22. Collins
Chapter 22
Collins
F uck him.
The absolute nerve of that asshole. I am so unbelievably mad right now, but more than that, I’m hurt. He has no clue, not a single goddamned clue as to what I’ve been through to survive the last two years. Hell, the last ten years of my life.
But maybe that’s why he doesn’t understand, because you ghosted his ass when he begged to help you, Collins.
I huff, completely annoyed with myself and the warring thoughts in my brain. Riley checked on me a few minutes ago, and he promised me he’d take me to ‘get my things’ after they had some emergency meeting with their band manager. Get my things. Not take me home.
Kicking my feet through the water, I watch the droplets fly through the air before plopping softly in a trail across the surface of the pool. The water feels good against my legs and the sound of the fountain stream cascading into the far side of the pool soothes my turbulent mind.
I tip my head back, my arms braced against the ground behind me and I stare at the sky. I start recounting everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours and try to understand where Creed’s actions and reactions come from. I want to be angry at him, but can I really?
While I’m mad and upset at the words he threw in my face, I’m the one who shut him out because of my broken heart and broken spirit. I blocked him and I avoided his PI like the plague so that he couldn’t find me. Through that stubbornness to make it on my own, I’d accepted the job at Viper out of desperation. But it was there that I learned the art of aerial dancing. The girl who taught me, also showed me how to use aerial as an escape while I performed. And it did. Those few minutes were my own, where no one could touch me. No one could hurt me.
But it didn’t stop the private dances that were paid for afterward. I tried to get lost in going over the choreography in my mind as men held me and violated my body in those private rooms. Jett tried to save me anytime he was on security, but on the nights he was assigned as a bouncer, or that he wasn’t working… those nights were the worst. I was never taken by the men that way. In fact, sex was nonexistent in my life. But the stolen touches were soul-stripping nonetheless. Strangers used me to get their ‘happily ever afters’—as Tank and his VIP members so graciously called them—but by way of forcing me to touch them or holding me down while they came all over my body. Never through fucking me against my will, though.
Apparently that’s the line of morality they wouldn’t cross. How chivalrous.
I’d had enough of the violating and degradation, but by the time I grew a backbone and enough savings to leave the club and find a job doing exponentially anything else, Tank had approached me. He told me I was indebted to him because of his loss in clients when I started to fight back against the men more violently. He told me such a debt had no quantity to repay, nor an end date. He’d threatened to let men do more than just touch me if I didn’t comply. I was fucking devastated and felt so hollow because I was once again stuck. How could I fight it? With no money, and nowhere to go, I was indefinitely indebted to him with no end in sight. No way out.
To make a shitty situation worse, for two years I’ve been receiving dirty, disturbing, and even threatening texts from Guy, the last man who had the role as my foster father. He never explicitly says its him, but I fucking know it’s that piece of shit. I can’t say how many times I’ve blocked the numbers he’s used over the years, but he always comes back. He’s like a goddamned disease that I can’t shake. But lately he’s been sending texts like I can’t wait to see you again, and I’m so close I can taste you.
Sick and twisted as it is, it’s because of those texts that I had started to actually find security at the club, of all places. Well, not so much the club itself, as it was Jett who has protected me and watched over me the best that he could. I know it breaks him to know the shit that goes on behind closed doors at the club, and I know he couldn’t be there to save me every time, but I knew on the nights that he was assigned to me and the other specialty exotic dancers, I would be safe not only from the members of the club, but I would be safe from Guy, should he ever act on his delusional obsession.
Then there’s last night. When Creed practically crashed back into my life. I’ve never felt so many emotions as I did seeing him with my own eyes and feeling his familiar embrace for the first time in a decade. But seeing him was as painful as it was relieving. It brought back memories of me, Asher, and Creed spending time together, happy and laughing, and care-free. At least they made sure I was care-free.
