Page 8 of Wild Obsession

“Not hungry today?” he says.

“I’m just…”

I don’t even know which lie to deploy. Everyone saw how that first interaction between Keannen and I went. I’m sure they’re all wondering what the hell is going on. My bandmates don’t know I’m gay, let alone that I have a scorned ex-boyfriend in my past.

“It’s okay, man,” Cameron says. “This is all a lot, even though we’ve done it before.”

“This tour definitely feels different from the first one.”

That first time, we reallywerethe conquering heroes. We’d just gotten a record deal. We were riding high on the surreal experience of all our wildest dreams coming true. By the end, we were happy to go back to writing and recording music, the thing we do best, but here we are being shoved into the spotlight again far too soon, and it’s partly to boost some other band our management wants to promote. The whole thing is just … weird.

And, of course, there’s Keannen. But that’s my own problem and no one else’s.

“We’ll get through it,” Cameron says. “I’m definitely not excited to play ‘Apart’ every night, but it’s a fan favorite.” He shrugs in resignation.

If only Keannen was a problem I could dismiss so casually. The mature thing to do would be to talk to him, try to settle our past. We were stupid kids, after all. Maybe a conversation would be enough to fix this, or at least to allow us to function during the tour. But starting that conversation scares me absolutely shitless. I’ll try. For the good of the band. If the opportunity comes up. Maybe.

Cameron’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I realize I’ve wandered off into my own head again. I flinch, and he squeezes. He’s not a touchy guy, so I’m already surprised, even before he leans close, lowers his voice, and says, “You know we’re all here for you, right? If you need support during this, any of us would have your back, Tim. Management doesn’t need to know shit. We’re still your bandmates, and we’re still here for you.”

I go cold. Does he know? Do they all know? All I can manage to do in the moment is swallow around the lump in my throat and nod. Maybe I should tell them and get it over with, but that would require admitting that I’m not only their weak link in the band, but also a shitty person who hurt someone so badly he’s carried around the resentment for eight years. The Ten Hours are all the family I have.They’re my whole world. I can’t let them think about me that way.

Daphne ends our break and gets us back onstage to work on some other songs. We have the music in our bones at this point, but it’s the marks she’s mostly worried about. This isn’t those little shows we played in dive bars; this is a whole production, with all the bells and whistles.

“Awesome. Yes,” she says. “That’s great. Management is loving this, guys. They’re super excited. This is going to be huge for not just your career, but Baptism Emperor’s as well.”

I scowl, a pit opening in my stomach. Do we really need to keep talking about them?

“Aren’t we supposed to be rivals?” I speak up. “I mean, we play the same genre of music. We probably have the same fans. Shouldn’t we be competing with each other?”

“Hey, if you want to compete, by all means, compete,” Daphne says. “The rival thing issohot right now. If you want to talk shit — within reason, of course — we won’t stop you. Rivals are sexy. Rivals drive sales. If you need to pick a fight one night, go for it. Just, uh, don’t actually throw a punch. Keep it civil.”

Civil. I scoff. She has no idea the can of worms she’s opening. Keannen probably would throw a real punch at me. He’d probably lay me out right onstage. Not for the sake of the management company or record sales, either. He’d do it because he hates me, and I can’t even blame him for it.

I have a couple short weeks left, then, after eight years, there will be no more avoiding my biggest regret.

If he throws that punch Daphne warned us against, I’m not sure I’ll have the heart to duck.

Chapter Four

Keannen

WATCHING TIM BECOME famous hasn’t been easy, but at least I’ve gotten to do it from afar before now. As I help the band pack up our tour bus, I confront the stark reality of being in close proximity to the guy who ran away when we were young and stole all my dreams in the process.

If he thinks I’ll let him off easy for that, he’s wrong.

I haul my drums into the storage beneath the bus, but my mind is distracted and I set them down too hard.

“Whoa, you alright?” Jacob says behind me.

I turn to face our dashing and charming lead singer, who’s looking as handsome as ever even while preparing to sit on a tour bus for several hours. The sun warms his brown skin and dances in his hazel eyes. We are seriously going to need a mountain of security to keep fans off him once wemake it big — which we will, by the way. I am not ending this tour without showing the entire world, and Tim, that we’re the better band in every possible way. We might be the opener, but I know I’m the better drummer, and I know Jacob could charm a brick wall if he wanted to. We’re hungrier than The Ten Hours. By the end of this charade, everyone will be looking at us and not them.

“I’m fine,” I grumble. “Are we ready?”

Jacob sets his hands on his hips and scans the equipment stashed under the bus. “How would I know? I’m just the vocals.”

I brush past him, letting my shoulder knock into him a little harder than I should. We haven’t even begun, and I’m already irritated about this whole thing.

“Then why did you ask?”

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