Chapter 7
Kalin
Of course, Richard was gone when I woke up.
The moment I started coming to consciousness, I’d already been feeling like shit—my eyes swollen, my body drained of all energy, something that was typical after coming home from touring.
But feeling the lack of his warmth on the other side of me just made it all so much worse.
Of course, he wouldn’t take the day off to stick around for us.
Everything the night before had been a total sack of horse shit, just as I’d known it would be.
But—and fuck me for this—I’d been hoping he’d been telling the truth.
For once, I thought he was really putting me and Spike first. Because why the hell else would he have revealed his feelings for us and his relationship with me and Spike to our best friends if he hadn’t been planning to change his priorities?
Groaning, I burrowed deeper into the safe cocoon of Spike’s arms and buried my face against his chest. Even after several hours, he still smelled faintly of his Irish Spring bodywash, and I was lowkey addicted to the scent.
He’d been using that same body wash since we were like eleven or twelve, and he’d never changed, even after we could afford much more expensive products.
“Awake, baby?” Spike murmured into my hair as he tightened his arms around me.
“No,” I mumbled, making him chuckle, the sound vibrating against my face, where it was pressed against his chest.
He slipped his fingers into my hair and massaged my scalp for a moment. Then, he gripped my hair at its roots and gently tugged my head back so he could look down at me. “Richard had breakfast delivered for us a few minutes ago. Jesse left it outside our door for us. You hungry?”
“No,” I said, my tone a little more snappish than I’d meant it to be. I wasn’t upset with Spike. I was upset with Richard, but I wasn’t all that good at regulating my emotions.
Spike didn’t take offense, not that he ever did. He was a fucking saint when it came to me. I didn’t deserve him, but I was selfish enough to keep him anyway.
“He had to leave, baby,” Spike said gently, massaging my scalp once more. Somehow, he always knew what was wrong with me. He knew me so well—sometimes a little too well. “This wasn’t for work.”
I scoffed. “If he wanted to, he would,” I bitterly reminded Spike. “Stop making excuses for him. I’m sick of hearing them.”
Spike sighed, but somehow, the expel of air was still filled with endless patience for me and my bratty behavior. “I’m not making excuses for him. I swear. He really had to deal with this today. It couldn’t be done another day or time.”
I rolled away. “Whatever,” I muttered. I didn’t want to hear any more on the matter. Richard left, especially after the mess I’d been last night, and that was all the answer I needed to know how he truly felt about us. I was so done.
Spike laid still for a moment, though I could feel his eyes on me.
Then, he got out of bed and tugged on a pair of sweats.
I tracked his movements as he walked to the door, retrieving a small brown bag that was still taped shut.
The moment he set the bag on his nightstand and opened it, the smell of my favorite breakfast tacos assaulted my nostrils, and my heart tightened so much, I couldn’t breathe through the ache.
Richard had ordered my comfort breakfast.
“Did he request the extra hot sauce?” I whispered, hating that my voice trembled.
Spike smiled softly at me and nodded. “Yeah, baby. You know he did. Has he ever forgotten?”
No, Richard never had. And goddamn, something so little shouldn’t mean so damn much, but it did. It fucking did. And I hated it.
“Will you eat?” Spike asked. “We can watch some trashy TV.”
I stared at the food bag for a moment, wondering if I wanted to give in to Richard’s effort to take care of me.
But I couldn’t turn down those breakfast tacos.
So, reluctantly, I sat up and crossed my legs.
Once I had my tacos in front of me and Spike was sitting beside me, I began smothering every bite I prepared to take in the extra hot sauce Richard had made sure was provided, watching the TV as Spike flipped through the channels, finally settling on some popular talk show—The Willston Show.
“Why are we watching this?” I asked, confused. “We never watch this garbage.”
Spike shrugged. “Just feel like it today. We’ve been out of the loop for a lot of things lately since touring, so thought this might be a good way for us to kind of catch up on other celebrity bullshit.”
I frowned at him. Since when did Spike care about other celebrities?
He never had, even when we’d been kids and had idolized other rockstars and bands.
He’d never followed the drama that surrounded them like I had.
But now that we were celebrities ourselves, I’d stopped following the shit other people talked about.
“We have a very special guest here with us today,” Anthony Willston began. “And I’ve got to admit, I am honored that he chose this show as his first talk show to be on.” He smiled warmly at the camera. “Let’s welcome Richard Nightwork, owner of Nightwork Records, to the stage.”
What. The. Fuck.
I swung my gaze to the television, and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head.
I choked on my food when Richard actually made his way onto the stage, waving at everyone with a smile on his face.
