Page 34 of Wild Obsession

“No,” I jump in before he can make it worse. “I’m going to stop you right there, Freckles.” The mocking lilt drops off the teasing pet name this time. “I never promised you anything. What happened is a fluke. It’s not my problem if you read too much into jerking off in the shower.”

“There was more than that,” Tim says, but his voice goes quiet in a way that tries to twist through my heart. “What happened on the bus…”

I wish I could forget, but it’s been on my mind since the night it happened. I was wound up, frustrated. I wanted to take it out on Tim, and feel good in the process. I did, but it didn’t cross my mind to consider that Tim might have had avery different experience that night. He’s completely inexperienced, so coming together a couple times has spiraled into more than I ever intended. He’s my rivalandmy ex. There is no room here for sweetness.

I take a halting step backward. “Listen, I think you’ve got the wrong idea. Whatever’s going on here, it’s not serious. I’m messing with you. If anything, you should hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Tim says. “I never hated you.”

Then why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you text? Why did you disappear without a word the day your mother pulled you out of that car? Why wasn’t I worth so much as a DM?

“Well, I still hate you,” I say, but it lacks venom.

Even so, Tim flinches.

“We aren’t the kids under the bleachers anymore,” I say. “I’m not here to hold your hand or take you to the damn prom. I had fun blowing off steam with you while we were stuck together, but I’m not the kind of guy you ‘like.’ I’m not the kind of guy you’d tell your parents about, even if they didn’t suck. I never promised you that, and I don’t want it. Got that?”

Tim pauses, but holds remarkably steady throughout this. When he speaks, his voice is thin, but it doesn’t break. “I got it.”

“Good.”

I turn before I can regret it, before I can think too hard about it, retreating to the security of the hotel.

THE BALTIMORE SHOW IS A DISASTER.

I’m off before we even begin. Jacob asks me what’s wrong while we’re getting ready in the greenroom, and I snarl something at him that’s rude enough that even I feel compelled to apologize. He doesn’t ask again, and neither does anyone else.

Then I’m onstage, and I can’t find a beat to save my life. I pound my way through it, making up for my incompetence with raw noise. I know it won’t fix anything, but it feels good to let my rage out through my drum kit, beating the snare and toms and cymbals like they personally insulted me. I used to imagine Tim’s face on those drums when I smashed them; tonight, it’s my own face staring back at me.

I slam a stick down, missing the beat and hitting my snare so hard everyone must hear my mistake. My band does its best to keep up anyway, and that makes the song something passable, but in between that song and the next, while I’m panting and dripping sweat like I just hunted down a wild beast, Jacob shoots a look over his shoulder, a question in those pretty leading-man eyes of his.

I ignore him and click my sticks together to launch us into the next song. The rest of the band has no choice but to follow. That’s one of the perks of being a drummer. Thelead singer might be the guy who draws the most attention, but the real leader is the man who makes the most noise and defines the tempo, and that man is me.

We race through our set, every song a little faster than it should be. My bandmates are good enough musicians to keep up as I lead them on the auditory equivalent of a high-speed chase. It’s not them I’m running from, however; it’s myself.

I’ve stayed away from Tim since that moment outside the hotel, the moment he spoke with his parents on the phone. He hasn’t sought me out either, but we can’t completely avoid each other during the tour. There are sound checks, hair and makeup appointments, meetings with management. We’ll be in the same room at the same time sooner or later, and I already don’t know what I’m going to do about it.

What I want to do is run. It worked well enough as a kid. My parents didn’t want me around, so the second I was eighteen, I packed up my car with every worldly possession I owned and I bailed. I always knew I’d go to the West Coast. Maybe L.A., maybe Seattle, but I had to cross the country if I was going to pursue my dream and escape my wretched family. Unlike Tim, I haven’t contacted my family once, and they haven’t reached out to me, either. I’m over it.

And I’m over Tim, too.

I beat that resolution into my drums, crashing through the set and sending my entire band careening through ourmusic. We drop out of the other side of it exhausted, everyone sweating as hard as me when the lights go down.

I toss my sticks on the floor and storm off the stage.

Normally, I might hang around and help, or at least soak up the adulation of the crowd, but there’s no adulation to find tonight. There’s just angry bandmates and bewildered crew.

I stomp toward the dark at the edge of the stage, and of course The Ten Hours are lurking there. All four of them watch me approach like I’m a boulder tumbling toward them. Kelsey steps back. Erin frowns at me. Cameron is steady, but he wears a quietly furious look that warns me off of taking out my frustration on Tim.

Tim.

He’s there, and for a beat our eyes lock. Where I might expect to find smug satisfaction — because he’sdefinitelygoing to out-play me tonight — I find … concern. I could vomit. The last thing I want from the stupid virgin I just rejected isconcern. That will only make me weaker. I’m pretty sure it’s going to make Tim weaker tonight. I’m pretty sure he’s going to fumble the easy win I’ve handed him. Unlike me, he’ll fall back and rely on his band instead of dragging them into his madness.

I don’t stay to find out. I tear my eyes away from him, storming past him to reach the greenroom. I don’t need to watch. I don’t want to know. Tim’s life is not my problem.

“Hey.”

Jacob’s voice is angry in a way the fans would believe is impossible. They’d be even more surprised by the way he grabs my shoulder and spins me around to face him.

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