But it also forced the memories of the days, years , I was apart from my two most favorite people. Of nights I’d spent alone, locked in my closet after they left for college. Of going to bed hungry after my first foster family denied me food. Of my foster brother convincing me to give up our virginity to one another at sixteen because he said it was nothing special to cling to nowadays, anyway .
He wasn’t a bad guy per se; we were just two dumb teenagers who thought it’d be a good idea to get something so trivial out of the way. It wasn’t really painful, because he, too was inexperienced, and had fucked me with his small, semi-flaccid dick, had no knowledge of what he was doing, and the whole moment had ended approximately fifteen seconds after it started. Anticlimactic in so many ways. The thing that made him a shitty person, though, was that he blamed me for his premature ejaculation. He also told his parents that it was my idea and they got so pissed that I was gone the next day and landed in the care of Guy and his wife who ditched him not long after.
A bead of sweat rolls down my back from the heat of the sun. I don’t have any clothes to change into but, fuck it. I lift up and push the rest of my body down into the water. The coolness of the pool is like a balm to my overheated skin. Floating on my back, my mind drifts back to Creed.
From the way he fought to pull me from the club, despite my dissociative episode and my stubborn streak rearing its head. The way he pissed me off when he refused to take me back to my room at the motel and took me back to his lavish home instead. The way he told me he’d fantasized about touching and kissing me. The way my body burned with lust and want and need when he kissed me like it would be his last. But then again I guess it was his last with the way he pushed me away and told me he couldn’t— wouldn’t— do it again.
Why? The damage had been done the moment his lips touched mine. The attraction and the lust are there, so why fight what we want? Then there’s the whole bed-sharing incident where I woke up wrapped around his body. His shirtless, delicious, toned and inked body. I had to fight like a motherfucker to control my breathing when my thigh brushed his hard cock, causing my pussy to throb uncontrollably. I’m fairly certain he bought that I was still asleep when I rolled myself over and buried my face in the pillow that I was convinced would keep us on our own respective sides of the bed.
Obviously I was wrong. Apparently I’m a hussy in my sleep .
The moment he disappeared to the bathroom I bolted. I didn’t get far in my escape when Riley caught me and bribed me into staying with the promise of all-you-can-eat pancakes and bacon. Which I exercised fully. I feel my cheeks flush when I think of the little game he and I played with tossing and catching chocolate chips in our mouths.
I knew just by looking at Riley that he was just a smidge shorter than Creed, but he was also leaner. I’m not sure what I expected to see when I encountered the shirtless drummer, but it wasn’t… that. He may be thinner, but he certainly wasn’t the string bean I thought he was. Riley Graves is deliciously cut and toned. He’s not the kind of skinny that only shows abs. Nope. God, no. Riley’s got gloriously defined pecs and abs, an adonis ‘v’ and his arms are well sculpted no doubt from constantly moving them while playing drums. He’s beautiful.
And the way his face flushed and his dark brown eyes blackened when I swiped that chocolate chip off of his chest? Fuck. Me. Okay, so maybe I was laying it on a little thick by sucking my finger into my mouth to clean it off, but Riley is fucking hot and I was already flustered from keeping myself from dry humping Creed’s leg.
But all the fun and arousal buildup had taken a plummet when Creed tried to tell me what to do in regard to my job, then he hurt me by hurling my bad life choices in my face, like I chose to be in the situation which I’m currently living. Of course I told him to get fucked and stormed out, dead set on getting away from him, but one look at the massive wall around the property had me saying fuck that and decided the pool looked like a better option. I have no regrets now with how perfect the water feels.
I let loose a heavy sigh because I have no idea where to go from here. If I’m being honest with myself, aside from him trying on his controlling asshole hat and hurtful words, the thought of leaving Creed again makes me feel sick to my stomach.
I let myself sink below the water, my whole body cooling and relaxing, releasing some of the tension I’ve been holding in since last night. I push off the bottom of the pool and break through the surface on a soft exhale, pushing my wet hair back out of my face. I wade in place for a moment, taking in the scene of the backyard beyond the pool. This place really is more like a well-manicured oasis.
