Page 9 of The Long Refrain (Sweet Southern #4)

9

BENJI

NOVEMBER 2027

N olan sleeps like the dead. It’s almost terrifying. His back barely moves, eyelashes perfectly still, mouth closed tightly as he sleeps away the cobwebs of the show from last night. One month on tour has taught me that being a rockstar is definitely not as fun as they make it look in the movies. If Nolan isn’t sleeping, practicing, or playing for crowded arenas, then he’s begging me to fuck him until he falls into a deep, deadly sort of sleep.

I’m still learning how to strike the perfect balance with him. It seems the longer the tour goes on, the more sullen he appears. He’s also getting more difficult to handle, his emotions volatile, his want for borderline violent sex increasing at a rate that kind of terrifies me. I mean, sex is sex, but with Nolan it has this edge to it that makes me wonder if he really wants it, or if he’s just going through the motions. Sometimes it feels like I’m just a tool to increase whatever pain he’s simmering in.

Only our dates make me feel like maybe this isn’t the worst idea known to mankind. When I take him to some tourist trap in whatever city we’re in, when I make him laugh despite the exhaustion radiating off of him, when he’s quiet and pliant in my arms at night after a fuck that steals my breath, I wonder what it would be like to keep him. While the tour is grueling and mostly miserable, I like spending time with Nolan. I like the way his brain works and his derisive commentary on just about everything.

But after a month, I still can’t get a read on how he feels about me. Every emotion Nolan has is carefully hidden behind steel walls that are impossible to permeate. Impossible to climb. I only see what he wants me to see and nothing more.

An incoming call from my mom lights up my phone, shaking me from my reverie. Not wanting to wake Nolan, I roll out of bed and pad toward the balcony that overlooks Milan, Italy. Afternoon has the streets bustling below, the scent of food from nearby restaurants wafting up to the balcony.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Where’s my world traveler today?” Mom asks.

“Milan.”

Mom sighs wistfully. “We spent a few weeks in Italy before you were born. Loved it there. I prefer the Amalfi coast.” Mom’s voice dips down into a whisper. “The nightlife there was bonkers.”

“Why are you whispering?” Mama’s shout echoes through the line. I can’t help but grin. They’re kooky and weird but they’re my moms. I miss them so much it hurts.

“Well, I didn’t particularly want you to hear.”

“Why?” Mama says with an accusing lilt to her voice.

“Oh, here we go,” Mom mutters.

“No fighting! It’s afternoon here, so it must be early there. Everything alright?”

“Oh, yes,” Mama says, having obviously commandeered the phone from Mom. “Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”

“Probably not. My travel plans won’t bring me home until next year.”

“What?” Mom asks in confusion. “You won’t be home for Christmas?”

Oh, here comes the guilt. “Probably not until your birthday, Mama.”

“Oh.”

The phone goes deadly silent. “Sorry, guys.”

“It’s okay!” Mom says because she’s always the one to save face, the one to fix any sort of problem. “You’ll just have to meet the new additions to the family when you come back home. Everyone misses you.”

“I miss them too.” No matter how I feel about growing up in the commune, growing up so sheltered, I do miss the people. I keep in touch with a few of the kids my age via social media, especially the ones who left like I did.

“Are you okay, honey?” Mom asks in her sweet-as-honey, Georgia-peach accent. The familiar sound of it rolls over me, soothing some of the bumps and bruises I’ve gathered over the past month.

“I’m fine. I promise. I miss you guys soooooo much.”

“Now you sound more like yourself. Well, it’s early. We’ll let you go. But we love you, Sunshine. You’re the light of our lives.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

The sound of a small skirmish filters through the phone and I can clearly hear the sound of Mama stepping out onto the porch, the small creek behind the house bubbling through the phone speaker.

“Mi corazon, mijo. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I promise. Don’t worry!”

