Page 33

Whenever the doom and gloom creeps in, I just open the thread.

Just a couple minutes ago, Lamar sent a pic of Ty stretching in full gear—helmet on, delicious ass in the air, taunting me, all ready for tonight’s scrimmage.

I know that means radio silence for the next few hours, but the little glimpses always help.

But what helps me even more is knowing that I’ll see him in less than a week.

“Oh shit, this is our song!” Ava shouts suddenly, and I lift my head, perk my ears before grinning like a fool the moment I hear my voice. The DJ’s got a dance remix going of one of our songs, and fuck, he’s owning it. That drop is nasty in the best motherfucking way.

I hop up from the booth and hold out my hands. My besties take them without hesitation, and we dive into the crowd, letting the beat carry us. I twirl Ava around as she shimmies her hips and yells that we seriously need to look into hiring this guy for future sets.

I chuckle in answer and step between her and some rando trying to wedge himself in, eyes glued to her ass.

Or maybe to my ass. Over Ava’s shoulder, I spot Missy talking to Bowie at a nearby standing table, Mick standing nearby.

But he’s not focused on her or any of the many girls and guys hovering around him, trying to get his attention. Of course he isn’t.

Nope, his dark eyes are locked on me as always while Bowie pulls Missy into a slow spin, her laughter bubbling over the beat.

But then he does something I didn’t expect; He lifts his glass, gives me a single nod and downs it in one go before slamming his glass on the table.

And I don’t know if it’s some silent agreement, like, yeah, the tour’s almost over, and fine, point to you for not caving to my bullshit. Or if it’s something else entirely.

Maybe he finally realized that whatever he thought could happen between us, never would happen? Or was it always an act on his part? A clever way for media attention and gossip to help put them back in the spotlight?

I nod back anyway. I need this truce. Even though I’m over this tour and more than ready to go home, we owe them a whole damn lot.

Bowie suddenly throws an arm over my shoulder, breaking my eye contact with Mick.

“C’mon, rockstar,” he says, tugging me toward the nearest booth, which is covered in a chaotic rainbow of colorful shots, lined up like neon candy.

Their other two bandmates are already there, keeping watch like it’s some kind of sacred altar.

“I wanna toast to us,” Bowie hollers over the music, his grin wide and proud. “We wouldn’t be back on top without you guys, ya know?”

The other two nod, raising their drinks in agreement. Bowie elbows Mick when he just stands there, arms crossed like he’s posing for a broody album cover.

Mick sighs, quiet, mostly lost beneath the thumping bass, but eventually grabs a few of the shots and starts passing them around. His expression unreadable, but his movements smooth and practiced. Like he’s done this a hundred times before. And fuck, he probably has.

When everyone’s holding one, he lifts one of his own.

“The tour is almost over and you guys experienced something most aspiring bands never will. So cherish it and let’s make tonight a good one.

To missed opportunities,” he says, eyes flicking to me with a wink, “to new friendships, very fucking good music, and surviving eight months of absolute bullshit.”

I scoff. It’s... nice? Almost? Or at least close enough to pass for nice? He’s not killing my fucking buzz with his bullshit though.

He handed me a bright pink, glittery shot. I eye it, the neon liquid catching the strobe lights. It’s not that I don’t want to drink, or party, or be here, because I do. I love it, really. But it still feels like something’s missing, like I’m not fully me without him .

Gah. Even hearing my own thoughts is getting depressing.

Mick’s right, though. The tour’s almost over. We pulled through. We fucking did it, and I should be enjoying this once-in-a-lifetime shit while it lasts.

Only five more days. That’s nothing.

So fuck it, I’m going to have fun tonight. Maybe more than I’ve had in the last couple of weeks. I haven’t been a complete hermit, far from it, but I’ve definitely been holding back. It just never felt right.

But tonight? Tonight it does feel right somehow. I eye Missy just to be sure, and she nods with a soft smile, putting her own back on the table. Yeah, she’s going to have my back tonight, so I can let loose and be irresponsible. Forget all my worries for a bit.

So I lift the glass, give him a tight smile, and put it to my lips.

But gag, it smells horrible, like bubblegum, and I shudder before putting it back on the table and quickly grabbing an orange one that’s in front of Bowie, throwing it back with the rest of the crew.

It burns peachy-sweet and sharp on my tongue, and I whoop when I slam the empty glass back down.

Then I follow my girls to the dance floor, where I twirl Ava around, watch Missy climb Bowie like a damn jungle gym, and laugh with Mick for what feels like the first time in this entire tour when Bowie yells something about belly shots and tries to convince their bassist to lie down on the table.

Another banger comes on, bass vibrating up through the soles of my boots, and I let my hips sway.

Ava’s in front of me, her body moving in perfect sync with mine, and I pull her close.

I love the way she feels against me, so solid and real and soft.

I love how every beat, every note, every thump of bass guides us like it’s hard-wired into our bones.

I tilt my head back, close my eyes, and let the music pour over me as I move.

Let it wrap around me, sink into my skin and fucking consume me.

Because music is me, I am music. It’s a fucking infinity loop.

