Chapter 8

Every single one of Winter’s Wrath’s roadies had a joint or cigarette lit. North inhaled slowly as he approached the small group, sitting around the back of their band’s bus, clearly trying to settle their nerves. He didn’t blame them one bit, the drug test was nerve-racking—even though he’d been pretty sure he’d pass.

‘Pretty sure’ wasn’t good enough.

But the worst was over.

Ha! Not fucking likely. He swallowed hard as the young drum tech glanced up at him, his eyes filling with sympathy.

“Heard you guys took your first test.” The roadie, Derrick, held up his joint. “It gets easier, but still kinda sucks. We’re lucky we’re still allowed this.”

North nodded, taking the joint, but not bringing the fat, tightly rolled blunt to his lips right away. He rarely smoked anything because it made his throat all raw and messed with his voice. Doing it right before recording would be fucking stupid.

But he’d given up all the pills he’d normally use to keep calm in situations like this. Situations where he had to see the man he…the man he’d started caring about. A lot. More than he should have.

Getting worked up enough to need to take the edge off didn’t happen often, thank bloody hell. He’d been calculating his last slip in his head, hoping enough time had passed. He hadn’t failed the test, so he was good, but he still wouldn’t take any chances—even though more pills were only a phone call away.

A few tokes won’t hurt.

He brought the joint to his lips, drawing in long and deep, holding the smoke and… Bent over with a ragged cough, he shoved the joint back at Derrick and scowled as the roadies around them chuckled.

Tossing his long, messy-styled blond hair away from his face, Derrick took the joint and stood to pat North’s back. “Dude, not so much if you’re not used to it.” His lips curved slightly as North straightened. “If you’re looking to take the edge off, without hacking up a lung, I could help you out.”

“Yeah?” North arched a brow at the lust in Derrick’s eyes. The young drum tech hadn’t been on the last tour with Winter’s Wrath—he was a skilled drummer in his own right, but for some reason things ‘hadn’t worked out’ with the small indie band he’d gone on a trial run with.

If he’d picked up the habit of shameless flirting from…from Tate, that might explain his inability to secure the position. Winter’s Wrath might encourage him to explore his sexuality, but very few bands would.

The drum tech was cute enough. Taller than Tate, with a broader build and—and why the fuck was North comparing him to Tate? Bad enough he’d see Tate in the studio. He could use a distraction now.

“Walk with me?” Derrick’s gaze was full of eagerness and need, a bit glazed from the joint, but he clearly knew exactly what he wanted. “Won’t take long.”

Lifting his shoulders, North motioned for Derrick to lead the way. He sensed someone watching and glanced back toward XVI Hours’ tour bus, not all that surprised to see Vanessa. For a second it looked like she would come over, remind him to stay in sight. But when Derrick brought him to the far side of the warehouse, which was cut off from the street by a tall fence bordered by bushes and trees, she simply leaned against the front of the bus and folded her arms over her chest.

There was a small space between the building and the fence, enough to avoid being seen from the lot, so North didn’t resist when Derrick backed him against the brick wall. He held the other man’s gaze as Derrick drew hard on the joint, lips parting as Derrick’s covered his. Breathing in the thick smoke slowly, North relaxed as Derrick’s hand slid down his chest.

“Do you want more?”

Do I? North wished the high would hit him, give him the distance he needed to accept what Derrick was offering. The touch felt good, but still…off.

“Give me another hit.” North leaned in this time, inhaling, closing his eyes as the exchange of smoke morphed into a hungry kiss. The weed was nice, not rank like some he’d had years ago when he was just starting out in the business. Now that he focused on it a bit more, he realized the smoke had an earthy, yet citrusy scent and taste.

As the buzz slowly dulled the wrongness of the kiss and the touch, North rested his head back against the bricks, taking the joint from Derrick as the other man dropped to his knees. He took a tentative puff of the joint, fighting the urge to cough and pressing his eyes shut as Derrick freed his dick.

“Derrick, Tate needs you to come change the snare!” Jesse’s voice cut across the lot and his sharp footsteps echoed, coming toward them.

Groaning, Derrick quickly stood, retrieving the joint as North fixed his jeans.

“Later, okay?” Derrick shot North a hopeful look before ducking out of their little hiding spot.

