Chapter 31
VAN
Icame back to a clean condo, but I’d never felt less at home.
And even though I’d only been away from Brodie for a few days, it felt so much longer.
Like I was going to crawl out of my skin if I didn’t get my fix of him soon.
It was crazy how I went from feeling Brodie’s presence in my life one day to needing him like the air I breathed in another.
One more day.
In the meantime, I had to get organized for our trip to Rhode Island.
Thankfully, my apartment was easy to maintain. Not that I really maintained it. I had a house cleaning service and grocery delivery once a week. No pets, no plants. It was more like a hotel than a home. Lock the door and leave.
The condo was situated in the heart of the District in downtown Nashville and it was never quiet, not like Forest Hills, where Brodie lived.
When I first moved here, I preferred the noise.
Living alone felt lonely enough. At least when I looked out my window or went for a walk, there were people everywhere—talking, walking, and doing their errands during the day.
Drinking, laughing, and partying at night.
No matter the time of day, it was an endless loop of activity.
Now, though, the endless noise outside was irritating, and the haunting stillness inside unnerving.
It was the events of the past week finally hitting me.
Did facing my sexuality mean that everything else in my life was fair game?
The writer in me yearned for a space to call my own and something that would inspire my work. Maybe the apartment had in the beginning, back when I wrote angrier, edgier stuff. But not lately. And I wondered why I continued to stay here if the place didn’t serve me anymore.
I’d never had people over. Not family, not friends. Well, maybe a few times, but I could count them on one hand. Most of my friends were people I worked with. When we did socialize, it was usually at a bar or a club.
And I was either at the office, in the studio, or at one of the band’s homes. I came back to my apartment to sleep and shower, and that was it.
There were no memories attached to it.
Unlike Brodie’s house. I’d been there many times. But he’d never been to my place.
That made me wonder, had that been me acting professionally, or did I do it to keep him at a distance?
Instead of sitting around asking questions I didn’t have answers to, I got my ass up off the couch.
The apartment was seven hundred square feet, small by most standards, but enough space for one person.
My idea of decorating was to install my prized guitars on display throughout the living room.
And photos of the bands I’d worked with and places I’d traveled to, pics of my family back in Montreal, and, of course, photos of Wayward Lane.
As I walked through the space, I realized just how many photos of the band—and Brodie in particular—lined the walls of my living room.
And my hallway.
And my bedroom.
There, on the wall directly across from my bed, sat a massive picture taken from Wayward Lane’s first international tour.
The stunning black and white photo was focused on Brodie at center stage, wearing only his kilt, his body drenched in sweat as he kneeled before the audience.
Brodie was kneeling before me.
Had I been jerking off to him all this time?
Holy shit, I was like a teenager with a poster of my celebrity crush. He’d tease me to no end if he were here right now.
How could I have been so dense about my interactions with him for so long?
As if we had a psychic connection, my phone pinged.
Brodie: I miss you already. I can’t wait until tomorrow.
Instead of replying to him, I took a photo of his photo and sent it to him with the caption “my place.”
Brodie: You’ve got a life-size picture of me in your condo? OMG that’s hot!
It’s not the only one.
Then I video-called him.
“If there was an award for being totally oblivious, I would win it,” I said when his gorgeous face popped up on screen.
Brodie shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to walk you through my condo; just watch.”
I proceeded to walk down the hallway and then into the living room, all the while aiming the phone at my walls.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were an obsessed fan,” Brodie quipped. “And you just noticed this now?”
“Yup. It honestly didn’t occur to me. I mean, I have pictures of all the musicians I’ve worked with.”
Brodie chuckled. “Yeah, but there’s like four of them and fifteen of me.”
“Exactly.”
“That first one you showed me, is that in your bedroom?”
I nodded. “Right across from my bed.”
“You dirty dog, Van. You’ve been jerking off to me all this time!”
I laughed out loud. “Apparently so.”
I hadn’t felt this light in ages.
“That is the hottest thing ever.”
“You say that about everything,” I teased.
“Only when it comes to you, and I can’t help it.”
“Well, now that I’ve entertained you, I have to go. I’ve got laundry—”
“I bet you do. Those sheets must be filthy.”
“Brodie—”
“I’d say think of me tonight when you’re in bed, but that’s a given. Wait until I tell the guys.”
“No, and I’m hanging up now.”
“Hold on. Did you hear what I said earlier?”
“I did, but how can I miss you when you’re right here in my bedroom? And my living room, and my hallway—”
He pursed his lips and blew a raspberry. “Smart ass.”
“I guess you’re rubbing off on me.”
“I will be tomorrow.”
Just the thought had my cock chubbing up. “And yes, I miss you too. I’m about to crawl the walls.”
“But only the ones with my picture on it,” Brodie chuckled.
A loud crash echoed in the background.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Bibi. She’s in my kitchen. She actually made me work today, Van. I had to sign merch for over three hours.”
I shook my head at his pouty expression. “Poor baby.”
“And now she’s making me dinner.”
“Calisse, you’re spoiled.”
“I know,” he smirked. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well.”
“Doubtful. One, you’re not here, and two, all I can do now is stare at your sexy body on the wall.”
“Next time, it’ll be the real thing.”
“Looking forward to it.”
After I hung up, I unpacked my suitcases, sorted my clothes, and did my laundry.
Four loads later, I re-packed, ordered a pizza, ate half of it, and zonked out on my couch.
I woke up the next morning at nine a.m. to a barrage of texts from Brodie.
Brodie: We spent one night together, and now I hate sleeping without you. I keep waking up and wondering where you are.
Brodie: Dawson is picking you up in an hour
Brodie: You’re still coming, right?
Instead of texting, I called.
“Morning, mon coeur,” I greeted in my gruff morning voice.
“It is now. Did you just wake up?”
I rubbed my eyes. “I did. Normally, I’m up at six, but I guess I needed the sleep.”
“Are you gonna be ready in time? Dawson will be arriving at your place in half an hour.”
“Shit, shower, and shave in under twenty,” I blurted out.
Brodie’s responding chuckle had a shiver running through me.
“Why does everything feel so natural between us?” I asked, my tone suddenly serious.
“It’s always been that way. Our being intimate hasn’t changed anything. You’re surprised?”
“A bit.” I paused and scratched my scruff.
“When I dated women, I always felt oddly on edge. Like, I wasn’t sure what to say or what not to say.
And I didn’t quite know how to relax around them or what they were thinking.
I don’t really know how else to explain it.
But with you, I can just be me. Is that weird? ”
“Not at all. First off, we’re friends, and there’s a level of comfort there.
We’ve both seen each other at our best and our worst. And however you define what we are, I think gender isn’t the biggest part of it.
We see each other, and I don’t just mean our physical forms. Whether we’re face to face or texting or on stage the other night, I always feel our connection. ”
“I feel it too,” I admitted, suddenly overcome with emotion. “And that’s very deep for first thing in the morning.”
“I’ve been awake for two hours. And being all alone in my big empty house gives me a lot of time to think. Mostly about you.”
“I’m going to get up now. Because the sooner I get ready, the faster I get to you.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
I hung up and all but ran into my bathroom.