Chapter 6
HEAVY IN YOUR ARMS
My pants are way too tight to…squat.
Unreal.
Unbelievable.
Of course, this would happen.
I shove the delivery slip at the driver and consider screaming. I want to scream. It’d do good for my soul. Instead, I throw my shoulders back and stomp over to Devon, already unloading. I’m only dressed up because I thought I’d be an overseer. It has nothing to do with the current company.
Normally, I just make sure things run smoothly and let bigger people do the heavy lifting. I’m not frail or weak, but I hate sweating.
I also have a date in an hour.
Actually, maybe date is too formal. I never get taken on dates.
But I did put on eyeliner just in case.
With this recent development, the promised future of perspiration and potentially hours of time I’ll have to be here, I can kiss my dreams goodbye of sharing a very sexy night with Taylor and Omar.
Eye twitching, I wait for Devon to set down a box. He’s already inside the truck, moving things forward. I gulp at the quantity. When Nils said they’d upgrade all of Dreadful’s equipment, I didn’t expect everything—tour gear included. It’s a performing arts center worth of stuff in giant boxes.
“A little help would be nice,” Devon grunts, bare arms flexing as he lifts a giant box labeled Mesa Boogie.
I have no idea what that means.
“Is it heavy?” I ask.
He glares at me. Judging by the veins popping along his forearms and the sweat on his brow, I would say it is. “Go get the furniture dolly inside.”
“Furniture dolly?”
“Flat object with wheels. It’s behind the couch.”
I don’t like how he’s talking to me, but I also really don’t want to give myself a hernia.
It doesn’t dawn on me until I’m shoving the dolly outside that I didn’t argue.
It didn’t even register as something I should do.
I’m frowning fiercely when I return. Devon’s facing away, bent over.
I glare at his ass. Out of the band, he’s got the tiniest ass.
And that’s saying a lot because Phoenix is like an awkward baby bird. Still, I can’t stop staring.
Maybe it’s not his ass. Maybe it’s his wide hips and those two dimples at the base of his spine.
Does he know his tank top is riding up? I think I’m just flustered from canceling my not-date.
It’s rare I agree to these things and find participants for that type of dynamic.
Of course, Taylor and Omar won’t make me a third.
I’m just the filling in their meat sandwich. But—
“Stop fucking staring at my ass and help me.”
I blink before traveling my eyes up to Devon’s face. His thick, pierced eyebrow is raised as if to say, Well?
“What ass?” I say, kicking the dolly at the box. “Have to have an ass to prompt staring.”
“Heard that.” A grunt. Then he’s lifting another box. “Grab this. It’s not heavy, just awkward.”
I step around the already massive pile and rise on my tiptoes. Even with the extra inch on my shoes, I’m struggling to reach the box. It’s like he’s deliberately holding it too high up. “Devon!”
“I can’t exactly see where your arms are!” He drops the box.
I barely catch it before the corner stabs into my lip.
And to make matters worse, my heel snags on the furniture dolly.
I’m screaming before I can stop it as the world tilts and I with it.
I lose my hold on the cardboard, it falls to the ground with a very expensive-sounding crunch, and I hit asphalt.
My tailbone flares in pain, my palms scrape against the concrete, and my teeth slam into my lower lip.
“Jesus fuck!” Devon cries out, jumping down. Whatever was in that box is likely destroyed. I expect him to start screaming over it, too. “Are you alright? Let me see your hands.”
Staring up at him in shock, my now bloody lips part. “Huh?”
He makes a face and grabs both wrists, revealing my scuffed palms. Little bits of black rock are embedded in the bloody scrapes. “Damn it,” he mutters and starts picking them out. “I couldn’t see you. I thought you had it.”
I don’t think we’ve been this close to one another since the night we met.
He’s on his knees beside me, touching me, eyes pinched with frustrated concern.
It wasn’t even that bad of a fall, all things considered, but he’s acting like I fell three stories.