Right. Later. North banged his head against the wall as a chill crawled up his spine. Going through the motions with any warm body had been so easy once. Had been how he’d survived. But even with the high, even with Derrick being so perfectly uncomplicated, a voice in the back of North’s mind screamed at him that he wasn’t Tate. That Tate was close. That the temporary pleasure he’d get from Derrick wouldn’t be enough to erase what he’d lost.

“Not smart, North.”

Grinding his teeth, North looked over to meet Jesse’s hard gaze. He let out a bitter laugh. “What? Fucking roadies? You really want to go there?”

Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “Careful.”

“No, I don’t think I will be. You’ve got all these rules now that you had your fun? You fucked Brave, then moved on to his brother.” North stepped up to Jesse, tossing caution over a damn cliff. “Maybe you’re not the only one who wants to fuck their way to the top.”

Grabbing the front of North’s shirt, Jesse slammed him against the wall. “Watch your fucking mou—”

Before North could brace for the hit he knew was coming, Jesse was suddenly off him, stumbling back onto the lot. Vanessa stepped in front of the Winter’s Wrath’s tour manager, shoulders squared, though her stance was relaxed.

“I’d thank you to keep your hands off my client.” Vanessa put her hands on her hips. “Not that I should have to.”

“No. You’re right.” Jesse straightened his thin leather jacket and shook his head. “I was completely out of line. I apologize.”

“Sorry enough to let me play with who I want?” North didn’t need Vanessa protecting him. She was here for Annette. And Jesse punching him would replace the distraction he’d lost. He moved to step around her, sneering at the other man. “Alder’s been looking pretty bored lately.”

Jesse’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t take the bait. Meeting Vanessa’s eyes for a moment, he inclined his head. Then turned and walked away.

Avoiding slamming into Oakley with a swift sidestep.

Great. Just great. North really didn’t want to deal with his newbie tour manager. Or Vanessa. Or anyone. He was starting to wonder why he’d even agreed to the damn tour.

“North, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Oakley inhaled sharply, pulling off the sunglasses that he’d put on at some point after leaving the bus. “If you’re stressed and lashing out because of something I’ve done, I’m sorry.”

“This has nothing to do with you. I…” North shook his head. “Just forget it.”

“I’m here to make things easier for you.” Oakley’s brow creased, as though he was trying to figure out what to say next. He glanced at Vanessa, then back at North. “If you have an issue with the crew of Winter’s Wrath, I’ll keep them away from you.”

“You gonna keep the whole band away from me?” North’s lips thinned. “Kinda hard when we’re touring together.”

“Not necessarily. Yes, today you have to work together for the recording, but there’s little need to interact on the road. I’ll work on the schedule, the set-up, to make sure you’re off the stage well before they’re ready to go on. We can make different stops.” Oakley tucked the sunglasses in the pocket of his grey vest and folded his arms over his chest, mirroring Vanessa’s stance. “The priority is making this tour as successful as possible for you and the rest of XVI Hours. To accomplish that, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The guy seemed nice. And he was trying. Acting like an asshole to him because being anywhere near Tate fucked with North’s head would be stupid. The man probably thought North was a diva already. Like everyone did.

His actions gave them good reason. Was he really gonna fuck things up for his whole band because he was hurting? Could he be that selfish?

Probably. But they deserved better.

“I don’t need you changing things for me. The rest of the band gets along with Winter’s Wrath just fine.” North rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly freakin’ exhausted. “I’m a mess and I started shit for nothing. I’m the one who should apologize.” He made a face. “To Jesse too.”

Oakley nodded slowly. “I’m sure this is all overwhelming. We’ll adjust as needed. But maybe give it some time before you speak to Jesse again?”

“And you won’t be doing it alone.” For the first time since Oakley had arrived, Vanessa spoke up, her tone even, but hard. “Despite what you said, his response was inappropriate.”

“Naw, I knew what buttons to push.” North’s lips curved slightly as both Oakley and Vanessa stared at him. “I wanted him to hit me.”

“That’s…” Oakley blinked, rubbing his hand over his lips. “Unwise.”

“Well, no one’s ever called me wise.” North shrugged, starting across the lot, weirded out by how Oakley and Vanessa kept to either side of him, almost like he had two bodyguards. “I do stupid shit. You sure you’re getting paid enough to put up with that?”

