Chapter 11
THE PROMISE
Pushing through the front door, I make it halfway to my truck before turning to face my supposed best friend.
After the ‘talk’ we had last week and now this, I’m ready to lay the dude out.
He’s turned his back on me too many times lately and picked anyone else.
I can’t even begin to understand why he doesn’t have my back on this—how he doesn’t agree.
There’s a piece I’m missing here. I get that he wants to move past Germany.
He won’t ever admit what really transpired that night, and I’m trying to swallow that pill of rejection.
But now he’s siding with Lex.
Fucking Lex!
While I can’t stand the little fucker, he’s mine to deal with, not Michael’s. Lex and I have history—a mutual hatred that’s constantly simmering. We clash and collide in a recurring fucked up ritual at this point. It’s our thing.
For six years, it’s been my constant. I wake up, anticipating the next bullshit between us, how we’ll prod at each other, and when he’ll finally own up to what he did. He’s the object of my obsession.
What outfit will he taunt me with?
Just how far can he lift that chin in that prissy princess way he emulates so well?
I ask myself these things daily. I’m addicted to the push and pull because I’ve never really let go.
From the night I had him in my lap to five minutes ago, he’s been my personal tap. If everyone else starts to see what I’ve always known was buried deep inside him, what happens then? What if someone could unearth it? Keep it? Treasure it because I can’t forget he lied and almost ruined my life?
He might finally fall for someone, rub it in, and I’ll be left on the sidelines because I can’t admit my own feelings.
And no matter what I use to justify my actions, my words, I want him. I always have.
Holy fuck…
I’m jealous.
I’m jealous, and I can’t breathe.
My hands fly to my head, mohawk forgotten, and I press down. I take a breath and bend over, trying to calm myself. The air feels thick, making it hard to breathe. My panic seems silly, an overreaction, but I can’t stop.
I need someone…something…
“Fuck,” I grit, black spots dotting my vision. Dropping down to my knees, I grab the back of my head, slam my eyes shut, and suck in breaths through my nose.
“Hey,” Michael says carefully, squatting down and resting a hesitant hand on my shoulder. His skin burns. The touch so fucking wanted but feels so wrong. “Don’t do that. I just needed to separate the two of you.”
Doesn't he see that's the last thing I want? I'm already living within the icy tendrils of isolation. Now he wants to keep all of us apart?
My eyes bug out of my skull when they fly open, searching his face, needing him to tell me that he’s not taking the only thing I’ve got left and leaving me behind. It already feels like I’ve lost him, and now he’s going to take Lex.
How can he not realize that I need them both?
“You’re a needy fucker, you know that?” he teases and slaps me hard against my shoulder blade. “Come on, now. Breathe.”
I nod fast and inhale like my life depends on it. “Slower.” He pulls his hand away, and I rest back on my haunches, listening to his voice and fighting the tidal waves of panic. “That’s it. Again. There you go.”
“I got your back?” I ask, hoping our silly saying will show him everything I’m too afraid to say out loud.
He studies me for a while, chewing on his cheek. After what feels like an eternity of holding my breath, his eyes soften. “I got your front, Dev.”
“Because I’m good at seeing what’s coming…”
“But not what’s right in front of your face,” he finishes, a small smile poking through and lighting me up inside.
“I’m sorry for blowing up back there. It’s complicated between us.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly.
I narrow my eyes. “Why did you stick up for him, then?”
Instead of answering me, he grabs me by the elbow and hauls me to my feet.
Once we’re standing, he sighs deeply, looks back at the studio, and says, “We leave for Chicago in a week. The shoot will go better if we can all be civil.” Returning to face me, his blue eyes seem to reach out and grab me by the nuts. “Can you do that? Be civil with him?”
“Why do you care so much? You’ve never seemed to before.” I have to ask. It’s got to come out. The caveman in me needs to know if he’s closing in on my turf.
“I’ve always cared. Just because I don’t cause a scene every damn time doesn’t mean I don’t.”
Pursing my lips, I struggle to come up with a response. Maybe I’ve been too stuck in my own head to notice.
