This time Jem cackled. “I wasn’t always allergic to shellfish; I used to love crawfish boil—”
As if summoned by the mention of food, one of their stomachs grumbled. They were so close together River couldn’t tell which of them the sound came from.
“Dinner soon?” he said after a moment.
“Absolutely.” Jem’s grin faded into something softer. “One more family-related confession first. Not sure how you were supposed to guess this one.”
“Let me try anyway: You secretly come from a long line of Flat Tires superfans.”
“Close.” He tiled his head up so their eyes met upside-down. “I knocked up my best friend’s wife. With, like, science. I figured I should tell you in case it becomes really obvious in a couple weeks.”
It took River a moment to untangle that, and another few out-of-time heartbeats to try to find the words. “Tori and Ivy’s baby?” he stalled.
“Fifty percent Jem Anderson DNA.” He turned in River’s arms, and his expression suddenly went pensive. “God, I hope they never need a kidney.”
Jesus Christ. “That’s not going to be complicated for you?”
Jem tilted his head and offered a small shrug. “I was going to love the kid to pieces either way. Families are always complicated.”
When he put it like that, River could hardly find anything to argue with. But the emotions were still surging through him, so he leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on Jem’s nose to let some of it out. “You’re right about that.” Then he nudged him toward verticality. “Come on. I can guess silly things about your family and childhood while we dig up something to eat.”
Chapter Fourteen
Homeward Bound (I Wish I Was)
Jem andRiver spent Sunday mostly in bed, in deference to the fact that River, Eric, and Ward would leave Monday morning on the final leg of their last-ever tour.
“You seem, like… good with it,” Jem commented, carding his fingers through River’s hair as they lay on their backs in River’s stupidly luxurious bed.
River turned his head just enough to blow a raspberry on Jem’s sternum. “I’ve been very nicely distracted.”
Jem pulled his hair in retaliation. The obsidian locks slid smoothly through his fingers when he let go. “I was being serious.”
“So was I.” River slid off him and wormed up the bed so they could see eye to eye. “It’s been good for me, having you around all the time. Remembering how to be a person outside ofthe band. Plus you feed me,andyou’re cute?” He clutched at his chest and mocked a swoon, somewhat ineffectively since he was already lying down. “I don’t know how I’m going to live without you for seven weeks. Think I can fit you in my suitcase? We could make you an honorary roadie.”
“Unfortunately, I do have other commitments.” Including Andrew’s wedding.
Jem hadn’t told River about it. The date was the same weekend as the Flat Tires’ show in Detroit, so River couldn’t have made it anyway. Jem told himself he didn’t want River to feel guilty for something he couldn’t control.
But truthfully, part of him was relieved he didn’t have to invite River, which wasstupid. They would have so much fun together. They could dance and flirt and make catty remarks about people’s fashion taste.
And Jem would spend the whole night low-key wondering if people knew. If they looked at him and River together and drew parallels between Jem and his mother. Someone would guess River was paying Jem, wouldn’t they? Even if he wasn’tanymore….
Shit, they were supposed to be talking about Jem coming on a tour. Jem had been born on the East Coast and lived on the West Coast now; vast swathes of the continent remained unexplored for him. He’d like to see it, if he had someone to share it with. “It does sound nice, though.”
River snorted. “It is, but the shine wears off.” When Jem only raised an eyebrow, he said, “You ever hear about how the band got its name?”
Jem rolled onto his stomach, pulled his pillow to his chest to look at him. “No.”
“The legend goes that back when we were just a little baby band schlepping our stuff back and forth to tiny bars in themiddle of nowhere, Arizona, all we could afford to travel in was this beat-up Ford Econoline van that was older than all of us, and we each had to fill up a tire every time we went somewhere.”
“Hmm.” Jem took in the wry quirk of River’s mouth. “But that’s not the truth.”
He laughed sharply. “Nah. See, originally we were called the Road Warriors. Which is a fuckin’ terrible name for a band, okay, but we were kids, we didn’t know shit. We just picked the name because all the towns were so small and far apart that we had to road-trip half a day to get our name out. And one night we had a gig in this dive bar in Tombstone, and we just shat the bed. I mean we were awful. I think Eric was drunk. I was already hungover, ’cause I stopped drinking two hours before the show. None of us were old enough, but it didn’t stop us. And this punk from the town crier or whatever was there doing a piece for the culture section—imagine the local paper in Tombstone having a culture section, that’s how long ago this was. There was a paper and it was pretentious enough to pretend its readers cared about art reviews. And he said the show was more Flat Tires than Road Warriors.”
“Ouch. And you made that yournameafter?”
River laughed again, lighter this time, almost a giggle. “I mean, it’s a much better name, objectively. And it kept us honest. Humble, right? Like okay. We are who we are. We should stop pretending.”
