Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
T onight’s performance is just like any other, or so I tell myself.
It doesn’t matter that Fox and I are officially dating.
It doesn’t change anything . . . . Okay, it changes everything.
I’m more nervous, as if everyone who is watching will know we fucked just by looking at us.
It means I’m stiff for the first song, and he must notice because during the second, he breaks the routine and heads over, leaning into me, and when the drum solo begins, he whispers in my ear.
“Relax.” He smacks my ass as he dances away, and it does the trick. I get into it in the third song, having fun once more, dancing and playing with the crowd. This is for them as much as it’s for us. They came to see us and Dead Ringers, but we need to give every show our all.
Even if my throat aches like a son of a bitch, the show must go on.
By the fourth song, I’ve decided I no longer give a fuck, and I let go and do what I normally do.
No one can prove we’re together anyway. Besides, we always flirt and dance.
I make my way across the stage to Fox and kneel, then I run my hand up his thigh as I come in on my notes.
Looking at the crowd, I slide my hand higher until I grip his cock, and then I wag my finger at the crowd as I get to my feet, dragging my mouth up his leg when the chorus breaks.
Darting my tongue out, I drag it along his exposed abs, and the crowd goes wild.
I turn as I lift my mic and start to sing again. Dancing over to Strike, I lean into him as he grins at me, and when the drums kick in, I move to the front of the stage, throwing my arm out as I hit the high note.
I feel him before he touches me. His warmth radiates against my back.
Since he’s not playing, he slides his hand between my legs and up, gripping my dick for the world to see, his head in the crook of my neck as I lean back and sing.
My cock grows hard under his touch, but then he slowly pulls away and swings his guitar around, walking to the edge of the stage.
My eyes track him as he leans into the audience as he plays.
He’s magnificent. I can’t take my eyes off him and neither can the crowd. They scream his name, fighting to get closer, and I want to laugh at how easily I could touch him, so when the song is over and he grabs a drink, I lean into my mic.
“I see y’all thirsty barricaders reaching for him.” I wag my finger as they scream louder. “Sorry, he’s mine. No touching. Only I can.”
“Ryker, let me marry Fox!” someone yells, and I cup my ear so they shout louder.
“Ah.” Turning, I glance at Fox. “No, sorry. What do you say?”
Fox laughs as he strides over, sliding his arm around my shoulders as he leans into my mic so his face is next to me. “Sorry, but Ry is possessive.” He winks at the crowd.
“Fox, Fox, Fox!” they chant, and he waits, trying to distinguish their voices. When he can’t, he heads over to the edge and crouches. “Slow down, what are you saying?” he asks as Strike and Dash take a little break.
I head over and lean against his shoulder as I listen.
He wraps his arm around me, anchoring me without even looking, and I wink as they react.
His hand strokes my leather pants, and they go wild.
“Oh, I can hear you now. No, sorry. Ryker is mine, so you need to behave. You can look, but you can’t touch.
Isn’t that right, my boy?” He glances up at me, and my eyes widen at the endearment, but satisfaction fills me with him claiming me so openly.
“That’s right, so how about we give them another show? Are you ready to swear to our gods? Are you ready . . . to go to church?” I shout into the mic, and the crowd goes wild.
Fox stands and kisses my cheek before he heads back to his spot on stage. Their screams only grow louder, and I chuckle into the mic as I walk to my place. The lights cut out, and the spotlight hits me, an organ playing as I croon into the mic.
The others slowly chime in with their instruments before the drop, and the crowd screams, my voice filling the stadium as I tilt into the mic.
The organ only increases as red crosses flash across the screen. Falling to my knees, I continue to sing, and when the last note tapers off, Fox is above me with his hand on my chin, tilting it up, and he leans down as the stage goes black.
His eyes meet mine in the dim light, and despite where we are, he steals a kiss before walking away as the lights come back on. Panting, I lick my lips as I climb to my feet, my mic in hand, but all I can think about is him.
“I don’t know about you, but I think I missed that. Did you?” I call into the mic as I walk over to Fox. When he turns at my voice, I grab the back of his neck and yank him down.
I plant a quick kiss on his lips, and he jerks backward, his eyes wide even as the crowd goes wild. “Wasn’t for them,” I tell him through a pant. “That was for me.” I turn and head to the edge of the stage. “Thank you for rocking with us! Now get ready for the show of your lives with Dead Ringers!”