“Absolutely not.” Oakley let out a nervous laugh at Vanessa’s glare, holding his hands up. “But it’s my job to make sure you have what you need. Perhaps find a way to tone down those urges. Would it help if I looked into… I mean if we found a… There are services that will—”

North barked out a laugh. “Are you offering to find me a hooker that’ll beat on me, Oakley?”

The tour manager went red, from the top of his ears, all the way to his neck. “Is that part of my job?”

“I should say yes, just to see you try to pull it off.” Twisted and hurt and messed up as he was, North couldn’t help like the guy. He’d decided not to because of that look before the drug test, but he could tell Oakley was sooo fucking out of his element. And making the job harder on him was cruel. “You’re not a bad guy, Oakley. And this was a good distraction. Probably better than getting my face busted in.”

“That’s…good?” Oakley looked confused. “Is there any other way I can help?”

Because making the guy blush was kinda fun, North gave him a slow smile. “Well, I was about to get my dick sucked before Jesse showed up, so—”

“North.” Vanessa’s warning tone cut playtime short. She stepped in front of him as they slowed near the bus, standing close to Oakley, as though he was the one she was here to protect. “That’s enough.”

“You’re right. I’ll behave.” North grinned at Vanessa’s doubtful look. “Thank you. Both of you. I’m good now.”

“You sure?” Oakley followed North’s gaze as the front door of Winter’s Wrath’s bus opened and the band came out. He turned to North, understanding in his eyes as North’s jaw clenched. “This was never about Jesse. Or the roadie.”

Throat tight, North retreated so his own bus blocked his view of Winter’s Wrath. Gave himself a moment to try to remember how to breathe. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“North, are you okay?”

“No.” North pressed his eyes shut and tipped his head back, craving the cold detachment he’d held on to for so long. The walls he’d built around himself that he should have never let anyone past. He couldn’t build them up again fast enough. “But I’m gonna have to be.”

* * * *

Tate stuck close to Alder’s side as they crossed the lot, hunching his shoulders and tugging at his hood when he saw North. But he couldn’t stop himself from looking again. North’s presence was like the most powerful magnet on earth, tugging insistently at him as though being this far was unnatural. The ache already in his chest tightened when he saw North had disappeared on the other side of XVI Hours’ bus.

North didn’t want to see him. Which was good. Exactly what he’d wanted.

Not what he needed, but his needs stopped mattering a long time ago.

Fuck, he’d give anything to go back to what they’d had for those few precious weeks. They’d been sneaking around, not wanting to piss off the members of both bands—mostly Tate’s, because the guys were overprotective and North was everything they tried to keep him safe from.

Only…North hadn’t been the unfeeling player with him. He hadn’t tried to use Tate, then toss him aside.

No, you’re the one who did that.

He forced himself to keep moving. To nod at whatever Alder said to him. But his thoughts slipped too easily to when life was actually good. To when he’d been happy.

“We’re gonna get caught.” Tate’s laugh was cut short by North’s hand over his mouth. He stared at North, who’d pulled him between the buses of two bands who likely wouldn’t be back from the club anytime soon. When North moved his hand, Tate grinned. “You being spontaneous is hot, but the guys will notice me missing in about five minutes. Not long enough to—”

North’s lips covered his in a deep kiss that sent his pulse racing. He let out a rough, needy sound as North curved his hand around the back of his neck, delving in with his tongue, letting it touch Tate’s, guiding him, tasting him, stealing all the air from his lungs. The way North kissed him promised so much. Not just sex, but moments like this, where they were so close and nothing else even existed.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day.” North’s voice was breathy as he rested his forehead against Tate’s. “Just that. I told you, there’s no rush.”

“But I want more.”

North’s lips curved at he brushed another kiss over Tate’s lips. “You’ll get more. The question is, how much do you want?”

With anyone else, Tate would have pushed to get fucked. After the too brief, too callous and cold threesome with Brave and Connor, Tate thought he wanted sex that would be satisfying and uncomplicated. Being with North was complicated, but he craved everything the man had to offer. More meaningful than a random hookup, which had always seemed out of reach.

North made him believe it wasn’t.

“I want everything, North.”

