“I did not say that, Dom. Don’t infer what I’m thinking.”
“But you think I should.”
“Yes, I do, but it’s not my decision. It’s yours.”
“Yes it is, thank you very much.” He was being hard on Trey, trying to regain the balance to their relationship, because all he felt like in that moment was a total mess. He hated what had happened to him, and he hated how far he’d fallen because it. Old feelings of failure were trying to bubble up and swallow him whole.
“I said I’m sorry.”
Dom grunted. Trey didn’t sound totally sorry, and that made it all worse. It also didn’t help that he’d drunk that stupid beer with his anxiety pill, because everything was getting a little fuzzy around the edges, and maybe this wasn’t such a big deal after all. Except Trey’s suggestion about Unbound was stuck beneath his skin now, like an invisible sliver of glass that ached when he pressed on it.
“Dom, I’msorry.It was a careless thing to say.”
“I didn’t play my violin for six years onstage because of that bastard.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t know. You don’t know how scared I was before I got up there at Off Beat. You don’t know how many times I almost went to other open mikes, and then chickened out.”
Trey’s face pinched. “You had to go when you were ready.”
“No shit.”
The hurt on Trey’s face should have made Dom back down. Trey didn’t deserve his anger, but he was also the only convenient target for his growing frustration.
“Are you trying to pick a fight?” Trey asked. “Because I don’t understand what’s happening right now.”
Dom stood and stalked a few feet away. He braced one hand on the rough bark of an oak tree, his back to Trey. He didn’t understand what was happening, either. He wasn’t really mad at Trey. He was mad at himself. Trey was right in that Unbound was the perfect stage to exorcise that final demon, but Dom was too fucking scared. Scared of the demon, scared of being too nervous, scared of fucking up in front of tens of thousands of people.
He couldn’t take that risk. Not when a recording contract was within XYZ’s grasp.
“Dom?”
“Can I have a minute, please?”
Something behind him rustled, and when Trey spoke, his voice was closer. “I may not know exactly how you’re feeling right now, but I know fear. I got in acarand drove for two and a half hours, by myself, sometimes in rush hour, to come and see you. I almost threw up more times than I can count getting here.”
Dom glared over his shoulder. “I didn’t ask you to.”
Shock and pain flashed across Trey’s face, almost instantly melting into hardness. Regret squeezed Dom’s chest. Trey had said a metaphorical fuck-you to his worst fear to see Dom, and Dom was practically pushing him away, and why? Dom was scared. Scared and angry and maybe a little bit high, and those things together obliterated his brain-to-mouth censor.
“You’re right, you didn’t,” Trey snapped. “I thought we were in a good place, Dom. Why are you pissed at me again?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me. Make me understand what this is.”
Dom was so turned around and emotionally drained that he didn’t have the energy to try and unpack his thoughts. He didn’t have the energy to take care of Trey and make things okay again. Dom hadn’t thought about the abuse in such detail in years, and reliving it had been an exercise in extreme control. He’d refused to lose it in front of Trey, and now all he wanted to do was crawl into bed where it was safe to fall apart, and maybe that was selfish, but he’d earned the right to be fucking selfish.
“Can you just go? Please?” Dom asked.
Trey glanced over his shoulder, as if Dom had spoken to someone else. “Go where?”
“Anywhere but here. I need time alone, okay?”
A riot of emotions passed across Trey’s face—surprise, anger, regret—until he seemed to settle on resigned. “Fine. I get it. Youget mad at me and it’s easier to pull away and keep your distance than to actually talk to me.”
“That’s not?—”
