stormed out of the back room, stopping short when he spotted Tate. He chewed on his bottom lip, then sighed. “Show me.”
Groaning, Tate moved the hood. He bowed his head, biting back a laugh as he pictured Alder’s expression. Malakai’s reaction made messing with his hair kinda worth it. Alder’s even more so. The guys might not tell him they were pissed about his disappearing act, but they wouldn’t hold back over something like hair.
He hadn’t considered them losing their minds over a color, but he should have. Brave hadn’t been spared when he’d chopped off about twelve inches and shaved the back and sides—his hair had been as long as Alder’s was now and he’d made a mess of it. Hell, even Tate had gotten in on the teasing. And Tate had shaved all his hair off once out of boredom, which got him forced to wear a beanie for months.
Okay, doing that again would suck.
“Did you do that yourself?” Alder’s tone was careful, and Tate tipped his head back, disappointed to see concern, rather than exasperation on the man’s face. Alder brushed his hand over Tate’s hair. “Dark blue wouldn’t be so bad, but turquoise is a bit glampunk.”
“It was darker when I first did it.” Tate closed his eyes as Alder continued distractedly playing with his hair. Damn, the contact was nice. Not because he wanted Alder in any sexual way—those days had long passed.
He missed simple affection. Being touched in a way that didn’t leave his skin crawling. In a way that was simple and caring. The guys used to treat him like a puppy on tour, and he’d complained, but for a bit of cuddling and petting he’d sleep curled up on the floor and play fetch as often as they wanted.
“Danica’s hairdresser could probably fix it up for you. No worries, kid.” Alder gave Tate’s hair a little tug, meeting his eyes when he looked up. “It’s good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back.” Tate let out a happy sigh when Alder continued playing with his hair. Probably trying to figure out how to make the blotchy, washed-out parts disappear before Reese saw him, but who gave a fuck?
Moving out from behind Alder, Jesse spared Tate a brief, incredulous glance, then cleared his throat. “Connor’s headed back and Dariel will be here in a minute. I’ve got the drug test kits all labeled.” He held up a box with one blue gloved hand. “Anything I need to know before we get started?”
Jesse didn’t look at Tate again, but he still felt all eyes on him. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he still remembered how he’d looked in the mirror this morning. His hair wasn’t enough to distract from the dark shadows under his eyes. Or the way his cheekbones had gone all sharp. Didn’t matter that he was clean now. He looked like a druggie.
As each member of the band took a red-lidded piss cup from the box, Tate did his best to keep his expression neutral. When Connor came in, he smiled at the muscular guitarist, who, like everyone else, hadn’t changed. Unlike the rest, Connor hugged him before ruffling his hair and calling him a ‘Mermaid Ken Doll.’
Not a nickname he wanted to stick, but at least one person wasn’t treating him like he’d been diagnosed with something fatal and they didn’t know how to act.
Their violinist, Dariel, who never seemed to be phased by much, arched a brow when he joined them before shaking his head. “You look like a cartoon character on one of my nephew’s favorite shows. Do not ask to suck my dick again until you fix that. It’ll be weird.”
Cheeks heating, Tate ducked his head. “Will you say yes if I change it back?”
Grinning, Dariel shook his head again.
Well damn.
Somehow, Tate ended up going last to take the drug test. He stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and unscrewing the top of the piss cup before setting it on the edge of the sink. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension between them before unzipping his jeans and stepping up to the toilet. Grabbed the cup and tried not to think too much. Willed the pee to come.
He’d had a couple glasses of water this morning—not too much so it didn’t look like he was trying to mess with the test—but for some reason, he just…couldn’t…
“Come on. No one’s watching. Just feels like they are.” He stared at his dick, which seemed to have forgotten how to perform its most basic function. “Do it, buddy. You’ve got this.”
Relief filled him as a steady stream finally released. He finished up, capped the cup, then washed his hands and dried them carefully so the cup wouldn’t be wet. He used a few paper towels just to make double sure. Sucked that Jesse had to do this. No need to make even grosser.
Staring at the cup, he tried to figure out what all the lines meant. There was only one under the THC label. Was that bad?
His pulse pounded as he did up his jeans, then left the bathroom, handing his test to Jesse.
Jesse held it up with one gloved hand, then smiled. “Other than being a bunch of potheads, you’re all good to go.” He sounded as relieved as Tate was. “You’ve got an hour to chill out before we head into the studio. Wheels up as soon as you’re done.”
The band spread out, Alder disappearing in the back while the rest went to the lounge. Jesse took pictures of every test with the box set on the bathroom sink, probably to send the results to Reese before throwing the samples in the trash. Tate wasn’t sure what to do with himself, so he slipped into the back room, standing in the doorway until Alder noticed him.
Alder’s lips curved as he set his book aside. “Why don’t you lie down here for a bit? You look like you haven’t gotten much sleep.”
Tate tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, eying the U-shaped sofa. Fuck, it would be nice to lay there, close to Alder—and Jesse when he came in—and simply relax. He wanted to be near Malakai too, but no way could he just chill out while guilt was chewing at his insides.
With Alder things weren’t quite back to how they’d been, but they were close. Close enough that Tate wouldn’t examine his friend’s behavior too hard. There was concern, but also…acceptance. As though Tate being here was enough.
He crossed the room, plopping down on the sofa and resting his head on Alder’s thigh. Closed his eyes as Alder’s hand brushed over his hair.
Just as he started to drift off, light footsteps approached, retreated, then returned. A fluffy blanket was laid over him. Alder’s hand stilled, but he didn’t move.
“I’m pushing back the recording an hour.” Jesse spoke softly and the sofa cushion shifted a bit, as though he’d taken the spot at Alder’s other side. “He looks like he needs the rest.”
“The surgery took a lot out of him.” Alder started petting Tate’s hair again. “That’s all.”
Letting the darkness take him, Tate didn’t hear what Jesse said next, but he had a feeling the man didn’t agree. Still, he let himself hold on to Alder believing him. If it meant he’d get some peace, some moments like this where everything was all right again, he’d tell the lie until he believed it himself.
This was the closest he’d get to freedom. To happiness. Maybe ever.
He’d cling to every second as long as he could.
That was the only way he’d survive when it was gone.