“Then wait, just a little longer.” North framed Tate’s jaw with his free hand, holding his gaze. “This is…new to me. I’ve never wanted to prove myself before. Might sound fucking cheesy, but…can I keep you?”

Warmth filled Tate’s chest. He tugged North close, even as he let out a soft laugh against his lips. “Doesn’t sound cheesy. Sounds like a quote from Casper and that scene was sweet.”

Red tinted the smooth curve of North’s cheeks. “Damn. Forgot about that. Probably where I got it. Sounded good in my head.”

“Sounded good out loud.”

“Yeah?”

“So long as I get to keep you too.” Tate brought his lips to North’s, knowing they were running out of time, but more than ready to let his man know they were on the same page. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The clang of a snare reminded him where his focus should be, but he struggled to go through the motions of replacing Derrick at the drums and test the sound himself. As always, everything was set up perfectly. Derrick was good at his job.

Right here in the recording studio, behind the drums, Tate could usually shut everything else away. Lose himself to the music. But he wasn’t feeling it. Warmup was lackluster, and he sensed the rest of the band’s eyes on him as he motioned for Derrick to come in and bring him a bottle of water.

“You good, man?” Derrick crouched down beside him. “I’ve never seen you this out of it.”

Fiddling with the strap of his eyepatch, Tate shrugged. “It’s just been a while, you know? Things will be better when we’re on the road.”

“I hope so. Everyone’s so damn uptight.” Derrick shook his head and sighed. “Thought we’d get to have fun, like we usually do, but Jesse got all pissed off just because I tried to get some action.”

Tate’s brow lifted. “Dude, what action? All the roadies besides you are straight.”

“Believe me, I know.” Derrick glanced around, continuing when he saw everyone was distracted tuning guitars and adjusting the amps. “North wanted to share a joint and…more.”

Throat locking, Tate lowered his gaze. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s fucking hot. Didn’t think I had a chance—Jesse hunted me down though.” Derrick let out an irritated huff. “Spoiled everything.”

Of all the people North could fool around with, he had to choose the fucking drum tech? The person Tate worked with the most? Was this his way of getting back at Tate for pushing him away? Rage and loss twisted together in his guts and he tightened his grip on his drum sticks so hard he was surprised they didn’t snap.

All this guilt, all he’d gone through over the summer, and North was gonna pull this petty shit?

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances.” Tate nudged his kick pedal until it was positioned just right. “Be careful though. Not sure he handled his…problem yet.”

Derrick leaned closer, speaking in a whisper. “His ‘problem’?”

“Look, I don’t wanna spread rumors. Do your thing, man.”

As expected, the drum tech wouldn’t let the implication slide. “You can’t tell me to be careful and not give me more. Come on, I thought we were friends.”

“We are.” Tate let out a heavy sigh, glancing around to make sure the rest of the band was still distracted and XVI Hours hadn’t come in yet. “He’s got this skin condition. Poor guy. It’s pretty contagious—he thought he had crabs at first, but no such luck.”

“I wouldn’t call that lucky either.” Derrick shuddered. “Are you for real?”

Tate lifted his shoulders. “Hey, I didn’t buy it myself at first, but this guy he was fooling around with on the last tour had these sores all over his mouth and his cheeks. Looked painful.”

The color left Derrick’s face. “But I pulled out his dick and I didn’t see—”

“Guess he took care of it then.” Tate flipped one of his drum sticks in the air, then the other, loosening his wrists and suppressing the urge to growl at the thought of Derrick with his hands on North. He was being pretty petty himself, but he didn’t give a damn. He refused to spend the whole tour listening to Derrick gush about North.

“Guess so.” Sounding uncertain, Derrick jumped when Jesse made a sharp motion for him to clear the set, quickly returning to his spot on the other side of the glass doors.

Where he jumped again as North approached, backing away so abruptly he almost knocked Jesse over in his haste. North shot him a puzzled look, then continued into the studio with the rest of XVI Hours.

The smirk that had been on Tate’s lips faded away as the impact of having North so close hit him. Unlike everyone else in both bands, North looked different. Paler, with dark shadows under his eyes, his wavy, golden-brown hair which he always wore in a carelessly sexy style simple shoved off to one side, the longer part falling over one pale blue eye. His carved features and scruffy jaw, which usually gave him an intense bad boy appearance, came off as wary and worn out instead.

