Chapter 38
SPECTER
Lex hurries away from the stage, phone pressed to his ear.
His angry expression gets me hard. I want to abandon sound check just to overhear who he’ll yell at. The irony isn’t lost on me: dominant he is in every aspect of life except the bedroom. I love that about him.
It takes me too long to stop staring after him, only doing so when a drumstick whacks into the back of my head.
I spin, shooting Phoenix a dry look.
He grins and double-pedals to warm up.
Shaking my head, I position my bass and pluck a few notes.
We’re basically fucking around at this point.
Having run through the set and killing time before we have to move all our shit to the back to make way for the opening bands.
In just a few months, we’ll be sharing the stage with Artificial Suicide. Jorge hasn’t shut up about it, either.
“It’s going to be so fucking cool!” he gushes to Oli. “Aren’t you excited?”
Oli’s eyes soften. “I’m excited.” No, he’s not.
Being in a metal band garners more attention than he realized, I’m sure.
But that’s the thing about Sawyers. They’re loyal to a fault. Oli is going to stick this out even if it’s a culture shock.
I can relate to the loyalty part.
It’s been killing me to allow this rift between Michael and me. The one he put there. But seeing how the last time we talked ended, I don’t want to risk being alone with him again.
Things are fucking great with Lex and me. Other than the whole secrecy part, I’m happier than I’ve been in…well, ever.
It feels like we’re building something real. Something that’s just ours. And I’m fucking addicted to it. I’m falling for him in ways that were both always there and entirely new.
Yet, as I sneak a glance at Michael pretending to run scales, I miss my best friend. Maybe we can have some sort of truce, at least on stage. Under the bright lights, it’ll be easier, I think.
It’s not like I’ve forgotten how his cock feels in me, or how bruising his kisses are—how his hands feel on my body. I doubt I’ll ever be able to completely move on from that.
I just want him back. In any capacity. That might make me desperate, but I don’t really care anymore.
We’ve avoided it long enough.
Slinging my bass over my shoulder, I walk over to him. Everyone knows we aren’t getting along right now, but not why. That secret I’ll end up taking to my grave, I’m sure. Blowing out an unsteady breath, I wait for him to acknowledge me. His eyes snap to mine and immediately dart away.
“What’s up?” Michael says.
I make sure no one is paying too close attention before I lean in and murmur, “Can we stop this? At least while we’re up here?”
He stiffens.
“Please,” I whisper. “It isn’t right playing our songs when it feels like we’re in two separate fucking bands.”
“Fine,” he says, clipped.
“Fine?”
“What do you want me to say?” His eyes find mine, a hard glint in the deep blues. “Now isn’t the time or place.”
“I know that,” I tell him, feeling the bite of annoyance. “But you haven’t exactly given me any leeway. You won’t even answer a text.”
Grinding his teeth, he glares at me. Urging me to shut up. Demanding it with his stare alone. Too fucking bad. I’m not letting it go on like this anymore. “If you won’t grow some balls and talk to me, at least put on a good show for our paying fans.”
“Don’t,” he growls. “Just don’t, Devon.”
“Or what, Michael?” I clap back.
He whips his guitar off and drops it to the ground. Stepping into my bubble, he grabs my wrist and whispers low, “Do you want me to hurt you again? Hm? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t get the fuck away from me.”
Any other time, my fist would be sailing through the air. Knuckles clashing with teeth. But I’m frozen solid.
Is this really how it’s going to be?
Forever?
This nasty fucking attitude with no love or care in his heart?
I don’t give a shit what sort of identity crisis he’s going through. He’s my friend. My fucking friend. And to just throw me away after losing his mind, to keep shoving my head down into the mess he created…
It takes me a few seconds to register the moisture on my cheeks. I realize it mostly because of the flash of pain in his eyes. It fades quickly, replaced with cold indifference. He lets go of my wrist, shakes his head, and walks away.
“Fuck you,” I croak. Then I spin to scream it at his retreating back, “FUCK YOU!”
That’s when the rest of my friends take notice.
They all abandon their instruments, Jorge the first to reach me, while I keep screaming at my former best friend.
The first person I think I ever truly loved.
The person I trusted with everything—every inch of me.
Arms band around my shaking body as Phoenix cups my face.
“You gotta stop,” he tells me gently. “Come on, you gotta stop, Dev.”
“What happened?” Lex demands, finally appearing. He takes one look at me and his eyes narrow into slits. “Where is he?” When no one answers fast enough, he roars, “Where the fuck is Michael?!”