Page 122 of Syncopation
“Yeah. I can.”
“Good.” He paused. “Good night, Ray. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ray exhaled. “Good night, Zav. You’re evil, you know?”
He just laughed and disconnected the call. Yeah, he was. But for all that he was tormentingRay, he was tormenting himself as well. He set his phone on the nightstand, then delved into the fantasy he’d set for Ray, knowing that in that large hotel room, Ray would be fucking himself senseless.
Zavier came faster than he wanted, pumping his jizz out all over his chest. The orgasm was entirely unfulfilling, except to help exhaust him more. Too tired to get up, he wiped himself off withthe bed sheet. Sleep would be an indulgence, and tomorrow?
Tomorrow he’d join Ray in that big hotel bed of his...oftheirs.
* * *
Ray woke the next morning far too early to bother Mish or Dom. Living in what amounted to two hotel rooms without Zavier and without being able to leave was weird and getting uncomfortable. He didn’t venture over to Mish’s or Dom’s rooms, because he didn’twant to intrude on their privacy. They’d had to deal with all of this shit, too—it was the least he could do. He expected they would wander over when they were up and dressed, and they’d all order room service.
Apparently there were less paparazzi hanging around the hotel, but some still lingered. His lawyer had suggested they lay low, as had the cops. So they had.
But the hotel life waswearing thin. He hoped they could figure out what the next steps were soon so they all could move on. At least the label was still paying for the hotel, though Ms. Gonfaus said their firm would pick up costs if the label decided not to pay, and then tack that on to their demands.
He killed some time with a long, hot shower to ease away his aches, both from stress and from his activities lastnight.
After Ray had hung up with Zavier, he’d done exactly what Zavier had requested. He’d gone into Zav’s bag and pulled out a dildo—one Zavier hadn’t used on him yet—a condom and lube. Then he’d fucked himself to exhaustion. And yeah, he’d cried out Zavier’s name while shooting his load.
Intense and primal, the orgasm had left him both fulfilled and gutted. He wanted Zavier, wantedhis touch and his hands. He was so fucking in love with Zav that ithurtwhen he thought about him. There were times when he absolutely wanted to fall at Zav’s feet and blather on about what Zav meant to him. Except Zavier would be confused and perplexed at best. At worst, he’d be horrified at Ray and his over-the-top emotions.
He couldn’t fault Zavier. From a certain point of view, fallingin love did seem like a kind of temporary madness that either evened out into something solid, steady, and calm. Or it shattered, leaving behind a trail of pain and pieces to gather and start again.
But he couldn’t help what he felt any more than Zavier could. It was absolutely enough that Zavier cared about him and wanted to be with him. Theywerefriends, and the sex, with the added bonusof Ray’s newfound kink, was incredible. Plus, he got to see Zavier play drums all the damn time, and that was its own glory.
Content, Zav had said at one point. Yeah, that summed it up nicely. Maybe more than content. Happy. He’d let Zavier set the pace. After all, helikedZavier in charge—at least in some circumstances.
He appreciated the headspace Zavier had given him with the kinkand the sex and the friendship, but in the end, Twisted Wishes was his to lead. He’d built the band from high school. It was only fitting that he take them into whatever lay in the future. He’d also taken the brunt of Carl’s shit. Yes, he’d consult Dom, Mish, and Zav, but he would be the leader—and a better one than before.
Sadly, showering, dressing, and ruminating didn’t takethatmuch time,even when done leisurely. Still no sign of Mish or Dom, and he wasn’t about to text either of them. They deserved their sleep. None of this, especially his medical crisis, had been kind to them, and he’d be a fool to think that it hadn’t affected or stressed them out.
Which left him alone in two big rooms with very little to do. He glanced around his room until his gaze lingered on his tablet.Shit, well, he was kind of curious about how the media was spinning this. Hell, he had no idea if Zav had managed to slink out of town unnoticed, and if he hadn’t, how wasthatbeing talked about?
With trepidation in his soul, he approached the device and picked it up. Only one way to know for sure. Ray flopped down in the nearest chair, turned the thing on, and started the rounds on the usualsites.
In the end, the press wasn’t that bad. Interesting in places, too. Lots of confusion and speculation. No mention of Zavier leaving, so he must have managed to avoid the reporters and the paparazzi.
Ray was gonna grill Zav about how to do that. Fuckingmagical. He wanted that skill.
Of course, there were the awful photos of him unconscious on a stretcher being worked on and movedto the ambulance, and ones of Domino climbing in, in his full persona. Speculation as to why it wasn’t Zavier, ranging from them having broken up—which very few people believed—to Zavier being held for questioning by the police—which was closer to the truth.
There were also photos of Zavier, from when he left the club to head to the hospital. Fuck, he looked tired in those. And grim, his mouthpulled into a tight line. Worry carving deep fissures around his eyes. Anger when he spotted the press photographing him.
But he hadn’t said a thing, only gotten into a cab bound for the hospital.
The pictures of Carl getting hauled away in handcuffs were somethingelse. Ray was glad he hadn’t put anything in his stomach yet because his gut fucking rebelled. Sick and hot and angry—it hithim all at once, leaving him breathless and heaving.
There was the man who’d nearly killed him. The man who’d been supposedly shepherding them through stardom, and working for their best interests. Carl looked wild and desperate and utterly guilty in those photos, and once the initial shock had worn off, the only thing in Ray’s heart for that bastard was contempt.
The speculation aboutwhy Carl was arrested was all over the map, everything from gay-bashing to being enamored with Ray or Zavier or both, to being some kind of spy for another band.
What bothered Ray the most was thathe still didn’t knowthe reasons behind Carl’s actions. He shook his head and searched on. And rammed up against pages upon pages of text and photos and tweets that made his eyes water and his throattighten. He set the tablet down and got up to pace.
Get-well messages. Outpourings of love and concern. Photos of signs and cards and little vigils with candles and lights, entire Instagrams worth of messages. It waseverythingand far more than he deserved.
