“Like I said, rude.”Ry let his palm crawl up Alex’s tank top, the material stretched taut across his thick chest.
“Mmhmm.”Alex caught his hand and held it, intertwining their hands for a moment, then he bent to nuzzle Ry.
Ry closed his eyes, a jolt running through him, a familiar, exhilarating shock that was always too fleeting.He savored the kiss, the lingering taste of tequila on Alex's lips a sharp, delicious tang—a potent blend of salt, bright lime, and the pungent bite of the alcohol: undeniably, wonderfully good.
“So, is it time for another shot?”Lon said.
Ry’s smile was a warm curve against Alex’s lips as their kiss deepened.A soft, contented sigh, barely audible, escaped Alex as his own smirk mirrored Ry’s.
“Sure,” the big guy said.“We should think about heading home afterwards.”
Arend laughed.“Alright, one more celebratory drink to close out this fine evening?”
Ry said, “Thanks.”
The clatter of glass and the murmur of the bar enveloped them as they followed Arend to the counter.He slurred his order for one last round of shots.They raised their drinks, the liquid's burn a familiar prelude to another bout of boisterous cheers.A grin spread across Ry’s face, the warmth seeping into him.Good friends, good times, a life unfolding as he'd dreamed.
CHAPTER 13: PRESENT
Ry's eyes snapped open, assaulted by sterile fluorescent lights overhead.A wave of dizziness washed over him as a low hum filled the air.Where am I?The last he remembered was the thumping bass of the club, Lon's face, and then … a jolt as his stuttering pulse attempted to quicken.The room's stark lighting revealed a window, offering an overcast view of a drab parking lot.The verdant landscape outside, a sharp contrast to the expected concrete jungle of LA, confirmed it—he was still in London.
In a hospital.
A hot flush spread across his neck and face.His limbs were heavy, his thoughts mired, and a constant pang settled in his chest.A prickling sensation slithered under his skin, making it impossible to relax.
Fuck.A throbbing pain pounded behind his eyes, a dull fire searing through his arms.The attempt to move sent jolts of agony through him.Thin tubes snaked in and out of his flesh.
He shifted his head slightly, a subtle movement that brought a sudden, overwhelming metallic taste flooding his mouth as bile rose in his throat.The room swam, forcing him to lie still.Sterile white walls offered no comfort, and the distant, rhythmic beep of unseen machines broke the silence.Antiseptic hung in the air, stinging his nostrils.A heavy lassitude settled into his bones.
After what seemed an eternity of discomfort, a nurse finally entered the room, her scrubs a sunny yellow.Her short blonde hair framed her round face; two sharp green eyes watched him.Her nametag read Abby.
“Morning, Mr.Clair.How are you feeling?”
His dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.“Like shit.”
“No wonder.Now, do you remember anything?”
He nodded.“Drank a lot, took Xanax.”
Abby clicked.“Surprised you remembered.By the way, you’ve got yourself a visitor, eh?He can come in after I take some vitals.”
She fussed over him for a few minutes, taking notes.
“Who?”he croaked out.
“Nice gentleman,” she said.“Afraid I forgot his name, love.All right then, I’ll let him see you and I’ll be back with something to help you rest more.”
“Thanks,” he said.
She patted him gently on the shoulder and left.Not much time after, a man came in wearing sunglasses.He also wore a simple gray sweater and loose-fitting trousers.Long, curly hair framed a face Ry knew too well.He took off his shades.Though the outfit had changed, Arend’s hard eyes had not.He closed the door behind him.
“Mr.Clair,” Arend said.He sat on the chair near the exit, crossed his legs and stared at Ry.“I do not wish to be the bearer of bad news, but alas, your unfortunate choices last night led us here.”
Ry shifted on the bed, opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Arend said, leaning forward.“You’ll have a busy schedule when you’re back—I need you ready.We’ve got the next album to finish and a tour to announce, and I won’t sugarcoat it: this last one underperformed because you didn’t listen.We can’t let that happen again.And you still owe for the missed interview.”
He reclined, chin in his hand.“You’ve been a PR nightmare.The tabloids already ran the photos.I only do what I do to ensure the success of Ghostfire.”