Their stomps shake the stadium, and we hurry backstage as the lights go down.
We are all sweaty and panting but happy as hell.
I don’t think I’ve seen my band this elated in a long time.
Now that everything is fixed between Fox and me, it’s like we are back to the way we were, and I love it.
Dash throws his arm over my shoulders and kisses my cheek. “It’s good to have you back, brother.”
Strike grabs my other side. “Just don’t hurt him, okay?” he asks.
I find Fox grabbing all of our water bottles, and at my look, he arches a brow in question. “I don’t plan to. I plan to love him as long as he lets me.”
“Aw!” They both fake gag and swoon as Fox hands over our bottles, his eyes for me.
“Let’s go watch the set in the green room,” he murmurs, and I nod, hurrying to his side as Strike and Dash mock me.
I wave at Po, who’s busy talking to crew members, and he waves back as we duck into the green room.
It’s empty right now, and I sprawl across Fox.
He massages my neck, his free hand sliding across my thigh as we turn our attention to the screen just as Dead Ringers comes on stage.
Their music is addictive, but not as addictive as the man at my side. My eyes linger on him as his lithe fingers tap my thigh to the beat, his head bobbing slightly. His hair is slicked back with sweat and his makeup is smudged, but he’s never looked so beautiful.
I struggle to catch my breath, barely believing that he’s finally mine and I can touch him without needing a reason.
As if sensing my gaze, he swings those bright orbs to me, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Aren’t you watching?”
“I’m watching something infinitely more important,” I murmur.
He kisses my cheek as Dash and Strike fight over the beer they hold. “You did good tonight, baby,” he praises, and I swing my hungry gaze to him. It drops to his lips as everything else fades around us. “I can see those dirty thoughts of yours.”
“Do you think we have time for a quickie?” I ask, and he laughs loudly.
“Oh shit!” Dash yells, and we jerk apart, our eyes going to the screen to see what he did.
“What happened?” I ask as I watch Beck Danvers flee the stage.
“Not a clue,” Dash whispers as he looks at us. “She’ll be back, right?” We all remain silent as the rest of Dead Ringers look on in shock and confusion. “Right?”
Beck Danvers is gone, and so is the tour.
Po paces before us, worried even though he won’t admit it. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. Without Beck, there’s no Dead Ringers, and without them, there’s no tour and no us. It’s our dream, our chance, and it’s slipping away.
Fox drops a pillow on our thighs, which are pressed together, and under it, he grips my hand. “It will be okay,” he murmurs to me.
I don’t have the same faith. What if this is it? What if everything we worked for is just gone?
We’ve been in our own bubble for most of this tour, so happy to be involved that we didn’t even notice anything was wrong in their band.
“What happened?” Fox asks when Po hangs up.
“Nothing to worry about, just some slight issues. She will be back. I’m sure of it,” he lies flawlessly, but his eyes are twitching.
“You’re lying. You don’t know if she will. What happens to us if this tour is cancelled?” Fox asks sternly, speaking for us all since we stare at Po like lost puppies searching for answers.
“It’s just on hold for now,” Po answers. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. Go back and rest early, okay? We’ll have a plan tomorrow and know what’s happening. You did great tonight, guys.” He departs, and we are left with more questions than answers.
With no other choice, we head back to our bus, but we are all quiet.
It was the best show of our lives, and it might be the last. This is out of our hands, and I hate that.
Dash and Strike go to bed, both looking beat and stressed, but I can’t sleep.
I climb the ladder at the back of the bus and lie on the roof.
I stare up at the stars when I feel him lie next to me.
Despite everything, I smile. I knew he would come.
“You remember when we used to do this every night in the van? Dash and Strike would be snoring, but we would watch the sky for hours together, talking about everything and anything. Neither of us wanted to sleep,” I recollect as he reaches over and takes my hand.
He places it on his chest and plays with my fingers, and the connection makes me sigh happily and turn my head to see him.
He’s staring at the sky, his wet hair held back by a cute, fluffy headband I bought him when he kept complaining about how long it was getting.
Fuck, I love this man.
I love every version of him, but I think this is my favorite. It’s a side of him only I get.