He’d lost some weight too, but still had those defined muscles that had felt so good under Tate’s hands and lips. He’d asked North once if he worked out and North had chuckled, asking if jerking off was considered exercise. Then he’d confessed to having a routine he did in intervals every day, whenever he got a moment alone. He didn’t like people seeing him work out—didn’t want to seem even more vain than he already did—but he was afraid of what would happen if he let himself go, even a little bit. That people wouldn’t pay to be close to him anymore.

As arrogant as everyone thought North was, the man had some serious insecurities. He talked like it was his body being paid for, not his voice. And if he got compliments about his music, he redirected it to the band. He still had the ego of a lead singer, could still pull off one hell of a diva tantrum, but he’d shown Tate the man behind the brash exterior.

Or I thought he did, anyway.

Once XVI Hours was positioned and warmed up, the bands went through the cover of You May Be Right. Warped in a way to keep some of the fun, but also bring in a dark, twisted edge. The hairs rose on the back of Tate’s neck as Brave let out his signature throaty growl before the chorus. With minor chords, the song continued to degenerate until a dueling guitar solo between Alder and Kace brought it to a pulse-racing high, which Tate worked with Quinton to keep thundering for a few more beats.

The silence that followed had Tate trembling, and he wet his lips as North continued the second verse, the song completely deconstructed now. Dariel’s violin accompanying each note, lengthening it into a chilling pitch. North’s voice gained power as the guitars joined in. The drums mimicked a heart beating, faster and faster. Holding the rhythm was the only thing that kept Tate from messing up as North spun around, raking his hand through his hair. He caught Tate’s eye for a split second before returning to the mic to sing with Brave, their voices combining in a harmony the men never found when they weren’t singing.

Neither band had been sure they’d find it even then, but the smooth, haunting quality of Brave’s voice, combined with the sensual grittiness of North’s was fucking perfect. Alder and Annette added another pitch, an echo of the lyrics, fading in and out until the singing stopped and the guitars and drums were allowed to conclude with an organized riot of sound.

Sweat dripped down Tate’s back as he grabbed his water bottle, gulping every last drop and grinning as Alder glanced back at him with a smile of approval. Malakai looked over too and his lips curved, the sadness in his eyes gone. He almost seemed…happy.

“No offense to Quinton, but fuck, having you back where you belong is fucking amazing.” Connor slung his guitar behind him and leaned over Tate’s drum kit, clapping Tate on the shoulder and coming way too close to knocking over the bass. “I thought Annette and Alder were nuts when they suggested that song, but sounds damn good.”

Connor with his filter gone was exactly what Tate needed to push any lingering thoughts of North from his head. The guitarist seemed steady enough—no way would his boyfriend let him skip his meds—but his excitement killed his already shaky ability to read a room.

Not that Tate cared. He checked to make sure neither Alder or Annette looked offended, then leaned forward with a mock whisper. “Dude, I hadn’t ever heard the song. But I guess Brave getting his brother into old people music paid off.”

“Whoa there, kid.” Brave stuck his mic in the stand and folded his arms over his chest. “Billy Joel is one of the greats. And watch who you’re calling old.”

“Sorry.” Tate’s lips quirked. “Sir.”

Brave shook his head, but there was laughter in his eyes. He looked over both bands for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I think this one’s ready. Let’s do a run-through of Still Breathing, then get to recording.”

“We should already be recording.” North shoved his hands in his pockets, glaring at the carpeted floor. “Studio time isn’t cheap.”

“Renting another space to practice would’ve cost more.” Brave gave North a hard look, but his tone remained civil. “Besides, Clay ain’t charging us until he’s on the clock.”

In the recording booth Clay, the old man with the shiny bald head and kind brown eyes, who’d helped Brave refine his singing skills as a teen, tapped on the glass and gave the bands a thumbs up. Brave talked about the guy a lot, more now that he’d opened up to every member of Winter’s Wrath, and the recording engineer was his hero. While Brave had been neglected by his parents, and abused by his older brother, music had saved him.

After dealing with his own shit growing up, Tate knew exactly what that was like. His grandmother was the hero in his own story. The one who’d given him a new direction when he’d been so fucking lost.

Only…he was lost again. And she couldn’t save him this time. No one could.

But he had right now. Making something that would last even if he never found himself again.