Chapter 6 Ryder
RYDER
A YEAR AGO… OBLIVION HAZE’S TOUR BUS
A loud, lazy series of knocks sounded just as I began to feel better. I hadn’t vomited. Wish I had, considering the bottle’s worth of liquor sloshing around in my stomach. I pushed myself to standing and flushed the toilet out of habit.
“Who is it?” I growled unhappily, walking slowly back into the living room area.
“We’re here to arrest you for being an absolute waste of space killjoy,” Tray’s recognizable voice piped up, muffled by the door.
“Go back to the fucking hotel,” I snarled. They were probably here to pressure me into joining them. I was tired of trying to live up to their expectations of me.
“We didn’t bring a key,” Mac’s rational, even voice explained. He sounded totally sober, probably playing designated adult for the other two.
“Open the goddamn door before I break it down.” A very drunk, very moody Dixon shouted.
I trudged over, unlocking the door and swinging it outward.
I shuffled quickly out of the way as my band mates shuffled inside.
Dixon stomped up into the bus first, followed by Mac—looking elegant and put-together, despite the late hour—and Tray—who was haphazardly dressed and looking high as a kite—jumped up the steps last.
The last arrival grinned at me. “Security kicked us out. I think the damage charge might exceed the tour budget.”
“They don’t make shit strong anymore,” Dixon grumbled. He’d already found his way to the sofa and flopped down.
“What did you break?” I asked the obvious question. The first time he’d lost control had surprised us all. Lately, the outbursts had lost the novelty and become routine. Not a good thing, and none of us were ready to admit that maybe Dixon’s Alpha nature was spiraling.
“Bed,” Dixon grunted.
“Both beds,” Tray corrected, obviously holding back laughter. His lips were pulled taught in a hard line, but dammit if his dimples weren’t popping.
“How the hell did you break both beds, Dix?” I quirked an eyebrow, hangover headache a dull throb now.
My longtime friend breaking hotel furniture and getting tossed to the curb wasn’t helping my recovery.
I’m sure the hotel staff had already informed our tour handlers, who would waste no time contacting the label.
Catalina was going to be pissed. More damage control.
At least she wasn’t here right now to yell at us in person.
She’d jetted out of Fresno as soon as that Rotary Amp performance wrapped.
“It was quite the feat,” Mac loped over to a recliner and sat down.
“Our talented Dixon lost his cool. In an attempt to flip one mattress, he lost his balance, and body slammed the support slats. When he fought his way to standing, he decided to take out his anger on the second bed. I believe its footboard ended up on the balcony.”
“And the balcony door wasn’t even open. Tossed the damn thing like a football right through the glass.
” Tray was still standing, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he mimed tossing a ball.
“The girls were terrified.” Tray’s smile faltered at this.
“That part sucked. The Beta sorority sisters were sooooo hungry for Alpha cock. I think Mac and I would have had the most epic…” he paused, cocking his head, “what’s it called when there are five chicks and two dudes?
Or just six people involved… A seven-some? A seven-way? A heptagon humping?”
“You’re such a fucking idiot.” Dixon ran his large hand down his face.
“What made you mad?” I asked the million-dollar, follow-up question.
“One of those old bitches thought I was thirty,” Dixon mumbled quietly, as if he was ashamed to say it out loud.
I crossed my arms, staring him down. “Dix, we’re almost twenty-eight. They weren’t far off.”
“I find it particularly offensive,” Mac said calmly in the recliner, thrumming fingers against the chair arms. “I am, in fact, about to turn thirty.”
“Damn, Mac. You know it’s not like that, man.
You know cougars get me going, but…shit.
Them thinking I was thirty just pissed me off.
When did we get so goddamn old? On top of that, the bitches only wanted to fuck with each other.
Hags were forty-five at least.” Dixon balled his hands into fists and slammed them against his knees.
I knew what he meant. It felt like just yesterday that Dix and I were running around a country club at fifteen and piecing Oblivion Haze together at twenty. Being close to thirty felt like it should still be a long way off.
“You can’t take things like that personally, Dixon.
” Mac shrugged out of the brown seventies style jacket he’d put on after the concert.
“Remember what the new therapist said last session? You can’t control what others say or do.
You can only control your reaction. For instance, I choose not to be angry that you believe thirty is ancient. ”
“Easy for Doctor Thorne to say. That Alpha’s been mated for a decade. Of course he’s at fucking peace.” Dixon cracked his neck and then slammed his back against the sofa.
