Page 33 of Diva Pop

Chapter Eleven

Jett scrolled through his phone, going through his zillion messages as he lounged in Silas’ bed with his unicorn pillow at his back. How cool was it that Silas had not only let him keep his pillow in bed, but had encouraged it along with him having his blankies? The entire day before had been filled with the first three Jurassic Park films that he’d seen bits and pieces of between dozing, popcorn, Chinese food and general pampering from Silas.

Or Papa, as he’s more commonly known.

At least that’s how Jett would think of him from now on. He had to keep tucking away the niggling fear that it was all a dream or a big joke, but in his heart, he trusted Silas.

Damn. He couldn’t believe all the people who’d come out of the woodwork, wishing him well and asking if he was okay. Not that it was much of a shocker, but Paul hadn’t reached out to him. Of course, the snake had tweeted and posted on his Instagram how horrible the attack was and how much he hoped ‘his bro’ would get better soon so they could hit the road again.

Jett snorted. Yeah. Right. He’d never been anyone’s ‘bro’—especially not Paul’s.

The label had gone out of their way by sending over an enormous gourmet foods gift basket. The thing was the size of a Volkswagen, and was delivered to the house of death, of course. He’d only known of its existence from when they called to check on him and asked if he’d received it.

Silas had sent his assistant over to retrieve it, and the obnoxious selection of goodies now sat across from him atop Silas’ long dresser. He supposed the gift was a nice gesture but questioned whether the execs actually believed that chili pepper almonds and quince fruit paste would make almost being brutally murdered worth it.

His cell vibrated and he checked to see who it was. The damn thing hadn’t stopped since the attack hit the news.

“Oh, thank God it’s you, Tor. I’m so tired of talking to people who never gave a rat’s ass about me before yesterday. At least there’s one thing good about being traumatized and injured. It’s a fantastic excuse for getting off the phone in a hurry.”

“That’s not even remotely funny, Jett. I was crying all day yesterday, I was so upset. I never should’ve taken off with Sean. If I’d stayed in town, we would’ve hung out together and that freak wouldn’t have hurt you.”

Jett’s eyes burned. “Hey, Tor, no. You can’t blame yourself. It’s on me, all of it. Actually…” Jett picked at his old, half dead blanket. “I need to tell you something. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I treat you real shitty sometimes, take you for granted. I’m sorry, hon. No one’s ever been as nice to me as you, and you deserve a better friend than me. I hope you and Sean are super happy together.”

“Jett, stop! You’re going to make me start crying again. You don’t need to apologize. You’re the true star of the band, so I understand how hard it must be for you when you don’t get what you want all the time.”

Ouch. Man, he was an ass.

Tory continued, “And yeah, I’m very happy with Sean, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less. You’ll always be my best friend.” He laughed. “But I also get the benefits with Sean, so I guess that part’s only for him.”

“Oh my God. You little tramp.”

Tory barked out a laugh. “Yup. I’m Sean’s little tramp.”

“Please tell me he isn't there with you right now.”

“So, what if he is? Maybe he’s servicing me while we speak?”

“Oh my God, you did not just say that. Um, listen. I have something else to tell you, too, but not right now.”

He wasn’t ready to get into the Silas saga yet. He still needed time to process.

“Is something wrong?”

Jett smiled. It was so nice not to be dwelling on the awful for a change. “Not even close. I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

After saying goodbye to Tory, he went back to scrolling through his messages. The cast on his wrist made an excellent surface to prop his phone against while he used the index finger of his good hand to tap away. However, his phone was beginning to bore him, and his mind had begun wandering to what Silas was up to.

He’d been told to stay in bed—Papa’s orders—and to ask for whatever he needed, and Silas would get it for him. Since it was the weekend, Silas was at home. Jett hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him yet about Monday. As it was, he still hadn’t listened to the dreaded voicemail.

I need to get this over with.

Jett disobeyed orders by getting out of bed. Sure, he was onboard with trying out the Daddy thing with Silas, allowing himself to be vulnerable with someone -- but Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Jett tiptoed around Silas’ house, then spotted him at the center island of his kitchen. He padded into the room, his arms swallowed up by the extra loose sleeves of an old ballet sweatshirt as he wrapped them around his frame. The top was extra-long and covered his butt. However, he hadn’t bothered with pants and only wore a pair of moon and star socks on his feet.

“How’s my sexy Papa doing?”

Even though he knew Silas wasn’t a fan of Jett’s buttering up technique, it was what he always fell back on when he was nervous.

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