Page 35 of Edge

Damian

Damiancouldn’t help sporting a semi when Jory whispered in his ear. He’dknown him for only two months, and yet he was enthralled with hissexy rock star. Jory was fast becoming more to him than he’d everexpected. But does he feel the sameway?

He cleared his throat,conscious of Jory’s sly grin. “Yeah, well, okay. Don’t you need tobe recording or something? You always seem to have so much freetime.”

Jory pouted. “Are youtrying to get rid of me? I have free time to spend with you becauseI’m so clever at arranging my schedule. For your information, nextweek, it’s full-on rehearsals and probably the week after too.” Hebrushed a wayward curl away from his eyes. “The next gig we’reshowcasing a lot of new music so life will be a bit rough for theband.”

Damian nodded. “I’m nottrying to get rid of you, babe. I’ve no idea how a rock starlives.” He huffed softly. “I’m happy for any time you spend withme, honestly.”

Jory sipped his drink andleaned back against the couch. “I feel the same way.” His handfound its way to Damian’s thigh and he squeezed it.

“So. AboutRoger.” He settled back against the couch. “Remember I told you Ikeep a diary?” Damian nodded. “Well, I’ve been a diary person allmy life. My mum gave me my first one when I was eight, and I becamehooked on capturing all the moments that meant something in my lifeon paper, so I could always remember them.” Jory’s eyes grewdistant, his face serene. “I used to keep special things in it,like my first circus ticket, the time I went to the zoo with Larkand my parents, my prom invitation.”

Damian had somethingsimilar, a memory box where he kept precious bits, but he’d nevergone to the trouble of writing in a diary. That tookdedication.

“Anyway, as Itold you, the years from fifteen to seventeen weresomewhat…tumultuous. This is where I don’t want you to judge me.”Jory’s voice grew hesitant. “It’s why I’ve never told anyone aboutthis bit because I don’t want them to think badly of me. I couldn’tbear it if you did.” His voice caught and he bit at his plump bottom lipnervously.

Damian took Jory’s handsin his, not used to seeing this sort of vulnerability from him.“What you did in the past may have moulded you into the man you aretoday, but it doesn’t define you. I like the man sitting in frontof me a lot, and I’m generally a good judge ofcharacter.”

“Okay. Heregoes.” Jory drew in a deep breath. “I was a bit of a lad when I wasgrowing up. I enjoyed sex, and I had a lot of it. With a lot ofdifferent men.” He swallowed and Damian smiled encouragingly. Hedidn’t like hearing about Jory’s past sexploits, but he was adultenough to see they were in the past and had no bearing on theirrelationship.

“I startedwhen I was fifteen, so I was legally underage. I wrote aboutthese…experiences in my diary.” He laughed shortly. “It says a lotabout me I filled two complete journals with my musings andperformance rankings. Sure, there wasn’t an entry on every pagebecause I used to stick stuff in them that had meaning to me aboutthe men I’d been with. One gentleman gave me a scratch card and Iwon a thousand pounds, another bought me a ticket to see Bon Jovilive.”

Damian’s gut wrenched insympathy. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then openedthem to see Jory staring at him in apprehension.

“You think Iwas a rent boy, don’t you?” Jory sat straight up and passed a handover his face.

Damian shook his headvehemently. “No. I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

“I nevertook money fromany of them,” Jory said fiercely. “Never. I found pleasure insleeping with men, and they did the same with me. I told myself itwas their way of thanking me.” He gave a short, dark laugh. “I wasfifteen, sixteen, what the fuck did I know? I craved the attentionso I went along with it all. Roger tried to take control of me, butnothing he said mattered. We grew apart, two people living in thesame house but living vastly different lives.”

“Then when Iturned seventeen, I went to university and it redeemed me. Ifocused on studying and music. It filled me in a way meaninglesssex never did.” He grunted. “I kept journaling about the men I hadrelationships with well into my early twenties, but they were morereflective of who I was then. The relationships I had weren’tone-night stands, they lasted a bit longer. They had more meaning.And I never took anything else from any man. I wanted to make myown way in the world.”

Damian’s heart ached, butat the same time it warmed as Jory told his story. “You did whatyou had to do,” he murmured. “All I see now is the successful andwonderful man in front of me.”