Mama sighs heavily. I can practically see her leaning against the porch railing, black hair shot through with gray. “If you say so. Your mom is driving me up the wall, you know. She’s doing that whole mural thing again. We’ve painted and repainted the bedroom three times.”

Crap. Mom only does that when she’s anxious because of me. “I’ll text more. Promise. Also, I hope it’s flowers and not insects again. The beetles were super freaky.”

“It’s galaxies now,” Mama says with an air of resignation.

I try really hard to not laugh. But I can practically envision the black wall with weird splotches of color splattered across it. “Oh, space. Nice. The best of a lot of bad options.”

I can practically hear Mama’s shoulders lowering from her ears. “Alright, mijo. We love you. Call soon.”

“Love you,” I murmur just before the line quiets.

I glance back over my shoulder and sigh in relief when Nolan is still sound asleep in the messy bed. Rubbing at my face, I shake off the phone call. It’s fine. They’d just worry if they knew the mess that I was in. And it definitely is a certified mess. The room is chilly and breaks goose pimples over my skin as I tread back into the bedroom. Nolan makes a small disgruntled sound when I lie quietly back down beside him.

His dark brown eyes blink open slowly, as if there is an insurmountable amount of something weighing them down. As the tour goes on, he looks closer to death than life. I want to feed him, make him sleep, pull him into my body to keep him safe. I have this odd sense of feeling that he’s slowly slipping through my grip, like sand at the beach.

“Morning,” I whisper into the soft beige sheets.

Nolan grunts and leans forward to bury his face in my neck. A few seconds go by where he just simply breathes me in, his fingers dancing across the expanse of my back before settling at my shoulder blades. His skin is so cold against my own overheated body. The shape of his hand feels like a brand, one that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forget.

“Are you making me go out on a date today?” Nolan murmurs against my skin, his teeth lightly nipping at my throat with each word.

“Making is such an odd choice of words, Nolan.”

He snorts and snuggles closer against me. I close my eyes tight against the small, rare show of want from him. Usually by now he’s fled the bed, pushed me away until I feel tormented with some odd sense of loss. He’s still naked after last night, so I curl my hand over the hard curve of his hip, the bone biting into the softness of my palm.

“Are you taking me out today?”

“Yes.”

Nolan hums quietly. When he pulls away, his eyes are full of more life than they have been for weeks. “Do you need to go home for Thanksgiving?”

“Were you eavesdropping?”

Nolan rolls over onto his back, bringing me with him. His leg curls around my hip, his slowly hardening cock nudging against mine. Fuck.

“You talk very loudly.”

That’s definitely not true. “I was whispering.”

I shiver when Nolan scratches at my scalp. He blinks slowly up at me. “Your whisper is very loud.”

I can’t take one more second of his fingers working their magic in my hair. I grab his wrists and press them down into the pillows above his head. The pulse in his wrist pounds against my palm, proof of life. Nolan stays quiet, only arching one eyebrow as he waits for my next move.

“Nolan, what do you want to do today?”

Nolan’s eyebrows furrow, his fingers curling to bite into my knuckles. “What?” he asks, sounding slightly affronted.

I dip down to brush a kiss over his cheek. He gasps slightly, just barely audible, but it’s a sound that settles low in my gut.

“Do you want to go out? Stay here with me? Dates don’t have to be us gallivanting around whatever city we’re in. We can do something in this hotel room until it’s time for you to get ready for your show.”

“Can we fuck?” Nolan asks, voice pitched low. The sound settles low and warm in my chest, sending a zip of lightning shooting through my body.

“After the show.”

Nolan tilts his head back in frustration. “Whatever. Fine. I don’t know why you’re so set on spending time with me anyway. Just collect your paycheck and fuck me after the shows.”

Something about his tone rings an alarm in my brain. He’s not even being sarcastic or irritable. I can tell now what his tones mean, and that one means everything he said was a statement of fact to him. Even without the fucking, I’m so curious about Nolan that I’d happily spend days getting to know his irritable, sour self. If only he’d let me.

