Alex chuckled and released one arm.He drank some of his cocoa, then set it down again.“By the way, I plan to stay until the power is back on or the roads are safer to drive.”
“Okay,” Ry said.He grabbed his cup, wrapping his fingers for maximum warmth.“This is good.”
“Enjoy.Let’s both hope I can make food for dinner out of the scraps you have and what I could get at the store.”
Ry watched Alex over his drink.There was a certain intensity in his expression when he was planning something.He looked angry while lost in thought.Ry learned to read past that look.Alex was talking through some of his plans, but Ry let the words flow over him.Now Alex smiled at him, his face lighting up with boyish delight.
“What are you smiling at, babe?”
“You,” Ry said, raising his hand to Alex’s cheek.“I love your smile.”
Alex blushed.Ry set down his empty mug.He leaned in and kissed Alex, his lips soft and tasting of hot cocoa.Ry snuggled closer, burrowing as much as he could into Alex.
They locked lips again, Alex capturing Ry’s mouth over and over.His body tingled with heat at the points their bodies touched, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through him.He never wanted to let go.
CHAPTER 9: PRESENT
Light, intermittent rain tapped against the car as Ry rode through the dark and gray streets of London.The tires hissed along the slick road.His reflection, marred by splotchy drops and streaks of water, stared at him through the window.
Big Ben loomed bright against the dreary weather.Close to o2.His driver pulled up to the back entrance of the Riverside Plaza Hotel, his home for the next few days, and managed his luggage for him.The elegant combination of polished wood and shimmering glass reminded him of the gala held here years ago.
“Your fans are your lifeline,” Pink had said to him when he’d asked her about success.“Listen to them, fight for them, and show up for them.Their belief is the reason we can keep doing this.”
“How?”
She grinned.“Give them honesty, sweat, and a damn good show.”Then she winked at him before moving to another conversation.
Arend stood outside the door, protected from the elements.He wore a brimmed hat and the garish faux-fur coat he favored lately.His furrowed brow and dark, intense eyes, arms crossed tightly, all painted a clear picture of his displeasure.
The damp air filled Ry's lungs.He ignored Arend's posture.That man had power over him, for now.But Ry had choices, though they shared a goal: finish the tour.Ry needed to get back on stage: for himself and for the fans.He owed it to them.
“Welcome, Orion,” Arend said, his voice as flat as the weather.He gestured behind him.“Shall we?You’d much prefer to settle in, I know.”
Arend opened the door and walked in lockstep with him.“Our interview starts at four thirty-three.I trust you can manage a shower and a change of clothes in the time allowed.”
Ry clenched his jaw.“Of course.”
“Good.”Arend smiled and waved him into the elevator.“And no surprises.Understood?”
The lift ascended seven floors in a hushed, prickling silence.Ry’s fingers tightened into a fist, Arend’s reflection watching him.He focused on the steady in-and-out of his own breath, the cool, recycled air.He wasn’t sure how he’d endure the rest of the tour.
When the doors opened and Arend led the way, Ry exhaled, his chest relaxing.
“We’re meeting in my room across the hall.Please be punctual; it saves us both the trouble.”
Ry pushed open the door to reveal a spacious suite, a stark contrast to the cramped quarters he'd grown used to at the rehab facility.The air inside, though stale, offered a faint, clean scent, and the light from the hallway cast shadows.
Flipping the lamp switch, he closed the door on Arend.The porter had already brought the bags up to his room, faster than Ry thought possible, and had arranged them in front of the closet.The smallest roller had more of his personal clothes.
He grabbed his toiletries and headed to the bathroom.Turning the faucet to hot, he hopped into the shower, the steamy water hitting him hard.The spray rinsed away the fatigue of a long flight, the vapor invigorating.
After he’d toweled off and wrapped himself up, he dug through his bag.Phone interviews never required showy attire, but Arend had surprised them all before with formal lunches or dinners after meetings with industry execs.He settled on slim black pants, an overside black hoodie with bones on the sleeves, and black shoes.A few more minutes until interview time.
He opened the curtains of his room and looked out on the Thames, the water below a murky reflection of the sky.Drizzle misted the view, and after a moment, he closed the curtains and stood straighter, bracing himself.
His fingers buzzed and his back tensed as he knocked on the door across the hall.Arend’s words echoed.It didn’t matter if Ry was early, late, or on time: Arend would have something to say, some way to twist and control.Dr.Rosa’s voice came to him: find three things.Marks and scuffs adorned the walls, a ghost of lemon and bleach remained, the unmoving air cool against his neck.
Brand answered the door.He wore loose gray jeans and an orange and blue jumper his mother had given him years ago.His brows rose, and his mouth opened.
