Chapter 4

Tate Maddox quickened his pace when he heard voices across the parking lot, almost making it onto Winter’s Wrath’s bus before he heard North. His stomach clenched, but he kept moving, closing the door behind him and standing on the steps for a minute, hoping he could actually pull this off.

This being act normal. Face his band who he’d ghosted for months, only showing up for practice, only answering calls when he knew they’d come looking for him otherwise.

The act was gonna be fucking tough. Reese liked to give the band drug tests before every tour, then sometimes sprung another on them about halfway through to make sure they weren’t doing anything stupid. She didn’t give them a hard time if they got a positive for cannabis, but any hardcore shit and they’d either be sent to rehab or shown the fucking door.

He’d gone cold turkey about a week ago so nothing should show on the test, but his body was being torn apart from the inside out and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to eat anytime soon. He’d tried getting some sun so he didn’t look sick, but he was still too pale. And he’d lost weight again. Enough that he’d decided he was gonna live in this damn hoodie.

The alternative would be everyone figuring out something was wrong with him. Exposing the deal he’d made. A deal to keep Connor and North from going back to jail.

Reminding himself that over and over was the only thing that kept him sane over a summer of endless hell. Being too numb from day to day to remember most of it was a blessing. One he’d lost. There was nothing he could take that wouldn’t have him too zoned out to avoid notice—and not show up on the test. Nothing that would kill the cravings either. Sweets weren’t gonna be enough this time.

His eyes burned as he adjusted his schoolbag on his shoulder. Why had he even come? He should just let the band replace him. Tell them…tell them he didn’t care about playing anymore. That the second surgery on his eye might not work and he was just…he was done.

But that left him trapped with Ray. Ray who’d only let him leave because he liked having a famous drummer as a ‘boyfriend’. He’d be checking in from time to time, but he wouldn’t show his face anywhere near the band. If North or Connor saw him, he’d lose his power over Tate. They’d go after him and Ray’d release the video of them beating him in Venice. Get them arrested again, but this time, the charges would stick.

Tate couldn’t let that happen.

“Why aren’t you more excited about the tour?” Ray sat up in bed as Tate brought him a cup of coffee, eying Tate as he took his first sip. “You get to be with all your fuck friends. I told you I don’t care if they use you while you’re with them, so long as you keep your mouth shut and come back to me when you’re done.”

Tate bit back a scowl, rubbing a sore spot on his thigh where the last injection Ray had given him days ago had left a bruise that still hadn’t gone away. “They’re not my ‘fuck friends’. And I’m excited, I’m just worried about the test.”

“Don’t be. I told you, I’ve taken plenty of them. That’s why I didn’t let you have anything, no matter how much you begged.”

Throat tight, Tate simply nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed because he knew walking out would make Ray mad. He’d say Tate was avoiding him. That he wasn’t ‘trying hard enough’ to make their ‘relationship’ work.

“Cheer up. If you’d rather stay, I got a new buyer who likes you. A lot.” Ray’s lips slit into a cold smile. “One I’d consider letting have you a few times because the business he’ll bring in is worth keeping him happy.”

A chill crawled up Tate’s spine. “You promised you wouldn’t—”

“Did I?” Ray tapped his fingers on his chin. “I don’t remember that. But I do remember I told him you’d be on tour, so he’d have to wait. Informing him that’s changed would make securing his patronage much easier.”

Fisting his hands on his thighs, Tate forced himself to face Ray. “He wants me because he knows I’m yours. Wouldn’t it look weak if you just handed me over?”

Setting his coffee on the nightstand, Ray crooked his finger. “I love it when you say things like that. You’re mine, are you? How about you come here and prove it.”

Footsteps coming toward him jerked Tate from his memories. He looked up, fighting back tears when Malakai came into view. Still all muscles, deep tan, and dark, close-shaved hair, wearing a snug black shirt and black jeans. So familiar it was like not a day had passed since Tate had seen him last.

Fuck, he missed the man. And it hurt to see the guarded look in Malakai’s eyes, but he’d have weeks to fix that. To come up with a good excuse for not hanging out, or calling, or…or being there.

