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I explode with a growl, and he sucks up every drop of my release. My muscles and bones go slack, at a loss on how to function properly.
“That was…” I shake my head, still floating down from my cataclysmic orgasm.
Z rises to his feet, his expression a bit lost. I reach for him to anchor him against my chest.
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to lose control like that,” he says.
I huff out a laugh. “Z, I jumped your bones, and you’re apologizing to me for the best sex of my life? I didn’t even fucking reciprocate.”
“You did,” he murmurs.
“I will. Soon. I want to.” I hold him for a few heartbeats. “Let’s head back to the hotel and change. Although, I should probably wash the cum off my hand first.”
Fifteen
Z
I’mapieceofshit for avoiding him.
But what we did in that venue in Kentucky, what I allowed myself to do to him, it can never happen again. Agony spears into me every time I catch Hail’s hopeful eyes glancing my way on stage or on the tour bus.
I throw myself further into work and pray that something is being mended inside of me. This new medication seems to be working. The crew doesn’t mind my silent company amidst multiple strong personalities. Liam and I have found a good rhythm together. He’s mentioned that he’s pleased with my work ethic. I even picked out a new guitar pedal for him. He’s been using it on stage during performances to get a richer sound.
Even with my honed attention on work, in the quiet moments lying in bed at night, I allow myself to hope. I hope that one day I can be a good enough man for Hail. But I don’t have the confidence in myself that I’ll ever become one. And I don’t have the heart to ask him to wait for me to become what he needs.
Because Hail needs love. Not the darkness I would bring to a relationship. The last thing I want to do is ruin him. There are so many other pure souls out in this world that would give him what he deserves.
So I’ve become skilled at keeping our conversations to a bare minimum, circling back around to work or picking up an instrument to initiate another jam session with the band on the bus ride between cities.
Eventually, Hail and I will get back to a point where we can collaborate without wanting to jump each other’s bones, right?
I can tell it’s driving him mad to not get more time with me, but he hasn’t outwardly spoken about Kentucky either. Maybe he can sense I need a bit of space. Or maybe he’s not as interested as I assumed. Maybe he’s mad over what we did. Maybe he decided guys aren’t for him. I wouldn’t know because I’m too cowardly to use my words to talk to him about any of it.
During our next afternoon break, I sneak off to the tour bus to work on some songs alone. Strumming out a few chords on my acoustic guitar, I lower my head and fall into a melody, eager to purge the sin from my bones.
Spiraling into this hole, death taunts me
Lures me in with the promise of release
From these infinite visions of you broken
My fingers bled trying to fit you back together
Tell me, where is the root of all your pain?
Tell me, how do I begin again?
My head snaps up in horror as Hail appears on the bus. He’s panting hard, like he sprinted here all the way from the main festival stage. Was he looking for me?
I’m not worth your effort, I want to tell him. I voice it through my solemn gaze.
I suppose I can’t avoid a conversation with him forever. I move to lift my guitar off my lap, but he stops me.
“No, keep playing that song. Please.“
“It’s not finished—”
“Play, Z. Pretend I’m not here.”
