So why did he feel like the shittiest person in the world?
He ached for the pain he’d caused Dmitri by not considering his feelings before instigating that kiss. He knew he’d been incredibly selfish, because he had to admit that he had alwayssuspected that Dmitri had feelings for him; that was one reason he’d avoided starting anything before. He’d known things were a lot more complicated than they seemed, but he’d done it anyway. And now a beautiful person was suffering because of Andre starting something he couldn’t finish. He could live with his own loneliness, pain, and longing, but knowing he’d hurt Dmitri was like a knife in the chest, cutting through him and making him hate himself.
By the time he’d returned to the bus, knowing that he had to face up to what he’d done, everyone else had been asleep or at least pretending to be. All the bunk curtains had been closed, including Dmitri’s, firmly shutting Andre out of any chance to apologize. And then this morning, when he’d woken up late, groggy, heartsick, and without a smiling Dmitri bringing him coffee, Dmitri had been gone.
The rest of the band had been quiet and subdued, giving him looks that were sympathetic but almost furtive, and he’d hesitated to ask where Dmitri was, since he was certain he wasn’t going to like the answer. His biggest fear was that Dmitri had left the band entirely and that no one wanted to tell him.
After only a few minutes, he knew he needed to escape the horribly quiet and morose atmosphere on the bus. Even Luka seemed ill at ease, while Jo’s eyes were red-rimmed, and Kris looked pained and pale as though she were carrying a burden of her own. He hoped they weren’t feeling guilty about the previous night, but he didn’t know what to say to make anything better, either for them or for himself. So instead, he changed clothes, told them he’d meet them at the venue at their call time because he had some errands to run, and left. He was running away, and he knew it, but he was also very aware that he couldn’t outrun his feelings.
An Uber ride got him to a mall where he could at least walk around. He paid no attention to the people passing by him,didn’t notice the merchandise displayed, or even hear the crappy Muzak, which was playing far too loudly over the speakers.
Time slipped away while he wandered around in a haze of pain and guilt until he eventually started to grow numb in body and spirit. That was when he began to realize he was getting furtive looks from a few people from time to time, as if they almost recognized him. Pausing, he looked around, wondering if he looked as horrible as he felt. That was when he noticed he was standing near an electronic display in the food court. A display that was running a shifting set of stills and video advertising “One Night Only! Jacksonville Center for the Performing Arts Presents The F-Holes in Concert! For Tickets, Call the Box Office.”
One of the frames flashed up a picture of him at his drum kit, flashing a grin at the camera. Then there was a video of the entire band shot from a wide angle at Rocktoberfest the previous year, when they’d given the performance of their lives. The next shot was of Luka, looking intense at his cello, then Kris at her mic, and then a close-up of Dmitri, laughing as he played. The sight of Dmitri’s smile almost broke him, and Andre turned and walked away as fast as he could.
He had to get back and stop running from what had happened. He needed to know if he’d fucked up the band as well as hurt Dmitri beyond salvaging.
Within a few minutes, he had caught a taxi back to the Arts Center, and then he hurried to board the bus. To his surprise, it was completely empty.
He wondered if everyone had gone off and left him, but when he pulled out his phone, which hadn’t buzzed once all day, he noticed it was completely dead since he’d forgotten to charge it. A glance at the clock on the microwave showed it was almost call time for their warm-up, and he was shocked to discover he’d apparently spent hours wandering around in a daze.
He hurried off the bus and ran for the venue, where he had to argue briefly with security about his identity before being admitted backstage.
“Where the fuck have you been? We’ve been trying to reach you for an hour!”
Kris, standing in the wings, was the first to see him, and he winced at her scalding tone. She took him by the shoulders, giving him a little shake. It was easy to see the concern under her anger, however, which alleviated a small bit of his worry.
“Sorry, I was out at the mall, but my phone died and I lost track of time.” He managed to summon a smile from somewhere. At least it wasn’t a lie; he felt bad enough already about the front he was putting up with the rest of them.
It was a weak excuse, but Kris accepted it with a scowl. “Fine. You’d better find your sticks and get ready to practice. Everyone is on edge, and Luka is in a mood.”
“Dmitri’s actually here?” The relief he felt actually made his knees threaten to give out, and he reached out toward the wall for support.
“Where else would he be?” Kris asked. “He came back not long after you left, actually, and brought us donuts.” She fixed him with a stern look. “He said you both agreed that a relationship wasn’t in the cards for you and that it wasn’t any big deal. But we’ve all been feeling like idiots for interrupting the pair of you last night and making assumptions before you even worked things out between you. I guess all of us wanted you two to end up together, since we love you both. But then, with you running off, we figured Dmitri must have been the one who decided he wasn’t interested, and we were worried when we couldn’t reach you. So are you good, Andre?”
“I’m fine.” He had to be fine, didn’t he? It seemed as if Dmitri had covered for him, apparently even taken whatever blame the others wanted to place. After what he’d done, he didn’t deservethat kind of loyalty, and it made him feel even lower than he had before. “I just feel—”like shit.“—awkward.”
“As long as y’all are good, we’ll be good,” Kris told him. “It’ll fade. Hell, if we could put up with Luka when Kit joined the band, we can deal with you two until you get back to normal. At least neither of you has Luka’s temper.”
Andre winced internally at the comparison. It was true that things had been fraught for several weeks on their last tour when Kit had stepped in as a replacement for their injured bassist, Jett. None of them had known, until Kit had been forced to explain, that they’d been best friends since childhood until they had a huge falling out and Luka had stormed away from Sultana, the band they’d formed together. It had been a complicated situation, and they’d all had to walk on eggshells for a while due to Luka being on a hair trigger, but, thankfully, everything had worked out in their case. It had actually turned out wonderfully for everyone, with Kit joining the F-Holes while Jett took his place in Sultana.
Unfortunately, Andre didn’t think the happy ending Luka and Kit had gotten was in the cards for him. He’d be lucky if Dmitri could tolerate his presence for the rest of the tour, much less getting back to friendship as Dmitri had said they could. Unfortunately, if things became too tense, he couldn’t even leave the band himself; he couldn’t afford to break his contract, not when he needed the money and health care for Miguel.
But if Dmitri was willing to put up with him, Andre would put as good a face on things as he could. He owed Dmitri that much, even if his own heart was yearning for more.
He steeled himself as he followed Kris toward the green room where the rest of the band was gathered.
“Hey,” Kit greeted him when he walked in, followed by a chorus from everyone else.
Andre looked at them. Kit, Jo, and Greg looked relieved, while Luka raised a brow and stared at him intently before turning his attention back to his electric cello. He had to steel himself to look at Dmitri, who met his gaze and gave a slight nod.
There was no censure in his blue eyes, only a touch of wariness, something Andre had never seen from him before. The thought that Dmitri had to be on guard with him cut him to the quick. Dmitri undoubtedly wouldn’t know what to think since Andre had run off without a word, and if Dmitri had texted him, well, Andre still hadn’t charged his phone.
Which reminded him that he’d better charge it and call Miguel before their performance began.
“Um, does anyone have a charger?” he asked sheepishly.
That seemed to break the ice, and Jo produced a cord compatible with his phone. The tension in the room went down several notches, or at least that’s how it seemed. It could have been that he was projecting his own discomfort onto everyone else. Still, if Dmitri could act normally after everything, Andre owed him equal effort in keeping up the pretense that everything was fine.
