On the rare occasion he started to get attached to someone, he’d let them go. He’d even brushed off getting dumped by Kanefor being too boring. He didn’t have friends, but he knew a lot of people. Acquaintances were easy, uncomplicated.
The only reason he’d kept Melody close and allowed her to see a bit of his soul was because, despite having slept together, he’d found a kindred spirit in her. Someone who’d been hurt by the people who should have protected her, estranged from everything she once knew, who pulled herself up from nothing and made her own way. She helped ease the ache of loneliness he’d never admit to feeling deep down, all the way to his soul. An ache that had disappeared for a while this afternoon, like it had that weekend in Virginia Beach. And again, on the sidewalk at Emmett’s party.
They won’t want you once they find out your secret. No one could forgive that.
It was too much. He couldn’t do this.
He shut off the spray, dried quickly, and put his clothes on while he was still damp. He needed out. Thank fuck he’d left his flip-flops in the living room. The bedroom door was still shut when he crept past, and strangely quiet. Not a problem. If they fell asleep, it would make his escape that much easier.
The house was silent around him. He slipped into his shoes and clasped the doorknob. And froze. Heart pounding in his chest, thoughts in turmoil, he couldn’t remember how to open the door. He’d never done the walk of shame like this, sneaking out while the other party wasn’t looking. And Van had nothing to be ashamed of. Joshua and Benji deserved better than total desertion—especially Benji.
Benji had an innocence about him that appealed to Van’s dominant side, and a hidden wickedness that made him want to roll over and show his belly. It was an incredibly appealing trait, and one that Van had never encountered before with a partner. Meanwhile, Joshua pushed every one of Van’s “hold him down and fuck him blind” buttons and made him a little crazy.
How can I walk away from them without trying?
He released the doorknob and turned. Surveyed the living room, now extra cluttered with Fading Daze’s equipment and travel gear. Lincoln’s Q-chord was on the coffee table. Van picked up the oddball synthesizer, with its various buttons and knobs. He’d watched Lincoln play it several times, and he still didn’t understand how the damned thing worked. But the instrument had given Lincoln a chance to make music again, after suffering a serious concussion and permanent brain injury.
Joshua nearly died in that accident, too, and a fierce sense of protectiveness and loss took Van’s breath away. He’d seen the faded scar on his abdomen, proof of a life not lost.
Nope, not thinking about that.
He didn’t obsess over the past. What’s done is done, no fixing it. All he had was the present, and in the present, he had two very fuckable guys still lounging in—scratch that. The bedroom door creaked open, and seconds later another door shut. No one came into the living room, so he assumed they were showering together.
Not that he was jealous about that or anything. Not at all.
Someone’s guitar case was leaning in the corner. Van stared at his, his fingertips plucking at phantom strings—until a sharp, ghostly ache in his right hand reminded him why he didn’t play anymore. A tremor raced down his spine.
Mouth suddenly dry, he bolted into the kitchen. The fridge had all kinds of soda, juice, and bottled water, but he zeroed in on the six-pack of Evo beer. He didn’t know whose it was, so he’d leave money. He needed something to keep his nerves in check once the other guys got their act together and joined him.
Finding a bottle opener was like a little treasure hunt of poking into drawers until he located one full of random utensils and cooking things. The first pull of cold, yeasty beer settled warmly in his mostly-empty stomach. He’d been too nervous toeat much for lunch, and he’d had quite the workout not fifteen minutes ago.
The kitchen itself was incredibly clean and organized, considering mostly guys lived there. Not a spot or stain on the counters or sink. Joshua didn’t strike him as the OCD cleaner kind of guy, so maybe Lincoln was the neat freak. He leaned against the counter and nursed his beer while water ran through the pipes, then shut off a few minutes later. More doors opening and shutting.
Whispering and soft laughter announced their arrival, and Van held his beer tighter in his fist. They emerged in the living room, dressed and hair damp. Both seemed to zero in on the spot where Van had left his flip-flops earlier. Two sets of shoulders sagged in tandem.
They think I left. And they’re disappointed.
Van cleared his throat.
Benji and Joshua spun. They looked equal parts surprised and delighted that he hadn’t snuck out of the house. “Jesus, you scared me,” Benji said.
“Sorry.” Not sorry.
They entered the kitchen, keeping close together without actually touching. So clearly in love and in synch, but trying not to be too obvious about it for Van’s sake.
“I thought you only drank on special occasions,” Joshua said.
Van shrugged. “Or when I’m really nervous.”
“Us, too,” Benji said. “Mind if we join you?”
“It’s not my beer.”
“It’s mine,” Joshua said. “Help yourselves.”
Benji got one for himself, but Joshua fetched a bottle of water instead.
“I guess we should talk, huh?” Benji asked. “All three of us.”
