Page 51 of Patchwork
The driver said the next exit, but I wasn’t actually paying attention to how far that would be. Hell, out here in the middle of nowhere it can be fifty miles to the next exit sometimes. I plant my ass in the seat closest to the door with my duffle bag over my shoulder and my guitar in my lap, bouncing my knee impatiently.
Maybe I should text Hero and tell him I’m coming. I reach for my phone but stop myself with a grin on my lips and an excited thunder in my chest. Just thinking about surprising him has me feeling more alive than I have in months. I can practically feel hisarms around me. I can taste the memory of his lips on mine. It’s so easy to picture the way his eyes will light up when he sees me pull into the parking lot of Ink Slingers.
Finally, fuckingfinally, the bus sways a little as we pull off the highway. The brakes squeal, but they’re nearly drowned out by the drumbeat of impatience in my ears. I’m out of my seat before the doors even open, ready to shoulder my way through them if I have to. They hiss and part, and I almost want to pull a pope and kiss the ground. I don’t waste any time with that though. With Hero at the forefront of my mind, I hurry around to meet the driver as he gets out.
“Hey, can you unhook my car for me? I’m going to drive myself the rest of the way.”
He nods and heads around to the back of the bus without complaint. I bounce on my toes while he unhitches it and gives me a little salute.
“Drive safe,” he says.
I fish my keys out of my duffle bag and hop into my car. The second I lay my hands on the steering wheel, a sense of freedom washes over me. I don’t have to go back if I don’t want to. I can go anywhere now, be anyone I want to be… and right now the only place I want to be is wherever Hero is.
I rev the engine and put my Mustang into gear. I have twenty hours on the road ahead of me, but I’m already counting them down.
I’ll be home soon.
EPILOGUE
1 YEAR LATER
HERO
Mybikevibratesbetweenmy legs, and the roar of four other Harleys drowns out the rest of the traffic sounds around us as we cruise down I-90 towards Chicago. It feels like a lifetime since I flew out to Seattle to tell Onyx how crazy, stupid, desperately in love with him I was…am. And somehow, it’s also gone by in a blink. A Halloween party where we dressed up as Sid and Nancy (I was Nancy), Christmas with the guys (Jag was Onyx’s Secret Santa and he got him a cumfetti blaster), spring spent with Onyx elbow deep in the neglected garden in the backyard, and hundreds of nights lost in each other.
Onyx’s arms are wrapped around me, and his tattoos snake down past the sleeves of his leather jacket and onto his hands now. There’s an octopus on one hand, tentacles extending over his fingers, and a rose on the other. I’ve managed to cover nearly every inch of his arms and chest at this point, and he always has new ideas for fresh ink that I’m always happy to find space for. I love seeing my marks all over him, I love the way he sighsand relaxes when the needle touches his skin, and I absolutely fucking love that no one else will ever tattoo him. That honor is all mine.
If I weren’t doing eighty right now, I’d reach down and pull his hand up to kiss the exposed bit of skin. But I guess that can wait until we’re stopped again. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of kissing Onyx, seeing him smile, hearing him call me a dumbass. He tightens his grip around me like he can hear the direction of my thoughts and wants me to know he’s still just as wild about me as I am about him.Still.Always. Forever.
It’s cheesy as hell, but I can feel it in my gut that this thing between us isn’t temporary. I don’t think it ever was, even from the second we laid eyes on each other. It just took us ages to find the courage to say it.
Eventually, we make it into the city and the arena comes into view. I grin behind my helmet visor at the sneaky thrill of weaving through the crowded parking lot with the headlining artist clinging to me. No one can tell it’s Onyx with his helmet on, and there’s something fun about that too.
This is going to be his first solo concert, kicking off a three-week tour around the Midwest that I’ll be joining him on, but he insisted on the first spot being Chicago so all the guys could make it to the show. I think part of the reason he picked Chicago as a starting point was so I could drive him down on my Harley before we take the small tour bus the rest of the way.
“I wonder how many rockstars show up to their own concerts riding bitch,” Jag jokes, pulling off his helmet as we all coast to a stop in the loading dock area of the arena.
Onyx barks out a laugh and swings his leg around to climb off the back of my bike. He’s not even clumsy with his guitar strapped to his back anymore. He might not be doing big tours, but we hardly ever miss an open mic night.
“I’ve thought about getting my own bike, but then I wouldn’t have the excuse to snuggle up to my man for the whole two-hour ride.” He winks at Jag and shakes his hair off his forehead.
I loop an arm around his waist and pull him close for a good luck kiss, brushing my lips against his and grinning into the kiss.
“Ugh, you guys are gross.” Jag exaggerates a gag, and Onyx laughs into the kiss.
“Jealous,” Lewis taunts, climbing off the back of Arrow’s bike. “Hey, Onyx, we get to come backstage and party after the show, right?”
Onyx snorts. “You can come backstage and party, but I won’t be there.” He leans into me, giving me a filthy look. “I’ll be celebrating on the tour bus.”
The way he purrs the suggestion, I have no doubt that he’s expecting the celebration to be a private affair, and I am absolutely fucking there for it.
“Lame,” Brick complains, hopping off the back of Tex’s bike.
“I’ve done the rockstar thing. Now I’m all about the music.” Onyx shrugs unapologetically.
“Truly lame,” Jag says. “Where’s Mick Jagger when you need him?”
“You have a crush on Mick Jagger?” Milo asks.
