Chapter 5
VAN
What the hell am I doing?
Why the fuck had I given Brodie that song?
I’d said it out loud: a moment of weakness.
I’d had too many of those lately, and I was going to do something stupid if I didn’t get a hold of myself.
We’d finished Wayward Lane’s European tour this fall, and I was bone-tired.
Exhausted, lonely, and frustrated.
Confused and unsettled.
It was so unlike me that I’d started to worry, pouring all my uncertainty into my songwriting. There, at least, I could unleash everything.
And what I’d read back had shocked me as much as Brodie’s decision to want to sing my song.
I knew that once Brodie latched on to something, once he got that idea in his head, there was no dissuading him.
Arguing was futile, yet it was the one thing I couldn’t stop doing.
But I didn’t want to hear him whispering my words. It was too intimate.
And I could picture him just as he’d described. He’d be sitting down, wearing his jeans, his naked chest on display while he cradled his guitar like a lover.
Singing about my longing, my desires.
For him.
My pulse pounded as a shiver ran through my entire body.
The explosive energy between him and me had always been there, right from the start. I’d just been too preoccupied with doing the job to notice what it really meant.
Plus, I’d never had reason to question my sexuality. I’d had hookups with women here and there, but no one had me reacting with anything more than simple lust. And not for years. I’d been too busy getting the band organized: recording, touring, cross-country, worldwide, twenty-four-seven.
My work was my life.
Until this past year.
After I lost my dad, the only living family member I had left, every emotion I’d locked down inside me rushed to the surface.
Dealing with my father’s death had me taking a long, hard look in the mirror.
At myself, at my life, or lack thereof. At friendships and relationships. Ones I’d taken for granted before were now front and center. I realized that work couldn’t be the only thing that fed my soul.
I needed more. I needed a real connection.
And sometime around the music awards show last year, I felt a shift.
I noticed Brodie, and not in the usual way.
My eyes were now drawn to the way he bit his full lower lip when he played his guitar and the slick of his lip gloss. I wondered if his lips were soft and what they would taste like.
I noticed the way his hazel eyes lit up when we were arguing.
And the way his high, tight ass flexed on stage.
Most of all, I was drawn to the way he fucked that mic. Sometimes, he’d turn and look right at me. As if daring me to make the first move.
I’d never popped a boner at work before, and now it was happening all too frequently. And what could I do about it?
Nothing. Not fuck all.
I worked for him.
Not to mention, I’d never been with a guy before, so what the hell did I know?
And so, our relationship took on a new intensity. It wasn’t just arguments about creative differences or the label. And I… I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.
Me, the master organizer, the musician wrangler, the calm in the shitshow that was the entertainment storm, I was fucked up and in over my head.
Over feelings I had for the first time in my life. Over someone I had no business feeling anything for.
I’d never shied away from confrontation, and Brodie never met a sentence he couldn’t refute. But lately, I’d done my best to steer clear of him. Not that it was easy. We interacted every day.
More and more, I needed space from him.
To get away from those green-gold eyes of his that seemed to see everything inside me. I swear he was a witch, and I was now cursed.
And I needed to break this hold he had over me. But it wouldn’t be easy. There was a pull between us that had me unable to step away.
It had been like that from the start.
Brodie liked to push back against the label’s demands. Sometimes, I agreed; other times, we argued until we ended up in a place that worked for everyone. It meant success for him, the band, and the label.
At first, the label hadn’t been entirely supportive of Brodie’s outspoken nature or his gender-fluid style. He dressed however he pleased, and he often wore makeup.
In his usual way, he told them bluntly to fuck off as I stood beside him, backing him up.
Brodie was an intuitive musician, and he was the same way with everything in his life. It didn’t need to make sense on paper or to other people as long as it made sense to him.
No matter what he said or did or wore (or didn’t wear), Brodie was a beautiful person. Creative, talented, special. When he turned his attention to you, you felt like you were the one in the spotlight.
Greg often referred to Brodie as an “entitled brathole.” That was his opinion.
The band hadn’t shot up to the top of the charts because of me or anyone else at the label. It was mostly Brodie, his unforgettable voice, his presence, his gift. He didn’t just sing his songs; he lived them.
I’d enjoyed my tussles with Brodie from the beginning. He was a smart-ass, emphasis on smart. I’d rarely met anyone as quick or as funny.
And I’d ignored his flirting. He did it with everyone, and it didn’t bother me.
Until this past year, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
Not his teasing, not his flirting with others, and not his hookups with every gorgeous man who paid him attention. And they all paid him attention.