“Hey.” Malakai reached out, taking Tate’s schoolbag when he handed it over, then shaking his head and grabbing the suitcase when Tate tried to haul it up the steps. “How’ve you been?”

“I…” Tate inhaled slowly. He hated lying to Malakai, but there was no way he could tell him the truth. So he simply gave him a tired smile and brought his hand to his face, where an eyepatch covered his right eye. “Worn out. Spent a lot of time with specialists trying to get this fixed.”

Malakai’s expression softened. “I would have come with you.”

“I couldn’t let you spend all your free time taking care of me. Hell, I was in and out of physical therapy and appointments all the fucking time. It sucked.” He lifted his shoulders. “But it helped knowing you got to be with Brave and Shiori. That you were happy.”

At least that much was true. And he had been to a lot of appointments. Not enough to justify going weeks without even talking to Malakai, but hopefully the man would forgive him.

For years, Malakai had been like a big brother. He’d looked out for Tate, sometimes so protective Tate felt like he was in a damn bubble, but fuck, he’d have climbed right back in if he could. Instead, he’d pulled away from everyone. From Malakai most of all.

Nodding slowly, Malakai motioned for Tate to follow him. “We spent a lot of time in LA with Brave and Shiori’s nephew at her grandparent’s place. Was a bit surreal—you know they’ve got a private jet? Brought us back and forth from practice so Shiori’s grandparents could get as much time with her as possible. Not sure why she’d want to spend months on a bus when she’s got that to go home to.”

“Because she loves us. And she’s building an awesome career.” Brave looked up from where he was bent over a pad of paper in the lounge area, sitting on one of the long, black leather sofas stretching across the cozy area where the band spent most of their awake time. A spill of black hair he kept long at the top and shaved at the sides fell over one eye as he studied Tate for a moment. “Good to see you, kid.”

“You too.” Tate dropped his gaze, not sure what to make of Malakai and Brave acting like nothing had happened. He didn’t want them yelling at him and demanding to know why he’d cut himself off, but he’d kinda expected it.

Did everything go back to how it always was now? They went on tour and hung out and had fun and got on each other’s nerves after a few days on the road? Could coming back really be that easy?

The tension in the room told him otherwise. Brave went back to his notes and Malakai carried Tate’s stuff to his bunk, dropping his schoolbag on the mattress before stuffing the suitcase in the small closet between the bunks.

He turned to Tate, putting a hand on his shoulder, hesitating like he wanted to say something, then shaking his head. “I hope you know…I’m here, Tate. If there’s anything, and I mean anything, you’d tell me, right?”

Why was remembering to breathe getting so hard? Tate’s face was like an elastic, stretching in all the right ways, into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. His whole life had been so fake for so long, he wasn’t sure he could do real anymore.

But he had to try. “Of course. You’re my brother, Malakai. That ain’t ever gonna change.”

Malakai’s throat worked as he swallowed. He looked away. “Good. That’s…that’s good to hear.”

Nothing was normal. Malakai was hurt, but for some reason, he wasn’t laying into Tate like he would have before. Pretending wasn’t gonna make things better, but what else could Tate do? He dropped onto the edge of his bunk and tried to think of a safe subject.

“So…where is everyone? Shiori didn’t come with you?”

“She headed downtown with Danica to do the hair and nail thing.” Malakai jutted his chin toward the back room. “Jesse and Alder are back there. Dariel’s hanging out with his cousin, but he should be here soon.”

“Cool.” Tate rubbed his thighs. “It’ll be great to be back on the road. Playing again for real.”

That brought a smile to Malakai’s lips. A genuine one this time. “Damn right it will. The physical therapy paid off. You sounded great at our last practice and the fans are gonna love seeing you back on stage.”

“You sure they wouldn’t prefer to keep Quinton?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

Tate arched a brow. “But he’s cuter.”

“Now you’re fishing for compliments.” Malakai chuckled, reaching out to brush Tate’s hood back. His eyes went wide when the hood fell. “Oh fuck, Tate. What did you do?”