“I’m fine,” I blurt and pull my wrists free.
He leans back on his heels, face ghostly pale, eyes glazed over. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I said I’m fine, Devon.”
It’s like he’s seeing a dead relative or something. “I didn’t…”
“Devon!”
Some life returns to his features, and he grimaces. “Fuck. Yeah. Alright. Uh…” He stands quickly, spins his thumb ring as he assesses the damage. “That was expensive.”
“No shit.” I stand up too, wincing. “What’s even in there?”
With a low whistle, he opens the top of the box and peers inside. “Phoenix’s cymbals. He’s going to be pissed.”
I stand beside him and look in. Shit. They’re in pieces. “Why aren’t they in bubble wrap or something?”
Again, we are too close. He glances down at me, at the mere inches separating my arm from his. Clearing his throat, he side steps and says, “We can just use the ones he has. They’re still in decent shape. It’ll be fine.”
I squirm, knowing this is my fault. “I’ll call Nils. I’m sure there’s room in the budget for a replacement. I shouldn’t have dropped them. It wouldn’t have killed me just to fall.”
“The less we have to deal with him, the better. Just leave it.”
“I can’t just leave it,” I argue. “This was my responsibility, and I broke it.”
“Because I didn’t make sure you had it.”
“Why are you trying so hard? It’s fucking metal discs.” I wave a hand out.
“Why won’t you just let me handle it?”
“Because you don’t need to!”
“You don’t need to either!”
“It’s my job!” I yell. My voice echoes in the parking lot.
“And I fucking hurt you!” He screams back, shocking us both into silence. “Just…go. I got it. I don’t need your help,” he eventually says. “Just fucking go, Lex.”
I place both bloody hands on my hips and hold my ground. “We’re going to get all this shit inside, and then I’m going to call Nils.”
“God, you’re fucking stubborn.”
“So are you,” I point out. “Throwing a tantrum like that during the most important meeting of your life?”
“Better than punching the fucker. But what would you know about self-restraint?” He hits his mark, effectively shutting me up.
Neither one of us has brought up what happened a few weeks ago. I didn’t think we ever would. A glitch in the damn Matrix.
“I don’t forget, Lewis. I never forget. I don’t want you here. No one does.”
He may as well hit me for how much that hurts. It’s a gift, truly. He finds the exact spot to strike every time. No matter what I do, I always end up being the bad guy. Even now, when I’m trying to make things right, I’m still wrong.
“I wish I’d never met you,” I say, my voice cracking. “Never laid eyes on you.”
“Likewise, princess,” he growls and gives me his back.
After we unload the rest of the gear, the truck takes off, and we spend the next hour moving equipment in anger-fueled silence.
Even though I could have gone to Taylor and Omar’s place, I couldn’t stomach it.
The people I help don’t want me, nor do those men.
I’m someone to use up and throw away. I accept it, but it still hurts.
I should be getting railed, but I’m licking my wounds in a bar, drinking gross, cheap beer, hating my choices.
I know why Devon hates me. To an extent, I understand.
I lied about my age, and things escalated fast. But he doesn’t know how long I pined for him.
How just being the center of his attention, even for an hour, changed me to my very core—how I’m still changed because of it.
No matter how many couples I sleep with, none of them have ever looked at me the way he used to.
No one looks at me like Devon did.
All it took was one ill-timed phone call from my mom to ruin it all.
Because twenty-one-year-olds don’t have curfews.
Their moms don’t call, demanding to know their whereabouts and threatening to ground them.
And there was no way to even pretend it was anyone else because I had answered the call in his lap, lips still glued to his.
I meant to decline it, but my hands were too shaky, my heart beating too fast.
Months I’d fantasized about that exact moment—being wanted so much that things like age gaps didn’t matter. That I was worth it.
For a brief moment, I had him.
Now I can’t stand him at all.
Bringing the mug up to my lips, I slurp the frothy liquid that I’m pretty sure is just glorified piss, and stare at the old classic rock posters lining the back of the bar.