He continues, though. “And at the end of the day, I need Dreadful to get there. It’s the most important thing to me. I refuse to be a cop like my damn dad, and I refuse to let ancient history destroy all that we’ve worked for. Lex is a great manager, start treating him like it.”
“I’ll try. I guess.”
“You’ll do it.”
“Bossy ass,” I tease and nudge him. He shoots me a knowing smile and nudges me back. It feels so good, I can’t help but tack on, “Love you, man.”
“Don’t make it fucking weird.” Then he pushes me.
Things finally feel almost normal. My best friend isn’t avoiding me, the band is excited about the video shoot and tour, and Lex is back to being a tiny tyrant.
I’ve been in a great mood all fucking morning, confident Kingsport isn’t going to try to weasel in anyone to take my spot.
While things aren’t perfect, it’s what I’m used to.
I really needed it, too.
Absently scrolling through social media on my phone, I peek over at Lex.
He seemed fine up until he sat down beside me on the plane.
Because it’s what I do, I made a big show of acting upset over our seating arrangements, but now that he’s here, my stomach hasn’t stopped firing off with endless butterflies. Six hours to fuck with him?
Put me in, Coach.
However, despite how giddy I am over this development, I spot his death grip on the armrest. His cheeks are oddly pale, and every time an overhead compartment gets shut by the flight attendant, he jerks.
“Stop looking at me,” he whispers harshly before squirming.
“You’re making it hard not to,” I muse. “Don’t tell me that the Mighty Lex is afraid of airplanes?”
He shoots me a lethal glare before swallowing hard. “Not a word. Silence the entire time.”
“Unlikely,” I clap back. “I’m just getting started.” Powering off my phone and sliding it in my pocket, I twist in my seat, leaning into his personal space. “I’m going to be so far up your ass you won’t know where I end and you begin.”
The little shit slaps my arm. Hard. He even blushes a little. God, I’m obsessed with that blush even though that smack actually hurts. “Stop it.”
“Ow!” I rub the sting away and sink back in my chair.
As the plane captain rattles off that we are ready to depart the terminal and the seatbelt light flicks on, Lex trembles. “Please don’t make this worse for me.”
His tone signals warning bells. My eyes dart back to his face. That full bottom lip starts to quiver as his knuckles blanch. He’s terrified.
As much as the dude pisses me off, pushes all my fucking buttons, I kind of want to comfort him.
There’s a definite line in the sand when it comes to Lex—a thick divide between petty bullshit and actual abuse.
I refuse to cross it, especially since Michael seems to be pleased with how I’ve backed off.
I don’t want to piss him off again, and I don’t want to see the man next to me freak out once we’re off the ground.
I’ve got both of them back where I need them. Having them close grounds me, settles my nerves, and gives me the attention I crave. Their presence fills the emptiness I feel when left alone. I’m so addicted to having them around, I don’t think I’ll live without them.
“I’ve only ever been on a plane once,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Family trip to Puerto Vallarta.”
Intrigued, I lean a bit closer. “Yeah?”
“There was a storm we flew through, and the lights went off. I was sure we’d all die. The plane kept dropping.”
“Are you afraid of heights?”
He gives me a tiny nod. “I haven’t been on one since. Even my mom said it was an act of god that we didn’t crash.”
“We’re not going to crash, Lex,” I tell him and flip my hand palm up. “Go on, grab it.”
Glancing at my splayed fingers, he gulps again and shakes his head. “I’m not a child. I don’t need or want to hold your hand.”
Dropping the issue, I leave the option open and look out the window. The plane moves towards the runway. As we get close to take off, Lex squirms more. I hear faint gasps and gulps. He needs someone to help him. I want to do that. If not for the seatbelts, I’d pull him into my lap.
I fight back a smile just imagining how much he’d protest and complain about it, too.
The plane turns westward, and the engines rumble to life.
Lex squeaks, stiffens, and braces himself.
I wiggle my fingers in a silent offering.
