Page 11 of Wild Obsession

With that ominous threat hanging between us, Keannen shoves himself away from the wall and saunters off, leaving me breathing way too hard. He disappears with his band, not once looking back, even though my eyes follow him the whole way.

“Tim, you ready?” Cameron calls to me.

I shake myself and force myself away from the wall. My pants feel too small and my ears are full of static, but I nod anyway. I don’t have a choice. We have to go on. Now. The crowd is stirring restlessly. The second Erin steps past the curtains at the edge of the stage, the venue absolutely explodes, the anticipation reaching a fevered pitch.

Cameron slaps me on the shoulder. “Come on,” he says. “We’ve got this. Just do what you do best.”

Except I don’t do this best. Keannen does this best. I’m a weak link, a fraud. He’s the real deal, and in a few minutes, everyone is going to know it.

Regardless, I stumble onto the stage and somehow take my place behind my drum kit. I pick up my sticks, takingseveral deep breaths, trying to center myself and remember what I’m here for.

It doesn’t work. Not really.

From the very first song, I’m off. I can feel it. The band can feel it. The audience can feel it. I’m never quite right. Erin and Cameron and Kelsey do their best, and mostly pull it off, but they can’t entirely cover for their own drummer. I let them all down, just like I knew I would. Just like Keannen knew I would.

The crowd goes crazy regardless, swept along by Erin’s booming voice and Cameron’s wailing guitar and Kelsey’s throbbing bass. The rest of my band carries me through this, and the shame eats a hole through me that’s as wide as a chasm by the time we reach the end of the set. This feels way too much like being back home in my parents’ house, their judgment lurking in every look. They moved me from school to school, all over the country, even sending me away to the West Coast eventually in the hopes that something might fix me. It never did, and I never went back. The last time I spoke to them, they were still holding onto the vague hope that I might be “normal” at long last. They’ve never once been proud of my music career, and if they saw me floundering onstage tonight, they’d probably sneer and say they told me so.

This is all too much. The show, my parents, Keannen. It’s a trifecta of bullshit, and it’s more than I can take. I skip out on half my notes in the last song, playing a basic, serviceablerhythm, enough to get us to the finish line, but not even close to what I was supposed to do up here. Kelsey helps cover for me with her bass, and that’s a favor I’ll never be able to repay. The debt I’m accruing with my bandmates tonight is liable to bury me, but I can’t worry about that right now.

The second I can, I get the hell off that stage. Maybe it’s a little brusque, but I don’t care. I need to get away. I make some excuse about wanting a shower and beeline it out of the venue and across the street to the hotel before anyone can see or stop me. Cameron will be busy with Julian tonight while we’re within driving distance of home, so when I burst into the hotel room, there’s nothing but my lone bag on the single bed.

I jump into the shower and stand under scorching hot water for too long. It’s like I think I can burn this night off my skin if I just stand here long enough, strip off the layer of myself that fumbled the very first show of the tour.

I knew this was going to be rough, but this is a disaster of Biblical proportions. I wanted to patch things over with Keannen, see if we couldn’t call a truce at least for the duration of the tour, but it seems I’m out of luck there. He made it quite clear he’s going to shove eight years worth of pain into the next six weeks, and I can’t even blame him. He’s finally got the guy who hurt him pinned in a corner. He’d be nuts not to exploit that to the fullest.

I shut off the water, but keep standing in the shower, head hanging and hands braced against the wall. This is such a fucking mess, and I can’t see any way out. I’m going to have to play in spite of Keannen, but The Ten Hours might drop me by the time we get home if things continue this way.

I towel off roughly and throw on sweatpants and a clean T-shirt. All that makeup and stuff they did to me, and here I am back to my plain, boring self, so unremarkable that I bet I could go to any bar in the area and no one would even recognize me.

That’s not a bad idea, now that the idea strikes me. A drink or two would really take the edge off this night before I have to face my band and possibly our management tomorrow. I’m sure there will be questions about my performance, and a little liquid courage tonight would go a long way toward answering them tomorrow.

I throw on a hoodie on the off chance I have to hide my face from a fan. We haven’t had too many problems with that kind of thing, but we do have security. The others need it more than me. They’re the cool, talented, flashy ones. Some unreasonably enormous dude looms menacingly behind Erin when we do signings and stuff. I think his name is Seth, but he tends to scowl more often than he speaks. There are some others, but Seth is the one who’s around most often. I guess he’s pulling double duty on this tour. Surely Baptism Emperor has fans and stalkers of their own, or they will soon, after that performance they put on tonight.

I throw my wallet, room key and phone in my pockets, put up my hood, and slip out of my room and into the hall beyond. I guide my door shut, trying to avoid the loud click it would issue otherwise. I know my bandmates are somewhere nearby, and I really don’t want to confront them.

There is, however, someone I want to confront even less than The Ten Hours.

And he’s walking down the hall toward me wearing a shit-eating grin.

I straighten as my eyes lock with Keannen’s. His wicked smile curls like smoke, pure malicious joy painted across his lips. He hasn’t washed off the makeup or saved his hair from all the products they put in it, but he has thrown on that leather jacket he wore to all the rehearsals, the one that reminds me so much of his jacket in high school.

I might hope that he’ll pass me by, that I’ll get off easy with a cruel joke or shoulder shove, and, if I’m really unlucky, a semi I have to go deal with without thinking too hard about the guy causing it. But that glint in Keannen’s dark eyes says otherwise.

It says my night just got even worse.

I’ve evaded him for eight years, but with my back to the door of my hotel room and Keannen marching down the hall, there’s nowhere left to run.

Chapter Six

Keannen

THE SECOND I SEE him in the hall, something dark stirs in my gut. Tim leaves his hotel room, but freezes the second his eyes lock with mine. Damp hair straggles onto his face. Combined with his wide eyes, it leaves him looking like a gopher popping his head out of his burrow to spot a predator.

I certainly stalk toward him like I’m about to devour him, so I guess he’s not that far off the mark.

Tim blinks, but stands stiffly before his hotel room door as I saunter over. I plant my hand next to his head, just like I did backstage. I’m not a fool. I noticed his reaction then, and I’m noticing it now as well, the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the way heat darkens his cheeks, the way his eyes skitter around like he isn’t sure if he wants to examine memore closely or look away entirely. He’s terrified of me, and the rush of that goes right to my cock.

“Hey, Freckles,” I say from way too close.

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