Page 75 of If the World Was Ending

“Sleep on your side,” Hunter demanded, ignoring the question. Colby rolled over. “When do you get back to Los Angeles?”

“The tour should end in two weeks,” Colby replied, his voice heavy but less slurred. “I can go back to the apartment?”

“It’s your home, Colby.”

“Good. We’re still friends and roommates,” Colby murmured, and Hunter knew he was half passed out.

He took his own phone and propped it up against the base of the light on his night table, then stripped down to his underwear without getting off the bed. After kicking his discarded clothes off the mattress, he crawled under the duvet and fell asleep watching his best friend snore through the phone.

Chapter 24

What’s JBF hair?

Colby woke up to a dead phone and a vicious hangover. His brain felt two sizes too big for his skull and like it was made of cotton. His mouth was drier than a desert, and the entire room smelled like vomit. When he dragged himself out of bed to take a much overdue piss, he realized why that was. He had forgotten to flush the toilet after he puked. And discovering that had him bent over the bowl puking again. Once he was done bringing up whatever was left in his stomach and pissing, he flushed the damn toilet and collapsed on the tile, closing his eyes and replaying what he could remember of the night before.

He had been so destroyed over the fight, or whatever it was, with Hunter, and if that wasn’t enough, he’d gotten a call from an unknown number. He hadn’t wanted to answer it, but he did because of the absurd hope that maybe, for some reason, it was Hunter. It was Atlas, his piece of shit brother.

“Don’t hang up!” He’d pleaded immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry.”

“I don’t care.” Colby had said. Cursing his mom silently because he knew that’s how Atlas must have gotten his number. “And this—you—is the last thing I fucking need right now.”

“I would leave you alone if I could, but I’m getting married, Colb, and you haven’t RSVP’d.” Atlas’s voice had been raw, tortured, and Colby hadn’t felt the joy from it that he thought he would. “You’re supposed to be a groomsman, so please. Just come.”

“No.”

“Fuck, Colby. Come on.”

“I’m in Canada on tour.”

“Yeah, I know, but not in a month, which is when this happens,” Atlas had replied. And then he’d sighed. “Gina is already asking questions. If you don’t show up, what the fuck am I supposed to tell her?”

“Tell her why I’m mad at you. I’m sure she’ll understand my absence.”

“Colby.”

“Atlas.” Colby had pressed his fingers into his forehead in a desperate attempt to massage away the thumping in his skull. “Look, there’s no fixing this, Atlas. Go get married, hide in the back of the deepest closet you can, and drag this poor girl in with you. I won’t stop you, but don’t pretend you care about me and what you did to me. If you gave a fuck about it, you’d have apologized and checked in on me long before you needed something.”

“I was hoping Dad would get the fuck over it,” Atlas had replied. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know that.”

“I thought Dad would adjust.”

“And let’s pretend he can get over being a homophobic prick and Dad suddenly accepts one of his sons likes to watch dudes fuck,” Colby had said, too furious to be even the slightest bit polite. “Then you what? Turn around and tell him: surprise! I was actually watching the footage for myself. It wasn’t Colby. All good?”

“It was you. I was surfing links you’d saved.”

“Because YOU wanted to! Because YOU’RE GAY!”

“I’m bi, so fuck off,” Atlas had snapped.

“And you get to decide not to tell people that. I don’t get to decide anything because you fucking did it for me,” Colby had yelled. He’d stopped and swallowed, his throat raw. Then started to worry he’d get a fucking noise complaint. He’d purposely lowered his voice. “I’ll never forgive you. I’m not coming to your fucking bullshit wedding.”

Then Colby had hung up, with shaking fingers, and he’d blocked his brother’s number. The night took an ungraceful swan dive from there. He’d ordered a bottle of Jack Daniel's from room service because VIP guests could do that at hotels like this, he’d learned through Ford, and proceeded to get drunk. When Trevor had knocked on his door to see if he wanted to grab dinner, Colby had convinced him to smoke a blunt, and then Trevor let him raid his minibar.

Then he messaged Hunter for what he thought would be the very last time, telling him he would move out. Finally, cutting off Atlas had somehow made him want to burn everything to the ground. Colby told himself Hunter was better off without him. He had his own career to focus on. Besides, how do you go back to being just buddies with a guy whose dick you’ve sucked? No, they needed to walk away from each other. He would do whatever it took to be successful, prove his family wrong—he was good enough and worthy—and he would find his people. He had wanted Hunter to be one of those people, but maybe he just couldn’t be. Because Colby wasn’t allowed to have it all. That wouldn’t be fair.

And then… Colby’s brain pulled the rest of the night together… His phone rang again. And it was… Hunter? Yeah. Hunter called him back. On video. And he was… having a panic attack? Colby opened his eyes as the memory came into focus. He stared at the pristine white hotel bathroom ceiling.