“Bath first.” I roll out of bed and bite back a laugh when Nolan stares up at me, annoyance painted across his face. I wiggle my fingers in invitation. “Come on, angel. It’s my date day. I’ll give you what you want even if you don’t know how to ask for it.”

An emotion that I’m not privy to crosses Nolan’s face. His eyes crinkle and his mouth turns down into a new frown that I catalog in my memory bank. I think I’ve shocked Nolan so greatly that he has no other choice but to go along with me. His fingers tangle with mine, making it easy to tug him out of the bed.

The bathroom has a large clawfoot tub that’ll probably, maybe, hopefully, fit us both. If not, Nolan can sit comfortably on my lap, and I won’t complain. Turning the water on high and to the type of hot, scalding temperature I’ve learned Nolan likes, I toss in some of the bath salts and oils the hotel provided. The air fills with the scent of lavender and vanilla. When I glance over my shoulder, Nolan is leaning against the sink, carefully keeping his gaze pointed away from the mirror.

“Come on, angel.” I climb into the tub and wiggle my fingers again in demand for him to join me. He never fails to smile when I do this. It’s a small Nolan smile, the one that tips just one corner of his mouth up, but I always count it as a win.

“We’re too big for this,” Nolan mutters as he climbs in, easily settling between my legs.

I wrap my arm around his cold chest, pulling him tightly against my front until he’s snugly pressed into the curve of my body. His heart pounds a rapid beat against my palm, so I gently swipe my thumb across his damp skin, hoping to calm it.

“Tell me something I can’t learn from Google,” I whisper into the skin of Nolan’s neck.

His hands rub up and down my thighs, as he sighs deeply. “My entire life is on Google. You know everything.”

“I haven’t looked you up, so I don’t know anything already.”

Nolan’s hands still their questing journey on my thighs. “You haven’t looked me up?”

I shake my head and nuzzle deeper into his neck. Pressing a kiss against his pulse point, I slowly raise my hand to cup his throat. “No. I want to know what you want me to know. Nothing the internet says means shit.”

“You’re so fucking weird, Benjamin.”

“That’s not my name,” I whine, because it’s actually starting to have a ring to it when he says it.

“I know,” Nolan quietly admits, almost quiet enough for me to miss it.

“What’s my name?”

“Sunshine,” Nolan whispers, fingers dancing across the skin of my thigh.

“How do you…”

Nolan chuckles lightly. “Chris does background checks on all my men. Just like I knew everything about Trevor’s past. I know your name is Sunshine and that you dropped out of college after two semesters.”

This fact should probably piss me off but it doesn’t. “Doesn’t seem fair that you know that about me but I’ve never googled you.”

“Well…” Nolan trails off with a soft, barely audible sigh. “I don’t call you by your name, do I? It’s pretty obvious you don’t like it.”

“I go by my middle name,” I admit quietly.

“I’ll offer you a trade,” Nolan says just as quietly. Goose pimples pop up in their wake as I trail my fingers over his forearms. “The first time I performed on stage for a crowd of around one hundred people… I ran off as soon as I finished singing and vomited all over the stairs behind the venue.”

The biggest rockstar in the world has stage fright. “Then what’d you do?”

Nolan turns his head to aim an annoyed look at me. “I taught myself to not vomit after being on stage. What else is there to do?”

“What do you mean you taught yourself?”

Nolan huffs and turns back around. His hand splashes in the water a few times, sending ripples through the warm, soapy water. Back to chest, I can almost imagine we’re one person like this, like when we get out of the tub, we’ll still be stuck together, just one solitary human. I wonder if it’s possible to share my breath with him, when he so desperately needs the air.

“I taught myself to not feel nausea. What else is there to do?”

“How did you do that?”