Our eyes clash, an obvious war going on inside his brain, and he, honest to god, whimpers before releasing the arm bar and slamming his palm onto mine.
My bones scream in protest at how hard he’s squeezing my fingers, but I don’t let go.
Even slick with clammy sweat, his hand feels perfect in mine.
“It’ll be okay,” I tell him just as the plane thrusts forward. “I got you.”
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he chants, vibrating from head to toe.
“Hey,” I say, loud enough to be heard over the roar.
My stomach swoops as the wheels leave the tarmac.
Lex won’t look at me. He’s staring at the seat in front of us, continuing his prayers to an imaginary man.
I’m right here. “Lex,” I use my free hand and pinch his chin.
Turning his attention towards me, I say, “Tell me something.”
“W-what?” he squeaks.
“Tell me something about you. Something I don’t know.”
He gulps, that lip still quivering as his eyes bulge in their sockets. It’d be adorable if he weren’t so terrified. “Peaches. I hate peaches!” His voice rises to a scream as the plane banks hard to the right. He leans into me, so I tug his hand farther into my lap.
“Keep going,” I urge.
Those amber eyes dart around frantically, searching for a safety net. I slide my hand to cup his cheek, gently massaging the sensitive skin behind his ear. “Come on, princess, I know there’s more.”
“Onions are only good in salsa,” he manages to choke out. “Anything else it’s got to be in powdered form. Lavender is my favorite smell. I hate rough textures. My mom has three cats—Beans, Mittens, and Connor—he’s the asshole. I’m going to DIE!”
He throws his arm across the barrier between us and clutches my side before burying his face into my shoulder.
Holding the back of his head, I drop my mouth to his ear. “You’re not going to die. I’ve got you. I promise.”
“When does it get better?”
“Soon.”
As if my words hold some magical power, the plane evens out, and that feeling of falling settles.
He pants into my shoulder, still shaking, but calming down.
Easing my fingers into his hair, I ignore how stiff the product feels and run my fingers over his scalp.
I scratch my nails into it, hoping the grounding sensation will help—it always does for me.
A few minutes pass before he lifts his head. The little bit of mascara he’s wearing is all smudged under his eyes. “See? Not dead.”
“Yet,” he grumbles, but doesn’t make any attempt to move away.
“I couldn’t help but notice you mentioned a lot of food,” I tease.
His eyes latch onto my easy smile. “I didn’t have breakfast.”
“Why not?”
“I was too busy making sure everyone was on schedule,” he says with a cute frown.
“Kelly is always late, and then the whole ordeal with all the pets made Phoenix, Eli, Jorge, and Oli late. I didn’t have time between all of that.
If they’d missed this flight, I’d have to recalculate the budget, get new tickets, and it could have delayed the shoot, and you all need that music video.
The amount of new listeners they bring in is—”
“Do you ever think about yourself?” I ask, a bit shocked by his line of thinking. Not once in all of that did he ever stop to address his needs. How the fuck have I not noticed this before? Lex always comes off as so self-absorbed, but clearly that’s not the case.
Is this how he always behaves? Us first, then him?
“Wasn’t it you who said I was selfish?” He snaps and jerks away from me in a rush.
Flashes of the night we met bring up a very vivid memory of me kicking him out of the equipment van, screaming that he was a selfish little fucker for lying to me.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to explain that I was already in a bad place.
Being homeless, unsure of where I’d end up, and then facing the very real possibility of prison for touching a damn minor.
Sure, I could’ve been a bit kinder, but it felt like a damn setup.
He fucking stalked me for months—even told me as much.
And while I thought it was endearing and cute at the time, it quickly turned into something far more malicious when I found out he was only seventeen.
It felt like sabotage.
It felt like the last threadbare rug was about to get ripped out from under my feet.
So as much as I know it hurt his feelings, it messed me up, too—makes it hard for me to trust him at all, even to this day. But he deserves to know that I’m not ignoring it or refusing to own up to it. I’m thirty-three years old. I can admit when I’m wrong, even if I’ve never admitted it to him.
“Yeah, I did say that.”