There it was. The atom bomb.
Not that it was a surprise.
Tray and Mac both looked at me. Brief glances, knee-jerk reactions which absolutely showed they thought I was the Omega mate match hold up. If I’d let go of my ghost and the ‘one Omega’ idea, then maybe we all would feel free enough to find our ‘right’ partners.
Silence bloomed. Uncomfortable and choking.
After a minute or two, Tray broke the tension by doing a handstand. Well, he tried to. He was far too drunk to be upside down. He got his legs halfway up and then toppled to the carpet with a grunt. In typical Tray fashion, he quickly recovered. Rolling onto his back with a laugh.
“We can’t keep getting tossed out of hotels,” he chuckled. “This damn bus is too small.”
“Tired of cuddling?” Mac crossed his legs elegantly and folded his hands over the higher knee.
“Never.” Tray sat up quickly, face going serious. “If I tire of cuddling, you might as well shoot me. I’m dead already.”
I moved to the second recliner, sitting opposite of Mac. “Didn’t get some cuddles in before the mattress misfortune?”
“We’d barely moved past a couple of shots and first base,” Tray moaned, hopping up off the floor and moving over to the sofa to plop down next to Dixon. He rhythmically patted his hands against his thighs. Seconds later the patting shifted to a full-on drum solo.
“Cut it out,” Dixon shoved his shoulder against Tray, but his tone was halfhearted.
“I’m pent up. Can’t help it.” Tray scooted closer to our riding-the-edge band mate. He suggestively brushed his side up and down Dix’s shoulder. “You can help it though?” He waggled his eyebrows now.
“Asshole,” Dixon grumbled before tossing one muscled arm over Tray’s shoulder and tugging him closer. It was always sour and sweet with Dix, especially in the aftermath of an episode.
I looked at my friends’ faces. We were all bottled up. Maybe they’d been right. Someone was better than nothing. A release was better than no release. It didn’t have to always be special.
Right here, right now though, it was just us. We’d been in this position before, needful with no girl in sight. Well, girl for me, Dixon, and Mac. Tray was unabashedly open to all. An equal opportunity Alpha with a thing for asses.
“Movie?” I suggested, snagging the remote from the coffee table. I didn’t have to clarify what I meant. None of us were ashamed of satisfying our natural needs.
“Read my fucking mind,” Dixon grunted out, voice betraying his tenuous control.
“I’m game,” Tray bounced a little against the cushion.
Mac simply nodded.
I got up for a brief moment, making quick work of dimming the lights and flicking on the slim faux fireplace beneath the television to set the mood.
Tray had insisted on that feature, said it made the bus feel more like our mansion.
Flipping on the TV and navigating to the SlickMax App, I hunted down a pack favorite.
Puck This Heat. Dixon liked hockey. Tray loved the uniforms and, his words, the guys slamming against each other nonstop.
And Mac had a thing for the Omega actress.
I only cared that the plot was decent, and the sex R-rated.
The movie opened with the Houston Heatwaves winning against their biggest rival.
An enthusiastic Omega news anchor waits nearby for a post-win interview with the game MVPs, who happen to be a bonded Alpha pack.
The minute her scent hits the three Alphas, they realize she’s their pack’s fated mate.
The debauchery that ensues includes a foursome on the ice atop hockey uniforms, the Omega pegging the Alphas with a glass strap-on, and the Alphas managing to skate nude while, one-by-one, supporting the also naked Omega upside down to receive and give oral.
“Anyone got a Beta on speed dial to be our fluffer? We can do the rest.” Dixon stroked himself, fingers closed around his thick cock.
“That's illegal in the great state of Washington,” Mac deadpanned, eyes trained on the movie. The scene where the Omega shyly undressed in the locker room was playing. He hadn’t pulled his dick out yet, but it was bulging against his pants.
“Good thing we're in Nevada. Betas can’t be persecuted for sex work,” Tray said. “Bet they'd even let you marry one in Vegas. Fucking federal mating laws. Goddamn bullshit.”
“Absolute bullshit,” Dixon parroted. “If someone wants to make money with their bodies, shouldn’t be anyone else’s damn business. Beta. Omega. Alpha. Live and let fuck, I say. Same with marriage.”
Tray snorted. “You would feel that way. You’re still technically married to that poor desk lamp from last time, Dix.”
“Shut up.” Dixon’s eyes were trained on the television as his fingers massaged his tip.