Nolan lets out a deep groan. “Benji, seriously, it’s not that fucking deep. I go on stage, zone out, then come back off stage and you fuck me. That’s it. What other tidbits about Nolan Hastings do you want, hmm? Want to know how many men I’ve fucked? Want to know about how my druggie parents dropped me off at my great-grandma’s house when I was a kid because the drugs meant more to them than I did? Want to know about the group home I was in after my grandma died and how the other boys relentlessly bullied me, going as far as to kick me in my sleep? I can cry if you want, if that’ll get you going.”

I squeeze his throat until he turns his head enough to gaze at me. “Stop.”

“Don’t ask for something if you don’t really want it, Benji.”

“I want to know you . Not whatever factoids you think the press would eat up. Not the bits of information in the message boards that fans froth at the mouth over.”

Nolan turns his head to press his forehead against my cheek, his breaths stilted, rib cage moving rapidly under my palm. “You’re going to make this so hard, Benji.”

“Make what hard?”

Nolan swallows loudly. “I hate being me. Sometimes I don’t want to exist anymore.”

Fuck. What the hell do I say to that? I squeeze Nolan tighter against me, desperately fighting back the urge to cry. My throat feels tight and my heart cracks in half as I slowly lift my hand to curl my fingers into his damp hair.

“Nolan,” I whisper, a secret between us.

Nolah shakes his head hard, his hair tickling my chin. “Don’t, Benji. Pretend I never said it. Forget everything about this, just remember me wanting to be fucked, wanting to be used. Remember that, okay?”

“Nolan,” I say again, throat thick with unshed tears.

“Forget it, Benji.”

And then Nolan turns around in the tub, causing water to slosh over the edges onto the marble tile of the bathroom. His soapy palms grip my cheeks and his eyes bore into mine.

“Remember me that way when this is over. Remember me wanting you so badly it hurt me, okay?”

I don’t like hearing him say the word over. I hate how flat his eyes look, all the emotion gone. I despise the way his hands tremble slightly against my cheeks. I’ve got to speak in the way Nolan understands though, because words will never be enough to get through to him. Curling my hand against the nape of his neck, I tug him down until our lips are pressed painfully together, teeth gnashing as Nolan sneers against my mouth.

“I can’t need you,” Nolan growls into my mouth.

The words taste raw and painful, dipped in the very need that I know Nolan doesn’t want to feel. I tangle my fingers in his hair and tug his head back to bite his throat hard enough to steal a gasp from him. The air from my lungs won’t be enough, I think I need to give him my heart.

“I won’t leave until you tell me to leave, Nolan. If you want me at the end of the contract, I’ll still be here.”

Nolan melts against me as his body loses every ounce of fight. One month in and I’ve lost the ability to steer this ship. We’re so far off course that I know I’m beyond fucked.

“You know what I’ve always wanted?” Nolan whispers, the words caught between us like sneakers on a telephone wire.

“What?”

Nolan presses his cheek against mine, his breaths panting and hard in my ear. “I want to say no and I want you to fuck me anyway. I want to fight and scream and claw at you, but you don’t stop until you’re fucking me into the ground, getting off on me saying no. That’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“Have you done that with anyone else?” I ask, almost regretting the words the moment they’re out.

Nolan chuckles darkly. “No, stud.”

“I’ll do it,” I say quickly, despite being fucking terrified at the idea. I want to give Nolan everything he wants. If he asked for the moon, I’d fling a lasso around it and pull it down to earth just for him, just for one single ounce of joy to flit across his face.

“Not now. But one day soon, before this is all over. You’ll do it raw too, because I was tested a long time ago in case I ever wanted that with you.” Nolan’s fingers curl over my biceps, nails digging into my skin, hard enough to make me grit my teeth. “You’ll remember me like that, okay? That’s how we’ll remember each other. I’m just a sick fuck.”

“Shut up,” I growl before tugging his mouth to mine. I don’t want to hear him talk that way about himself. This entire conversation is turning my brain to mush, so I’ve got to end it. The idea he was tested for me though, sends a rush of longing so deep through me that I’m afraid I’ll keel over.