Behind my eyelids, the lights pulse in sharp, vivid bursts—red, green, gold—like fireworks exploding inside my mind.

It’s fucking magical.

It’s euphoric.

It’s electric.

It’s Pikachu on steroids.

It’s—

…different.

I blink, lashes fluttering, trying to focus. Everything is somehow brighter, floatier, like I’m fucking weightless. I grin. Guess the tequila and shots are finally catching up to me.

But there’s a weird tug in my gut that says otherwise.

And yet… I just don’t care. I feel so fucking good. Like my skin is buzzing and every beat of the music is a warm kiss on my brain.

Ava’s dancing with Missy now, the two of them laughing, twerking, spinning in sync, pink and black hair swirling. But I’m standing still, alone, and all I want is for them to touch me. Just… something and someone . A hand on my chest. A squeeze of my arm. Anything.

“Missy?” I call out, smiling dopily. “Come hug me.”

I try to move toward them, to my girls, but my legs feel weird. Tingly. Heavy. Like they don’t quite belong to me. I blink slowly, confusion crawling up my spine like a chill. Shit, I wish Ty was here; I wish he would hold me, touch me… He’d probably catch me before I even realized I was falling.

Where is Tyler?

Someone moves behind me, and I can’t help but lean back, searching for the touch.

I groan at all the warmth and pressure that engulfs me a second later, an arm sliding around my waist. I continue swaying, lazily, eyes half-lidded as I drop my head forward and stare at the tanned arm, corded with muscle.

There he is.

I love the way his arm feels through my shirt. Steady, grounding, hot . Like they belong there. Like I belong here . Because I do . I always belong in his arms, and he in mine.

I wrap my fingers around his wrist, loving how the current feels almost alive under my fingertips, tracing the veins I love so much, those strong hands that always keep me close, tethered. His skin is so soft, so velvet-y.

But why isn’t he wearing his bracelet?

Missy appears in front of me and I lift my head, eyebrows climbing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so surprised. Or beautiful.

I giggle and boop her nose. “Come dance with us, pretty lady.”

“What?” Her brows furrow in concern. “Are you okay?”

“What, what ? Of course I am. Very much.” I blink at her, the lights warping around the edges. “Come on, dance with me. I don’t wanna dance alone.”

I close my eyes again and let the beat thump-thump-thump through my chest like a second heartbeat, buzzing under my skin.

My arms feel too light. My thoughts are too slow.

At the end of my internal sentence, I can’t remember where the thought started, and when I try to figure it out, I’ve forgotten the last half of the sentence as well.

“But I’m not alone,” I mumble as I caress the hand on my stomach. “You’re right here. With me.”

I grind my ass back into my lover, not sure how I got so lucky that Tyler came and visited me in Seattle. I drop my head back with a moan as I rub against the bulge, letting it fall against his steady shoulder as the arm around my waist tightens.

“Shit… Ty, I missed you. I love you so much.”

“Oh, hell no.”

I think it’s Missy’s voice, sharp now, cutting through the haze. Her hands wrap around my forearms as I try to pull her in, and I nearly groan at the contact. Her palms are soft, grounding, something warm and solid against the sweat collecting on my skin.

“Hey… Jace, honey?” she asks, her tone suddenly harder. Concerned. Scared.

But I don’t answer. The lights blur. My eyelids flutter. The warmth behind me feels so good. Like safety. Like home . Like everything.

Then— “Bowie, come here! Goddamnit, Mick, get off of him! He’s not himself. Did you do this?”

“Wasn’t me,” a voice behind me says. It sounds smooth, too smooth. “He grabbed one of the orange ones, I assumed he knew what they were.”

But it sounds wrong. Off. Not him .

“Mick?” I frown, my fingers clumsy as they trace the wrist at my stomach. There’s no bracelet there. Did Ty lose his bracelet? He does have a pretty new tattoo, though…

“Jace,” Missy says, firmer now, one hand cupping my cheek. “I need you to look at me. Right now.”

I lift my head, blinking slowly at the worry in her voice.

The corners of my mouth tug into a dazed smile when I catch the way the lights reflect in her eyes, like little stars dancing in dark depths.

Beautiful. Like fucking galaxies. She’s not even looking at me, though. She’s staring over my shoulder.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” I murmur, reaching for her again, but my feet don’t cooperate. I stumble, swaying hard enough that the room tilts with me, the presence at my back suddenly gone.

“Ty?” I mumble, confused.

“Jace?” Missy appears again. Her voice dips softer, sweeter. Like fucking velvet. Like the opening of a love song. “I think we should go for a walk. I want to go outside. Just a little fresh air, okay? Will you come with me?” Then a harsh: “ Bowie !”

I try to frown, but my face won’t work right. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” she says gently, just as Bowie appears at her side. His arm slides around my waist like it's nothing, like we do this every day, and starts steering me toward the exit. “But I think you’re not,” she finishes behind me.

And as the club lights smear into smudges and the music fades behind us, I stop trying to make sense of what’s happening.

Because my body is getting heavier.

And nothing feels real.

And something is very, very wrong.

Or is everything just very, very right?

All I know is that we’ve left, and that’s the opposite of right, right?