Fairy lights drape around the liquor shelves.
A few people play pool in the far corner.
It’s the closest bar to my apartment that I know I won’t run a risk of bumping into anyone who knows me.
Everyone who does comes to the same conclusion, too. If not for the fact that I’m in public, I’d cry.
The sensation has been brewing in my tear ducts since Devon told me no one wanted me.
I could call Kelly. She’d listen and offer advice, but it’s the kind I don’t want or can’t accept.
How hard is it to love someone like me? Am I really that bad?
If there were a mirror, I’m sure it’d be grinning wickedly and nodding in agreement.
I take another sip, slumping further against the counter.
“Lex?”
Blinking up at the voice, I squint, seeing two of him. “Michael?”
He smiles down at me with something like kindness and takes the stool beside me. “What are you doing here?”
I shrug. “Getting drunk.”
“How many have you had?”
“Unclear,” I say and hiccup. “But it’s all disgusting anyway.”
He extends his hand and swipes the mug from me. Bringing it to his nose, he takes a sniff and grimaces. “It’s Budlight.”
“It’s cheap,” I insist and steal my beer back.
“If you’re trying to get drunk, you might want to steer clear of that budget you love so much.”
Is he teasing me? Or talking shit? Or both? I narrow my eyes on him. “The budget is what allows me to have shitty beer and you to have pretty pants.” Those pants he wore to the meeting looked utterly divine on him.
He chokes on his spit. “What?”
“You heard me,” I growl and tear my eyes away. The last thing I need is for Devon’s best friend to shit on my already rainy parade.
Waving the bartender over, Michael orders two rum and Cokes. When they are slid across the sticky counter, he offers me one. “Tastes better and works faster.”
“Thanks,” I grumble and suck on the tiny straw.
“Seriously, though. Why are you here?”
“Why are you?” I counter. I don’t want to talk. I want to forget and pass out in a ditch.
“Avoiding things,” he says easily. “This is a low-key spot.”
I nod along, sipping loudly now as the sweetness of the soda cuts through the bitterness of the rum. “I like avoiding things.”
“Me too.”
“I was supposed to be a meat sandwich,” I tell him, propping my cheek on my fist. His deep blue eyes find mine.
“Meat sandwich?” he repeats slowly. “Like…with two people?”
“Yes,” I sigh. “But it’s for the best. No one likes me anyway.”
“So this is a pity party, then.”
“Care to join?” I have no idea why I’m even talking to him. He’ll likely spill his guts to Devon and everyone else.
“Why not?” He pounds his drink and orders two more. “Do you ever feel like everyone expects too much from you?”
“All. The. Time.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “And when you can’t do what they want, it feels even worse?”
“Because you try and try and nothing makes a fucking difference. Everyone hates you anyway,” I slur. The second drink appears in my hands. “And you keep trying because deep down you know you’re not an asshole, but no one fucking likes the nice guy. He’s a pushover and not worth listening to.”
“Hey,” he says gently. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, but it is!” I throw my hand out. “I used to be the nicest guy. So fucking nice, Michael. And I was just…a rug.”
“You weren’t a rug.”
“Yes, I was,” I sneer. “Everyone wiped their feet on me. Jorge. Phoenix. Devon especially. He hates me…so much.”
He sucks in a breath. “I think he hates me, too.”
“How? Why? You’re…you…friends.” I cup both my hands and shake them.
Staring off but not really seeing, he takes a sip and faces me. “We don’t hate you, Lex. We need you.”
It must be the booze because I tear up instantly. My chin wobbles. The room spins, and I lean forward to press my forehead against his shoulder. “You do? You need me, Michael?”
He’s stiff as a board but still manages to pat my head much like a disgruntled aunt. “Yes, Lex. Yes, I do.”
As stupid as it is, his words bring a smile to my lips, and I press a tiny kiss to his shoulder.