My heart sinks a little because I shouldn’t allow myself to get used to this. This isn’t my home and my staying here would just be an imposition on Creed and Riley’s lives.
The sound of a throat clearing startles me and I spin around, finding Creed and Riley both standing at the edge of the pool, watching me. Creed’s face is set in a carefully blank expression, his arms crossed over his chest. Riley’s eyes are soft and sweet as they watch me, amusement sparkling in his dark irises as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. The two men look like polar opposites. Total grumpy-sunshine friendship.
My first instinct is to apologize for the rift between us and create the a sense of peace again, but I bite my tongue because I’ll be damned if I even so much as utter the words I’m sorry because I fail to see where I’ve done a single fucking thing wrong.
We’re all quiet for an awkward moment before I quietly sigh and make my way to the edge of the pool. Creed crouches down in front of me, leaving no choice but to crane my neck to look up at him as I grip the edge of the pool. His steely expression softens, allowing me to see the shadows of regret darkening the usually ice blue color of his irises.
“I’m so sorry, Collins.” His words come out with full sincerity and I can feel that he truly means it.
My hardened fa?ade cracks at his words and the use of my actual name, and not Stardust.
When I first chose Stardust as my stage name, I regretted it because of the way it sounded coming from any mouth that wasn’t Creed’s. Over the years, I thought I would come to hate the name, but hearing him say it now—now that I’m not fuming mad or on the outs of a dissociative episode—I still have that butterfly feeling in my belly at the way it wounds when it slides from his lips like silk.
I look at him, wiping the excess water from my face as I think about my next words, and if I really mean them. The corners of my lips lift, slowly transforming into a genuine wide smile and say, “forgiven.”
The smile he gives me in return makes my belly flutter with excitement. Fucking panty-dropping smile. He offers me his hand, even though I’m right next to the ladder. I take it and try hard to not marvel over how his tanned, tattooed, and calloused skin starkly contrasts against the smooth, pale tone of my own. He hoists me from the pool with ease and helps to right me on my feet. “Can we talk?” he asks, taking a step back, his eyes sweeping over me quickly while I wring out my hair.
“Yeah. I?—”
“Riley can you get Collins a towel?” he interrupts, his voice strained and clipped.
My brows scrunch together at his sudden tone change, but when Creed snaps at his friend again, I turn my attention to Riley to see that his eyes are trained on me. Almost zoned out. Not on my face though. I look down and quickly realize that his eyes are fixed on my chest. Namely my hard, pebbled nipples showing rather prominently beneath the now-soaked t-shirt that’s plastered against my skin. His t-shirt.
My head snaps back to Creed, my eyes wide in shock. I feel heat creep up my neck and to my cheeks with embarrassment. I’m practically on full display for them.
Oh .
Before I can lift my hands to cover myself, a warm, fluffy towel is being snatched from Riley’s hands, wrapped around my shoulders, and pulled tight across my chest, effectively covering my breasts. It’s a good thing they’re covered because the shiver that racks through my body is no doubt turning my nipples diamond hard.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice awfully meek as Creed sidesteps next to Riley and shoulder checks him, snapping him out of his staring contest with my tits. Spoiler alert: he won. It’s cute to see his cheeks flush at being caught staring, though.
I clear my throat. “Um, you wanted to talk?”
“Yes, please.” he answers and gestures to the lounges on the other side of the pool, situated in the shade. We take a seat, me sitting sideways on one, while Riley and Creed across from me on the other. Creed looks away and grips the back of his neck with one hand, rubbing back and forth before his eyes find mine again. “First, I want to apologize to you again. I have no good reason, but my mind has been ten shades of fucked up for the last thirteen hours and I snapped at you when the pressure of everything became too much, so I aimed all that anger at you, but that was wrong of me. I shouldn’t be saying things like that to you. There’s no excuse for hurting you the way I did and I swear to you, Collins, it’s not something I’ll ever do again. I swear it.”