Jory’s eyes glimmered.“Thank you for saying that.” His smile was watery. “Those diariesof mine became my downfall with Roger.” He gulped a breath. “Firsttime he stole them, he found my journals in a packing box before Ileft for uni, and took them.”

Damian gasped. “What? Hestole them?”

Jory nodded tiredly.“Yeah. I didn’t know at the time. I only found out when I got touni and couldn’t find them. I phoned him to see if I’d left thembehind and he told me he had them.” His face darkened. “Thing is,it was me who gave him the idea to take them in the first place. Hesaw me in my bedroom and sneered at me for writing in a diary likea lovesick little schoolgirl. I made some sarcastic throwawaycomment about having all my secrets in one place, and it piqued hisinterest.” Jory took a breath. “After he took them and read them,he told me they might come in useful one day.”

He shrugged. “I waspretty devastated, but he refused to give them back. Then I startedstudying, and the diaries kind of became something of the past. Icreated new ones because it’s how I process stuff.” He went quietthen sighed heavily. “Everything ticked along until the band gotsigned eight months ago.” He slumped back onto the couch. “Twoweeks later someone broke into my old flat in London—while I wasrunning my arse off at my part-time bartender gig—and along withsome cash in a drawer and a couple of pieces of jewellery, all mynewer journals disappeared. I knew it was Roger. He’s the onlyperson who would know how much I valued them, and I’d written moresecrets he could gloat over.” He sighed. “He was right. I had quitea catalogue of sexcapades in them, featuring some prominentpeople.”

There was silence. Jorypaced around the room in agitation and all Damian wanted to do washug him close. “Why? Why would he do that to you?”

Jory’s shoulders slumpedand he turned to face Damian. “He came to see me a week later, saidhe had them. Even made a dig about how easy they’d be to find, andgiven the last time I’d lost them, I should have taken more care ofthem.” He scoffed. “Really? I’m living in my own flat, I didn’texpect anyone to steal my bloody diaries. They were in an armoirein the lounge.” He shook his head. “He told me he couldn’t controlme when I was a teen so he’d take pleasure in doing it now. Oh, andhe now owned me and I needed to move in with him and he was goingto be taking a cut of what I earned in the band as ‘recompense’ forwhat he had to put up with when he was my guardian. If I didn’t, hewas going to release the journals and a lot of people wouldsuffer.” Jory’s brow creased in worry. “I couldn’t allow that tohappen. Those people in my diary didn’t deserve to have their liveswrecked. Hell, even go to prison, because of what I’d done atfifteen.”

“He fuckingblackmailed you.” Damian was aghast with disgust. “Jesus, how lowcan you get?” A horrifying thought struck him. “Fuck, the reactionyou had to your friend Ramsay’s death. You thought Roger had donesomething to make him take his life?”

Jory closed his eyes,bile rising once again in his throat. “Yeah,” he managed gruffly.“He intimated he’d had a hand in it.” He drew a heaving breath.“Ramsay was someone I hooked up with when I was around twenty-two.We met during a concert he was doing in Edinburgh, hit it off, andI stayed with him for a couple of weeks in his Scottish mansion inAberlady.” He smiled sadly. “He was an amazing dude. Nothing likethe pop star you see on stage. He was fun, warm, had a wicked senseof humour, but was so deep in the closet he never sawdaylight.”

Damian noddedthoughtfully. “Usual story about his managers and stuff not wantinghim to offend his lady fans by saying he was gay?”

“Yep.” Jorypopped the p. “Exactly. And I wrote about him in my fucking journaland now he’s dead. Because of me.” The overwhelming look ofself-loathing on Jory’s face scared Damian as he moved to consolehis lover.

“No. Youdidn’t kill him,” Damian said, wrapping Jory in his arms. “Youdon’t know if Roger was telling the truth. Maybe he had nothing todo with it, or it was simply a tragic coincidence. And that wankerfuck-bucket is doing this to mess with your head.” He snorted.“Sounds like something he’d do.”

Jory gave a tearfullaugh. “Wanker fuck-bucket? Where did that come from?” But herelaxed in Damian’s arms and for a moment, there was a sense ofpeace.