Fuck me.
Love me.
Look at the tattoo on my ass. It’s your name.
Your music saved me.
I’m your biggest fan.
Biggest. Fan.
It didn’t matter now. None of that mattered. No matter how hard I tried to put it behind me, there was only one fan I cared about, only one fan I desperately wanted to appear before me. And there wasn’t enough money in the world to go back to meaningless fucks. They weren’t her. They could never be her. Our connection had been instant. So intense I was convinced I’d hallucinated it until the sensation kept coming back to haunt me. After I couldn’t find her in Seattle, I’d spent months trying to get away from the memory. Months trying to shake the certainty that shewas my mate. No, not just my mate. She was the future. Oblivion Haze’s destiny.
Hell, even when I had managed to screw some chick this past year, I was just going through the motions. The foreplay was empty, the dirty talk forced, the sex unfulfilling even if I did cum. My body, my Alpha, had found its match and it wouldn’t be tricked into lesser.
“Someone is better than nothing.”Dixon.
“Go through the motions, maybe you’ll realize she wasn’t so special.”Mac.
“Come on, dude. You’re famous. That chick was just another groupie.”Tray.
“You’ve got to get over this, or we’re going to fall apart.”All three had said a version of this at some point.
Their prodding was probably the only reason I’d fucked anyone since meeting my mystery, Omega. They were worried about me, so I tried to give them what they wanted. What… they thought I needed. Empty, shallow effort. It never worked. With every facet of my being, I was hooked on a ghost. How the hell could I find satisfaction with anyone else? Every kiss, every moan, every time I thrust inside a girl who wasn’t her, it felt like a betrayal. And I knew that made no goddamn sense. But every time I convinced myself thatshewasn’t the one, I’d remember the electricity between our bodies and the way my skin tingled when we touched. Her lips had fit so perfectly with mine. Fate had to fortune us. That kind of connection couldn’t be manufactured.
I started pacing, body suddenly buzzing. The tour bus felt too small. I beelined for the exit, plodding down the few steps and grabbing the door handle which wasn’t even locked. I’d blame security, but we’d given them the night off and I was the dumbass who’d passed out without securing things. I pushed out into the night, letting the dry desert air wash over me. I shivered against the sudden chill. The day had been a five-alarm fire, but it couldn’t be more than seventy right now. I couldn’t live in a climate like this. Melting during the day and then freezing as it dropped 40 degrees at night. Goosebumps sprouted along my skin, nipples going hard. I should have put on a shirt.
The tour bus was parked in a gated area near the hotel. The securityshack light glowed softly, and I could just make out the shadow of its occupant—a middle aged Beta who’d indulged in far too many donuts. Everything seemed surreal outside the confines of the band’s home away from home. Our hotel was one of six on this street.
Even at midnight, Paradise was alive with activity. Probably because Las Vegas was only a few miles away. That neon atmosphere bled outward, infecting all of the adjacent towns. The blacktop beneath my feet pulsed gently with a cocktail of music, tires against pavement, and partiers moving to their next venue. Headlights flashed. Neon signs blinked. Someone laughed faintly in the distance. Everything around me seemed to advertise cheap thrills, cheap drinks, cheaper company—though that last might cost you more than expected in the end.
I moved around the lot, rubbing my forearms to chase away the cold.
This was a nocturnal town. I could understand that. The day was too damn hot to survive for long.
Only now I was pacing, still flying solo, and the fact that others were just happily living their best midnight lives only grated horribly against my patience. A breeze kicked up, wafting a million different smells in my direction. Alphas. Omegas. I’m sure dozens of Betas were nearby, but their scent couldn’t stand out in the heady mix. I whiffed spilled beer, the head long deflated. A cigar, a good one. Sweet. Earthy. Something acidic and unpleasant hit my nose next. but it was still… part of the city’s perfume. Though my chest felt too heavy, my heart thudded with effort against the weight, and my head was bloated with too many damn thoughts, I inhaled the evening air deeply as if it would somehow heal me.
Nope. It only made everything worse.
The anxiety.
The pain.
The unchecked grief over losing something that wasn’t ever mine.
The pressure grew, threatening to flatten me against the parking lot.
I rushed back into the bus, slamming the door behind me. This time, I had the presence of mind to lock the handle.
When I was inside, nausea hit. My stomach rolled, like I’d eatensomething spoiled. The mix of smells from outside still clung to my nostrils. I padded to the bathroom, dropping to my knees and heaving into the toilet. Thank God for Mac, because he was the only one responsible enough to keep this damn bathroom wiped down between our actual cleaning service. Without him, I’d be sticking my face close to a shit-stained porcelain throne.
Were the guys having fun without me?
Fuck, they probably were. I was such a goddamn drag these days. I sometimes wondered if I shouldn’t step out of the band for a while before my melancholy ass fucked that up too.
5
DIXON ST. JAMES
