Chapter 9 – Cove
Chapter Nine
Cove
Outside of practice and our show, I don’t see Ravvi all day.
The same thing happens the next day, and the day after, but our performance tonight was such a mess that I barely had the chance to worry about him and how to repair the rift between us.
The venue was huge, and there wasn’t anywhere close to enough security to control the masses. It led to having all of our post-show activities canceled.
It was nice to get out of the interviews and meet-and-greets for once, but Damian had a full-blown meltdown as the fans converged.
My stomach tightens as I recall the look on his face.
They kept getting closer and trying to talk to him, but no matter which direction he turned…
There was no way to escape the mob.
Riot, Creed, and I did our best to sign autographs and distract the crowd while Ravvi shuffled Damian away to one of the greenrooms and Declan played interference.
I’m not sure it actually helped, though.
By the time I make it back to the bus, Ravvi is coming down the stairs.
His curly black hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, and he’s not wearing a coat, despite how cold it is.
The black jean vest the wardrobe department put him in for the show hangs open, showing off the torn white T-shirt underneath.
No one else could pull off that combo, but somehow it fits with the ripped black jeans and cuffs on his wrists.
He spots me and frowns.
It doesn’t feel good, that’s for damn sure.
“Is Damian okay?” I ask, trying to test the water. Maybe he’s not as upset as I think he is?
“He will be. He just wants to be left alone.” He shrugs, taking off toward the bus the twins stay on.
Well, I guess that proves he’s still angry.
I’m torn between following him and checking on Damian.
Even his energy seems closed off, so now probably isn’t the time for that. I chicken out, making my way onto our tour bus.
I almost feel like it would have been easier to hash things out with Ravvi than to witness Damian be so miserable. And like the rift with Ravvi, I don’t know how to fix this. He looks destroyed, and I can feel his anxiety pulsing in my chest.
“This is a nightmare I never should have agreed to.” Damian’s head shakes, and his long blond hair whips from side to side as he tosses his pillow back into his bunk.
“Want to share my bed?” I offer before I can stop myself. Glancing over my shoulder, I eye the door to the room at the back of the bus. “It’s very nest-like. We can pull the shades and make it dark. I hardly ever hear anything when I’m back there.”
Damian studies me, and I hold my breath, waiting to see if he’s going to turn me down. He’s so unsettled, and it makes my stomach wobble. If I could swap places with him, I would.
He stays silent for so long that I feel obligated to speak.
“Sometimes I get overloaded by the sounds and people too,” I say, hoping to find some common ground.
The blond stubble on his jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth together.
“I’m not sure. I need complete silence to decompress,” he says, swallowing thickly. “I don’t want to abandon you guys, but I don’t think I’m cut out for touring.”
Damian might not be my alpha, but he is an alpha, and my system aches to soothe his stress. More than that, I know he’s here, at least in part, because of me.
The guilt threatens to drown me as my throat gets tight.
I reach for him, but he rears back.
“Fuck,” he whispers, swiping a hand over his face. “You can’t touch me right now.”
I grimace.
Okay, that was the wrong call. It kills me because I want to comfort him, but I can see that’s not what he needs to be able to relax.
“I’m going to lie down in my bed. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like. If you do, I’ll do my best not to touch you.” I spin around, heading for my room.
The door pulls open easily, and Damian’s arm appears over my head, holding it open while I step inside.
Well, it’s still as small as it was the last time I was in here.
“Do you have a preference on which side of the bed you want?” I ask, turning around and taking a step back to avoid touching his chest.
“No,” he says gruffly. He sure does climb in on the right side, though.
I smile, shaking my head.
Sometimes Damian is cute without meaning to be.
I slide off my shoes and carefully climb onto the edge of the left side. There are a ton of pillows at the top, and Damian yanks a couple down, making a line between us.
He grumbles under his breath about hating his life, and I frown. He looks so defeated as he slams his hand into the pillow.
My chest aches with the urge to soothe his discomfort.
Being an omega can be hard when someone is upset or uncomfortable. Their emotions seem to bleed into me until I’m experiencing them right along with them.
If Damian was anyone else, I’d give in to the urge to physically comfort him. It’s how omegas soothe others, and it’s coded into my DNA, even if I wish it wasn’t.
It’s difficult, but I hold back the urge to stretch over and brush the hair out of his face. Rolling onto my side to face him, I grab my pillow instead.
“Is this any better?” I can still hear the television from out in the living room, but most of the noise has lessened enough I can tune it out. Then again, that’s me, and I don’t have sensory issues to the level Damian has them.
“I’m fine,” he says with a sigh. “My mom warned me this was going to suck. She did it nonstop when she was a kid. I don’t know how it didn’t drive her completely insane.”
When I went to summer camp at Damian’s Way, it was the first year they opened the program to the public. I’m still surprised my dads let me go.
I remember seeing Damian and wanting to be close to him.
Ravvi was always laughing and deflecting any attention off Damian. Not in a bad way. It’s clear how much he loves his little brother, and he was good at putting the focus on himself.
I could sense that Damian was upset one afternoon. My system was convinced that I could soothe him, so I leaned on the wall next to him.
He stared me straight in the eyes and said, “Please don’t talk to me right now.”
I only wanted to see if he was okay, and it really hurt my feelings.
I stayed with Bellamy at Love’s house that night, but Lyric came over and explained how she and Damian are neurodivergent.
She gave me a breakdown of why sometimes he might say something that could come off as hurtful.
In reality, he’s overstimulated. Any extra talking or touching can be too much for him to process, so he’s very direct about what he needs in the moment.
After that summer, I went home and did a ton of research about autism. I wanted to be sure I could make our future summers together easier on both of us.
Logically knowing all that information doesn’t help as Damian studies my face with a sourpuss look.
This is the room everyone agreed I should take, but somehow, I feel like I’m invading on his space.
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask. “You’re kinda giving me a death glare…”
“No.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “I’ve got my own quirks. My sisters and I are close in age. I can’t stand it when they touch my stuff or borrow things without permission. That’s life. We all have idiosyncrasies.”
“Mine just happen to be a lot worse than everyone else’s,” Damian says, sounding defeated.
“I’m pretty sure no one else is as worried about it as you are,” I say, frowning. That might not have been the best way to put it. “We all obsess about stuff in our heads, but chances are, no one else is thinking about the same thing you are.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“Okay, I’ll let you rest. Just know that I’m here if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Cove.”
We lie next to each other in companionable silence. The longer I breathe in his blueberry scent, the harder it is to keep my system from releasing soothing pheromones.
I didn’t even know that particular omega-only skill was possible while taking suppressants. It’s complicated, but I fight my natural urge to soothe the frustrated alpha.
He was majorly overwhelmed by the crush of people after our show. All those bodies with different smells… I’m not sure adding my pheromones to the mix would help, especially when they’re super-potent soothing pheromones.
It might help, or it might set him off again. If someone who is autistic is triggered, it can make them overly sensitive to smells. They’re also more likely to be bothered by sights and sounds. The last thing I want to do is add to his stress or send him back into a meltdown.
It’s frustrating because my instincts are convinced it would soothe him, but my mind reminds me how he even pulled away from my touch earlier.
Instead, I lie next to him and just breathe.
After quite a while, he stretches a hand to my side of the pillows and rests it on my forearm. It’s such a small thing, but I smile like a fool. Knowing he willingly touched me feels like a win.