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Frowning, I think back on earlier. I knew Ivy was feeling pretty good, but other than a couple hours where Jeremy genuinely seemed to be enjoying himself, he’s been distant for most of the day. Not that I saw him much during the parade. He and Mason fell back pretty far, and we didn’t see them until the end.
Actually, now that I think about it, it was onlyafterthat, when he seemed to perk up a bit. I assume that’s when the drugs must’ve hit him.
I try not to worry. He’s not Waylon or Mason or Shawn.
I guess it’s just something I think about more now, what with being surrounded by addicts. It’s impossible not to wonder where the line is between recreation and dependence.
Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I find Waylon staring down at his phone. His thumbs fly across the screen. Perhaps he’s texting the others to see where they’re at. Not that them being back at my parents’ house will stop us—I’ll just take him back up to the attic where no one can hear us—but knowing Waylon, he wants to get an idea of what to prepare for.
“Seriously, man,” Jeremy shouts, “get outta here. Don’t worry about us.”
I meet him head-on once more, studying his brown eyes. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
Not for the first time, I want to pry, but I remember what he said when we last talked about what’s been going on with him and Mason.
“I want to tell you more, but no one else can know. I won’t put you in that position.”
I blow out a sharp breath and nod a couple times, knowing it’s for the best, as much as it sucks. I want to be there for Jeremy. He’s my friend—maybe even my best friend apart from the guy waiting for me.
But knowing Jeremy’s been pining after Mason for years is one thing. It’s not my story to tell after all. Waylon would understand that.
But if something actually happened between them—hell, Iknowsomething happened; I just don’t know what—well, there’s no way I could keep something like that from my boyfriend.
Jeremy’s eyes pinch at the corners, and I get the feeling he knows what I’m thinking. I give him a tight, understanding smile in return, silently conveying with my eyes how much this sucks that I can’t be there for him with this.
He gives a little shake of his head, telling me it’s okay. He gets it. He respects it. It just is what it is.
We say our goodbyes, and I make my way back toward Waylon.
His brows lift toward his hairline “Ready?”
Nodding, I follow him as he starts pushing his way through the throng of people. I spare one last glance over my shoulder, some of the tension in my chest unfurling when I find Jeremy smiling up at a rugged looking guy in a muscle tee. The guy waves down the bartender, lifting two fingers.
Shaking my head, I smile and look away.
Yeah, he’ll be just fine.
Once outside, the doors close behind us, stealing away the sound. My ears ring in the sudden quiet, and the night air on my skin feels like heaven compared to the sweltering heat we just escaped. Waylon’s pale, inked skin glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. His dark hair sticks to his temples.
“Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand like it’s nothing, and all thoughts of Mason and Jeremy disappear, and all that remains now is this moment.
The street isn’t empty. Street lamps and LED signs from nearby windows light up our surroundings, making the asphalt glitter.
Like inside the shadows of the club, there is anonymity out here too, but it’s different. The people passing by us can see us, but they don’t know us.
They don’t know what it fucking took to get here.
They look at us and all they probably see are two guys holding hands, grinning at each other like love-sick dorks. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Music trickles from open windows, combatting the whooshing of distant cars.
I grew up here. Walked these streets too many times to count. And yet, it feels different tonight. New and shiny and bright.
“I like this, City Boy,” Waylon says, squeezing my palm.
I sidle up closer, sandwiching our arms together, and I tell him simply, “Me too, Rockstar. Me too.”
7