“I haven’t fucked anyone else since Los Angeles. I got tested before we came on this trip.” I lean forward to kiss the corner of his mouth, knowing he’ll push me away soon if I’m too mushy. “You’re safe with me.”

Nolan’s gasp sounds painful, just before he presses his mouth to mine. We kiss until the water turns cold, until our fingers are pruned. I’ve got to get him fed since he has to be at the arena in just a handful of hours. Ignoring the conversation we just had is going to be basically impossible, but I’ve got to at least pretend with Nolan. He’s surly and shut down even as I tenderly dry the cascading water droplets from his body.

“What do you want to eat?” I ask him as I tug a shirt over my head.

Nolan shrugs one tattooed shoulder. “Whatever.”

“Is there something that sounds good that you’d happily eat?”

A flicker of emotion crosses his face, then disappears like a wisp of smoke. “Not really.”

“Tell me the thought you just had,” I demand, walking up to him to cup his cheeks.

His eyes flit up to mine and his eye twitches. “Burger King.”

Okay, that’s a little off-beat. But whatever he wants, I’ll give it to him. “What do you want? A burger?”

“Yeah with their special sauce… and some extra sauce on the side for the fries.”

“You got it.”

I drag Nolan by the hand into the small living room of our hotel suite. I’ve barely used Chris since we arrived, mainly giving the man a break from managing Nolan twenty-four seven since I’ve taken on that task myself. But this is definitely a mission for him since I don’t speak any Italian, and I don’t want to leave Nolan alone in the hotel room, not after that weird little confession in the bathtub.

Nolan looks so small on the sofa, legs tucked under himself, eyes distant even as he stares blankly out of the balcony at bustling Milan.

Me: Nolan wants Burger King

Me: A Whopper with extra sauce and fries

Chris: I’m sorry

Chris: Who wants what

Me: Please, it’s what he asked for.

Chris: Twenty minutes

I sit beside Nolan on the sofa, close enough that he can feel the heat of my body, but far enough away that he doesn’t feel overwhelmed by touch. His fingers twitch on his thigh before reaching out to tangle with mine. Eyes still firmly looking out the balcony, Nolan easily misses the way my lips twitch at the corners as I do my best to contain the smile that so badly wants to break free. Slowly, but surely, Nolan is starting to trust me. Maybe by the end of this godforsaken tour, he’ll trust me with his heart, not just his desires.

A knock at the door is followed quickly by Chris pushing through. His eyes flit from me to Nolan and my heart does this weird sort of loopy thing in my chest when Nolan keeps his fingers tangled with mine despite Chris entering the room.

Chris drops two bags on the table with a serious, hard look at Nolan. “Do you need me to cancel tonight's show?”

“No,” Nolan says firmly.

Nolan disentangles his fingers from mine and reaches for the bag with a trembling hand. He basically buries his head into the paper bag. When he lifts his head, his eyes are crinkled, and there’s a barely there grin tugging at his lips.

“Thank you, Christopher.”

Chris rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively, turning to look intently at me next. “I got you something too.” He looks down at his watch with a sigh. “We need to be at the arena in two hours.”

“We’ll be there,” I tell Chris with narrowed eyes, hoping he gets the vibe and scoots the hell out of the hotel room.

Chris obviously picks up what I put down because he leaves with a wave over his shoulder. When I turn to Nolan, he’s already got the burger half unwrapped and is delightfully stuffing his face.

“What?” Nolan asks around a mouthful of food.

I shake my head to stop myself from saying something disgustingly sweet like you’re cute or I think I really like you or you terrify me when you abruptly pull away .

Grabbing my own bag, I open it to find a burger, chicken nuggets, and fries. Bless your heart, Chris. We eat quietly despite Nolan reaching over to take one of my nuggets. Normally I hate sharing food with people, but I don’t mind so much when Nolan steals my food. He needs it more than me.

“Hey, what’s your favorite flavor of Jolly Rancher?”

“Cherry,” Nolan mumbles while stuffing a fistful of fries into his mouth.