Well, not so much lately. Or perhaps he was being discreet—something that was rarely said about rock stars.
And me? I was having a midlife crisis; lusting after a man fifteen years younger and so far out of my league, we might as well be from different planets.
I probably needed a break. If I got away from him for a while, things would go back to normal. These urges for him would fade.
All that reasoning went by the wayside when I was alone with Brodie, and he was looking at me like he was now, like I was the only thing he wanted.
“I’m leaving,” I announced, standing on shaky legs as the bus gently swayed.
Had I really just said that?
“A sabbatical,” I continued. “Once this concert is done, I need a month off. Clear my head.”
Maybe longer. Maybe for good.
For once, Brodie had nothing to say, his eyes wide.
“Let me memorize this moment. Brodie James has been silenced,” I quipped.
His shocked expression morphed into anger, and I braced myself for the inevitable backlash.
He shook his head, his black hair falling into his eyes. I resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, to push those locks back so I could see his face.
When we first met, he’d worn his hair shaved. Now he was growing it out, the thick waves hitting his cheekbones, barely his ears. It was tousled and sexy, and his fans were obsessed with his new look.
Who could blame them? I was obsessed myself.
With or without makeup or sexy hair, he was so goddamn beautiful, and in a way I’d never anticipated. In a way I could no longer deny.
But he was free of the wrinkles I was now sporting. And the occasional gray hair amongst the brown.
“Never gonna happen,” he growled.
Before I could stop him, he grabbed my belt loop and yanked, bringing me in so close our hips collided.
I began to shake and thank fuck for being in a moving bus.
Instead of touching him, like my body was screaming at me to do, I reached up and took hold of the overhead bin to stop me from pitching forward.
Brodie shook his head again and leaned into me, his hot breath brushing my ear. “You’re not going anywhere. And I work with you, or I work with no one. Try to leave, and you’re gonna be in for the fight of your life.”
“That’s not rational,” I responded and looked him in the eye. “And I need time off. So do you. Especially you. Go on vacation. Alone or with the guys, whatever. Maybe some time away from music will be good for you, too. Recording can wait until the new year.”
“I’ll go on vacation. But only if you come with me.”
My heart began to pound so fast I was in danger of fainting dead away.
“What the fuck, Dee? I’m your manager. If you need… company, you can find it anywhere, any day, any city.”
“I don’t travel with people I don’t know or trust.”
“Don’t you have an old boyfriend you can call up?”
“Don’t be stupid, Van. I’m so fucking tired of playing this game!”
He wasn’t backing away. Instead, Brodie’s hand slid to my lower back, locking my hips in place.
All my attention centered on the heat of his palm, the touch branding me through the layer of denim. Everything in my body buzzed.
Fuck, I hadn’t felt this kind of desire in… ever.
One of us moaned. Maybe both?
“Hey, will you two shut it? Some of us are trying to get our fucking sleep!”
I jolted and turned to find Holloway standing at the end of the hallway in nothing but his black briefs, his long blond hair a tangled mess around his tired face.
“Just fuck already and give us some quiet. I swear to God, I love you guys, but I’m going to take my own goddamn bus the next time we do a one-off road trip.”
Holloway turned and stomped back to his bunk.
The timing of his appearance was welcome, and it gave me the cold shower I desperately needed.
I stepped away from Brodie, breaking contact, and grabbed my phone.
I felt the loss of his touch more than I’d care to admit.
“This is not over. You and I are gonna settle this thing between us for good,” Brodie demanded.
I reluctantly looked over my shoulder.
“There’s nothing to settle. After New Orleans, I’m taking a month off. But I have changed my mind. If you want ‘Sideline,’ it’s yours. I’ll set up the paperwork. Try it out at the concert. If it resonates, we’ll record it in the new year, all right?”
The look in Brodie’s eyes told me he was far from okay. Oddly enough, he said nothing in response.
I turned and headed for my bunk, feeling his gaze burning a hole in my back.
Just one more week. I could survive one more week. Right?
I’d survived this past year; what was seven more days?
We’d come close to crossing that line tonight, and tempted as I was, I was also scared.
I was a forty-four-year-old man dealing with a sexual awakening I wasn’t prepared for. And I knew that for me, with Brodie, it was about way more than sex. I related to him in a way I never had with anyone before.
There was trust there, and respect, and friendship, too.
But this desire I had for him was just plain foolish.
I never ran from problems, but maybe, just this once, running was safer and smarter than staying put. It wasn’t just time for a vacation. It was time for a new path.
One that didn’t involve a seductive lead singer from the most popular band in the world.