His words wash over me and the last of the fire I’d built against him in anger has diminished to nothing but ashes. I know Creed, and I know he would never intentionally hurt me. It doesn’t excuse the things he said to me, but I understand what it’s like to snap when you’ve hit your mental capacity. “Thank you for your apology.” I say, a small, teasing smile lifting my lips. “Like I said, you’re forgiven.” I point a finger at him through the towel I’m clutching to my chest as I level him with a glare. “Don’t ever pull that shit and talk to me like that again.”
He traces an x over his heart before placing his palm over the same area. “I swear it.”
I believe him, too.
Our eyes hold for another moment, the tension between us easing significantly when he smiles at me. It’s not the seductive smile I’ve seen, or the carefully practiced one he gives his fans or interviewers. It’s his smile. The one I’ve seen so many times as a child. Not many people get to see the real Creed St. James, but I do .
I release the towel with one hand to run my fingers through my hair, mussing the strands that had been slicked back.
“So,” I switch subjects, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. “You wanted to talk? How was the emergency meeting? Was it, indeed, emergent?”
Riley huffs under his breath and Creed nods his head. “It was, actually.” He rubs his hand back and forth over the stubble now adorning his sharp jawline. “You know the band As We Stand? ” I nod. “Turns out, their lead singer, Jake, underwent surgery to have vocal fold polyps removed recently.”
My eyes widen in shock. “Oh, shit.” My hand subconsciously raises to my throat, rubbing at a phantom pain that resurfaces every now and then. I had the same surgery when I was just a kid and the recovery period was hell. Only difference is that Jake can more than afford the therapy to get his voice back to functioning levels for him to continue singing. I did not.
“My thoughts exactly.” Creed says, his eyes falling to my hand still sitting at my throat. I don’t miss the way he winces, no doubt thinking back to my surgery and how rough that time was in our lives. I drop it to grip the towel again and he clears his throat, continuing. “He’ll be out for a few months with therapy so he had his band manager contact ours to ask us to tour in their place. It’s too late to cancel the venues and they don’t want to postpone it, and they want their fans to still have a concert experience.”
“Oh, wow. That… really sucks for Jake and As We Stand, but I suppose that’s awesome for you guys, right? When does the tour start?” I ask cheerfully, but it feels like there’s a weight in the pit of my stomach and my heart sinks at the thought of Creed leaving for several months. I know I need to get back to reality, back to my job. Creed and Riley have their own lives, and I refuse to be a hindrance to them or risk bad publicity from being seen with a low-class exotic dancer from a seedy nightclub.
“Well,” Creed starts, but he sounds hesitant. Nervous. Fuck. “ That’s the other thing we wanted to talk to you about, Stardust . ”
“We would need to leave Friday.” Riley says softly, leaning forward, his sweet auburn curls falling over his brow, and rests his elbows on his knees, his clasped hands hanging loosely between his legs. I take brief notice that they’ve both ditched the deliciously distracting sweats and joggers and changed into casual clothes. Their style in clothing is pretty similar. Both are wearing tight black jeans, with a pair of lace-up vans, but Riley is wearing a vintage style Cardinals baseball raglan tee, and Creed is wearing an oversized Falling In Reverse tee.
I don’t have time to think about the fact that I’m still sitting here in front of these two insanely attractive men, in nothing but a thong, a soaking wet t-shirt and a towel because what Riley just said registers and starts ringing bells throughout my brain. “Wait, this Friday?”
“Yeah, their tour typically begins right around the time that ours ends. Our tour schedules have lined up that way for a few years now.”
“My coworker, Coco, was just telling me how your European tour just wrapped up.”
“Correct,” Riley says, “Our last show was in Sydney last Friday and our plane touched down last night.”
A heaviness weighs down in my stomach, flopping with unease. “Today’s Sunday. You just got back so that gives you, what, five and a half days to prepare? Is that something you’re all up to doing? Doesn’t seem like you gave yourself enough time to rest and recoup after exhausting yourselves with your overseas tour.”