“Best flavor,” I murmur in agreement.

Nolan lifts one eyebrow. “Your favorite too?”

“Yeah, all the others taste like?—”

“Cough syrup,” Nolan interrupts me.

I huff out a laugh. “Well, yeah.”

Nolan tosses himself back on the sofa with a pleased sigh. He pats his stomach a few times, eyes closed, head tipped back against the plush pillows. Nolan pops one eye halfway open to look at me.

“Are you an exclusive top or…”

I shrug. He doesn’t need to know I’ve only ever topped. “Mostly.”

“So you’re vers?”

“Eh… I prefer to top.”

Nolan sighs softly. “Good, I prefer to bottom. Lie back and let someone else do all the work.”

“Obviously,” I say under my breath.

Nolan stands from the sofa with a huff. He shakes out his limbs, twists his neck a few times, then looks down his nose at me. “I think I’ll get to the arena early tonight. I want to perform a song that’s not on the setlist. I’ll need the time to practice.”

“Okay,” I say in confusion.

Nolan trudges off to the bedroom to put on his practice clothes. I busy myself by cleaning up the mess from our impromptu lunch. When I wander back to the bedroom, Nolan is standing with the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes.

“Nolan?”

Nolan removes his hands and spins to look at me. “It’s fine.”

But he’s clearly not fine. The tension in his shoulders is back and the happy, full-of-food guy from a moment before is gone. I cross the distance between us and tug him into my arms, kissing him softly until he melts against me. His breaths are soft and slow when I pull away, his eyes only open enough to show a peek of the dark brown irises.

“It’s fine,” Nolan repeats, that weird edge to his voice now gone.

I squeeze his shoulders and rub my thumbs over the tense line of his neck. He leans heavier against me for one single moment, before pulling away to finish getting dressed. The ride to the arena is silent, but Nolan’s fingers tangle with mine, so I don’t take it personally. Sometimes he needs silence more than me.

The arena is bustling as the crew gets the stage ready for the concert in a handful of hours. Nolan bypasses the VIP room downstairs to head straight for the stage. His band stands with wide eyes, probably wondering why the fuck Nolan is a few hours early.

“I want to add a song tonight,” Nolan declares, chin lifted defiantly in the air.

“What?” Chris asks from beside me, voice frantic.

I shrug helplessly. “He just told me back at the hotel.”

“We can’t just add songs… we don’t do this. There isn’t a spot for this in the lineup.” Chris rubs at his temples making some aggrieved noise back in his throat. “Fucking hell shit fuck damnit.”

“Oh wow, never heard that combo before.”

“Fuck,” Chris says once more with emphasis.

Nolan pulls his crew in tighter, hands moving fast as he explains whatever is going through his mind. The drummer, Drew, looks excited, while the guitarist, Hanson, looks a little peeved. But they all exchange some weird handshake before Nolan toddles back off to the front of the stage to stand in front of the mic.

“Sometimes I don’t know about him…”

“Let him have an ounce of joy about something he usually hates, okay?”

Chris startles a little and looks over at me. “Really?”

I wave my hand in Nolan’s direction, eyebrows furrowed as I watch on. “Let him be.”

Nolan closes his eyes as he strums the guitar, his fingers flitting up and down the neck in a way that makes my gut clench with want and need and some other word that hurts to even consider. The song is immediately recognizable: “House of the Rising Sun.” It’s the song he sang back in the dive bar in Los Angeles.

Nolan’s voice is so deep, so raw, that it makes the song sound even more painful somehow. I stand frozen at the edge of the stage, eyes caught on him. When he gets to the chorus, he turns his head to look at me, throat working as he belts the lyrics.

And when he finishes, he winks and blows me a kiss.

He does the same thing in front of a crowded arena.

I can’t help but feel like it’s some weird, tortured version of a love song. A song with a warning to avoid the fate of someone lost to destruction. Too late , I want to tell Nolan. I’m already lost.