Chapter 5

Bringing his hand to his head, Tate grimaced. He’d known he shouldn’t mess with his hair, but it’d been the only thing he could control. The fact that Ray hated it was a bonus, even though his moodiness over Tate’s sudden change hadn’t lasted. He’d accepted the lie that Reese had asked Tate to go for a drastic hairstyle makeover to give his return more of an impact.

More likely Reese would strangle him when she saw, but he’d deal with that when the time came.

Making a strangled sound, Malakai moved Tate’s hand, staring at the top of his head like Tate’s hair would magically change back if he focused on it long enough.

He inhaled roughly. “Ah…did you go glam punk when we weren’t looking?”

“Oh fuck off, it’s not glam.” Tate frowned at Malakai, then yanked his hood back up. “It’s just fucking blue. No big deal.”

“Yeah. Seafoam blue. Like a mermaid.”

“Mermaids have red hair!”

“One mermaid has red hair!”

“Holy shit, why are you guys yelling about mermaids?” Alder stormed out of the back room, stopping short when he spotted Tate. He chewed on his bottom lip, then sighed. “Show me.”

Groaning, Tate moved the hood. He bowed his head, biting back a laugh as he pictured Alder’s expression. Malakai’s reaction made messing with his hair kinda worth it. Alder’s even more so. The guys might not tell him they were pissed about his disappearing act, but they wouldn’t hold back over something like hair.

He hadn’t considered them losing their minds over a color, but he should have. Brave hadn’t been spared when he’d chopped off about twelve inches and shaved the back and sides—his hair had been as long as Alder’s was now and he’d made a mess of it. Hell, even Tate had gotten in on the teasing. And Tate had shaved all his hair off once out of boredom, which got him forced to wear a beanie for months.

Okay, doing that again would suck.

“Did you do that yourself?” Alder’s tone was careful, and Tate tipped his head back, disappointed to see concern, rather than exasperation on the man’s face. Alder brushed his hand over Tate’s hair. “Dark blue wouldn’t be so bad, but turquoise is a bit glampunk.”

“It was darker when I first did it.” Tate closed his eyes as Alder continued distractedly playing with his hair. Damn, the contact was nice. Not because he wanted Alder in any sexual way—those days had long passed.

He missed simple affection. Being touched in a way that didn’t leave his skin crawling. In a way that was simple and caring. The guys used to treat him like a puppy on tour, and he’d complained, but for a bit of cuddling and petting he’d sleep curled up on the floor and play fetch as often as they wanted.

“Danica’s hairdresser could probably fix it up for you. No worries, kid.” Alder gave Tate’s hair a little tug, meeting his eyes when he looked up. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back.” Tate let out a happy sigh when Alder continued playing with his hair. Probably trying to figure out how to make the blotchy, washed-out parts disappear before Reese saw him, but who gave a fuck?

Moving out from behind Alder, Jesse spared Tate a brief, incredulous glance, then cleared his throat. “Connor’s headed back and Dariel will be here in a minute. I’ve got the drug test kits all labeled.” He held up a box with one blue gloved hand. “Anything I need to know before we get started?”

Jesse didn’t look at Tate again, but he still felt all eyes on him. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he still remembered how he’d looked in the mirror this morning. His hair wasn’t enough to distract from the dark shadows under his eyes. Or the way his cheekbones had gone all sharp. Didn’t matter that he was clean now. He looked like a druggie.

As each member of the band took a red-lidded piss cup from the box, Tate did his best to keep his expression neutral. When Connor came in, he smiled at the muscular guitarist, who, like everyone else, hadn’t changed. Unlike the rest, Connor hugged him before ruffling his hair and calling him a ‘Mermaid Ken Doll.’

Not a nickname he wanted to stick, but at least one person wasn’t treating him like he’d been diagnosed with something fatal and they didn’t know how to act.

Their violinist, Dariel, who never seemed to be phased by much, arched a brow when he joined them before shaking his head. “You look like a cartoon character on one of my nephew’s favorite shows. Do not ask to suck my dick again until you fix that. It’ll be weird.”

Cheeks heating, Tate ducked his head. “Will you say yes if I change it back?”

Grinning, Dariel shook his head again.

Well damn.

Somehow, Tate ended up going last to take the drug test. He stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and unscrewing the top of the piss cup before setting it on the edge of the sink. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension between them before unzipping his jeans and stepping up to the toilet. Grabbed the cup and tried not to think too much. Willed the pee to come.

He’d had a couple glasses of water this morning—not too much so it didn’t look like he was trying to mess with the test—but for some reason, he just…couldn’t…

“Come on. No one’s watching. Just feels like they are.” He stared at his dick, which seemed to have forgotten how to perform its most basic function. “Do it, buddy. You’ve got this.”

Relief filled him as a steady stream finally released. He finished up, capped the cup, then washed his hands and dried them carefully so the cup wouldn’t be wet. He used a few paper towels just to make double sure. Sucked that Jesse had to do this. No need to make even grosser.

Staring at the cup, he tried to figure out what all the lines meant. There was only one under the THC label. Was that bad?

His pulse pounded as he did up his jeans, then left the bathroom, handing his test to Jesse.

Jesse held it up with one gloved hand, then smiled. “Other than being a bunch of potheads, you’re all good to go.” He sounded as relieved as Tate was. “You’ve got an hour to chill out before we head into the studio. Wheels up as soon as you’re done.”

The band spread out, Alder disappearing in the back while the rest went to the lounge. Jesse took pictures of every test with the box set on the bathroom sink, probably to send the results to Reese before throwing the samples in the trash. Tate wasn’t sure what to do with himself, so he slipped into the back room, standing in the doorway until Alder noticed him.

Alder’s lips curved as he set his book aside. “Why don’t you lie down here for a bit? You look like you haven’t gotten much sleep.”

Tate tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, eying the U-shaped sofa. Fuck, it would be nice to lay there, close to Alder—and Jesse when he came in—and simply relax. He wanted to be near Malakai too, but no way could he just chill out while guilt was chewing at his insides.

With Alder things weren’t quite back to how they’d been, but they were close. Close enough that Tate wouldn’t examine his friend’s behavior too hard. There was concern, but also…acceptance. As though Tate being here was enough.

He crossed the room, plopping down on the sofa and resting his head on Alder’s thigh. Closed his eyes as Alder’s hand brushed over his hair.

Just as he started to drift off, light footsteps approached, retreated, then returned. A fluffy blanket was laid over him. Alder’s hand stilled, but he didn’t move.

“I’m pushing back the recording an hour.” Jesse spoke softly and the sofa cushion shifted a bit, as though he’d taken the spot at Alder’s other side. “He looks like he needs the rest.”

“The surgery took a lot out of him.” Alder started petting Tate’s hair again. “That’s all.”

Letting the darkness take him, Tate didn’t hear what Jesse said next, but he had a feeling the man didn’t agree. Still, he let himself hold on to Alder believing him. If it meant he’d get some peace, some moments like this where everything was all right again, he’d tell the lie until he believed it himself.

This was the closest he’d get to freedom. To happiness. Maybe ever.

He’d cling to every second as long as he could.

That was the only way he’d survive when it was gone.