Creed and Riley share a look and nod before Creed smiles softly, his ice blue gaze roaming over the pool as he speaks, “We discussed it with the band, and we’re all in. Jake is actually a good friend of mine, and this would be helping him immensely while he heals. He even gave us permission to do some covers of their band’s top songs, so their fans still get a taste of the music they paid money to hear.”
The sinking feeling turns to dread because they are leaving. I roll my lips together, thinking of what to say next that won’t give away just how much I don’t want Creed to leave after finally seeing him after all this time apart. “How long will this tour last? When will you be back?” I immediately cringe at the desperation lacing the question.
Good one, Collins. Not obvious at all.
Riley widens his eyes at Creed, nodding his head toward me, encouraging him to speak. When Creed just sits there, fidgeting with his fingers, and its suspicious as fuck. Their little exchange has me narrowing my eyes at them. Whatever they’re silently communicating has me skeptical of whatever is going to come out of one of their mouths next.
They seem to be duking it out mentally because neither speaks for a long moment and when it becomes too awkward for me, I finally speak up. “What?”
“Just fucking tell her, Creed. Quit torturing the sweet girl.”
I fight really fucking hard to not blush at Riley calling me sweet girl but I fail miserably because Riley blushes at my reaction, his freckles popping against the pink of his cheeks that most likely match my own.
Creed looks at me, and my belly erupts with butterflies when his bright blue eyes meet mine. I mean, to be honest, it happens every time he looks at me, but especially now, after our kiss last night. That man can friend-zone me all he wants, but it doesn’t hide the fact that he?—
“We want you to come on tour with us.”
I let his words soak in for a moment before I bark out a laugh. “I’m sorry, you want me to go with you? On… tour?”
“Yes, we do.” He emphasizes, gesturing between himself and Riley.
By the serious expression on his face, I can tell he’s not joking about it, either, but I don’t quite believe it. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.” They answer at the same time.
I just stare at them, my lips parted in shock. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, based on Creed’s behavior since last night, but shit, I’m fucking bewildered.
Creed— and Riley —want me to pick up everything and just go with them? Of course the lovesick part of my brain is screaming at me to say yes, to go with them so that I can spend more time with them. I’ve missed Creed so fucking much over the last ten years, that finally being around him, being able to see him with my own eyes, to touch him, and to feel that he’s real, and that he never forgot about me are all reasons why I want to say yes.
But then Tank and his unending debt shove to the forefront of my thoughts and it’s like a gut punch. Tank is a bastard, and a dirty businessman. I know firsthand how he conducts business and I know that obeying the law isn’t part of his business model. Not only do I not have a choice but to show up, but I don’t want anything to happen to Creed, or Riley, or any members of his band by sending his men to retaliate for my absence. I would never forgive myself if they got hurt because of me.
Then there’s the whole other issue with Guy sending me threatening texts. Judging by his last messages to me, he makes it sound like he’s closer to me than I realized and that fucking terrifies me. Guy was, and still is, a piece of shit. He’s a beautiful man with an ugly soul and a violent hand. He got off on hurting me, and I’ll never forget the way his eyes roved over my body the closer I got to eighteen.
My heart keeps screaming Yes! Go. Go with them. Give yourself a chance at a fresh start.
But my brain overpowers it by telling me that it’s a terrible idea, and I’ll just be putting Creed into the line of fire and risk giving him bad publicity, because there’s always some lowlife that’s capable of digging up dirt on anyone and my past is so fucking filthy that it wouldn’t take much to smear his name.
“Collins?” Creed grabs my attention with his smoky voice and a gentle hand on my knee. “You okay? You kind of spaced out there for a minute. ”
“Hm?” I shake my head. “Yeah, I’m…I’m fine.”
“So, what do you think?”
“About touring with you?”
“Yeah,”
I pause. I know the answer I want to give him and the answer I need to give him, so I steel my spine and take a deep breath before releasing it and looking directly into Creed’s eyes.
“No.”