He was wearing one of his Armani suits that fit him perfectly, and his hair was styled to perfection.
The scruff that had been along his jaw the night before was now cleaned up and cropped close to his face.
He looked too good to be fucking true. And he was on a talk show. He avoided anything to do with the press like the plague. Why was he on The Willston Show?
“What the fuck is he doing?” I whispered.
“Just watch, baby. I told you what he had to do today couldn’t be postponed.”
I was no longer hungry, but I’d at least managed to get one taco down. Sensing my lack of hunger, Spike simply folded my other taco back in its wrapper, then set it back in the bag before drawing me into his arms, letting me lean against his side.
“Thank you for having me on your show,” Richard said once he’d taken his seat and the noise from the crowd had died down. “I probably won’t ever do this again, but I have a point to prove.”
“A point to prove?” Anthony asked, his brow arching. He leaned in a little, intrigued. “Do tell.”
Richard just smiled, not giving Anthony anything.
Anthony laughed, sitting back up. “Okay, I see. You’re going to make me work for it, huh?
” He waved his hand. “I suppose that’s my job.
” The crowd dissolved into little titters right on cue.
I rolled my eyes, wanting them to get to the point of why the fuck Richard was on this talk show.
“Well, I usually work up to the real juicy bits, but I’ve got to take advantage of you being here while I can.
” Richard chuckled. “A little bird told me you’re in a relationship, yet there’s been absolutely no mention of who they are, nor has anyone spotted you with anyone outside of your typical business meetings.
Mind telling us who your special someone is? ”
My stomach clenched, and nausea swirled in my gut. I couldn’t watch this. Who had leaked that Richard was with someone? And what if he denied it all right there on stage for the entire world to fucking see? I wasn’t sure I’d survive that big of a denial.
“Turn it off,” I croaked, squeezing my eyes shut. “I can’t—”
“Just watch, baby,” Spike said softly, his fingers stroking up and down my arm. But I kept my eyes shut, refusing to watch the end of what I’d pictured my happily ever after to be.
“Two special someones, actually,” Richard corrected, and I choked on my own saliva.
Swinging my gaze back to the TV screen, my eyes widened.
Richard adjusted his suit jacket, looking the perfect image of calm, cool, and collected.
Like he hadn’t just told the entire world he was in a relationship with not just one but two people.
“Two?” Anthony asked, no longer having to fake his intrigue. “That’s something. Tell me more.”
“I’ve been in a relationship with Spike Winston, the drummer for the Razor Monkees, and Kalin Steele, the keyboard player for the same band, for a little over a year now.”
I was shaking. He was… He was coming out about our relationship. He was bringing it out to the public. He was finally holding true to his word of no longer hiding. He was upholding the promises he’d been making me the past couple of days.
Tears silently streamed down my cheeks. I should have been happy, so why did I suddenly feel a little panicky?
“The Razor Monkees are signed with your company, are they not?” Anthony asked.
Richard nodded. “They are,” he confirmed.
“But our relationship began months after they signed with Nightwork Records. I know many will think they’re success has to do with their relationship with me, which is why I’ve been so adamant on keeping our relationship out of the public eye.
I wanted to protect them from the media backlash. ”
I sobbed. Spike tightened his arms around me and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
“That’s understandable,” Anthony said, sounding genuine. “Even I try to keep my wife and son out of the public eye as much as possible. It’s brutal out here.”
Richard nodded, clearly in agreement. “It is. But I can’t protect them forever when protecting them is hurting them.
They deserve to be flaunted. They deserve for me to love them publicly and openly.
This is me trying to right the wrongs of keeping them hidden. Of keeping how I feel for them hidden.”
I couldn’t fucking breathe.
“Sounds like you really love them.”
“I do,” Richard confirmed confidently. “They’re my entire world. I’d give everything up if it meant I just got to be with them. Nothing matters outside of them.” He looked at the camera then. “I hope they’re watching this now. So they can see I’m upholding my promise. No more hiding.”
I couldn’t contain it anymore. I dissolved into a puddle of tears, burrowing my face in Spike’s neck.
This could very well end Richard’s career if he wasn’t careful. It could ruin ours. I’d wanted to no longer hide, but he’d…
He’d gone and dumped it for the entire world to see and hear.
And now, I couldn’t help but worry for him and his company.
Of what this meant for our family, our careers…
I’d wanted something like Spike and I had, where we just never hid.
We let everyone speculate what they wanted, but we were just us. Just as we always had been.
But I should’ve known if Richard was going to be with us openly, he was going to go big with it.
“Just let it out,” Spike soothed, gently rocking me. “He’s ours, baby. He’s always been ours, and now, we no longer have to hide.”