by Peter Styles
“Are you a runner?”
“I run,” Damian snorts. “I used to play baseball, actually. I loved it. Getting to hit something.”
So that’s why, Jordan thinks. I guess he used his arms a lot. He’s grateful for the bygone career, as selfish as he knows that is. He wonders if maybe he should try to schedule longer stops so that Damian can stretch more, or jog.
“Hey. Shower,” Damian reminds him. “They’re going to get back soon.”
“You keep saying that,” Jordan grins. He slips up next to Damian, stealing a moment and a kiss. It’s warm on his mouth and he holds that warmth close, knowing it’ll do more for him than a shower ever could.
Still, Damian swats him away and Jordan goes to shower, stomach already protesting at the thought of dinner. He moves as quickly as possible, smiling when he finds Damian’s shampoo in the bathtub. Just as he’s pulling on his clothes, emerging with a towel on his shoulders, there’s a knock at the door. Damian rises from the bed, where he was absently scrolling on his phone, and moves to answer.
“Delivery,” Jace grins, passing him a bag and drink carrier. “How was your phone call?”
“He didn’t answer. He’s probably staying late at the station,” Damian says easily. Jordan’s almost startled by how easily the response comes. Did he call while I was in the shower? “I’ll try in the morning.”
“Hm. Too bad,” Jace says, leaning on the door frame. “Well, if you call tomorrow, I’ll say hi.”
“Only if he’s been awake for more than thirty minutes,” Damian snorts. “He’s like you in the mornings.”
Jace rolls his eyes, clearly about to say something, and then his gaze lands on something in the corner. Jordan follows his eyes, already dreading what he’s going to see. It happens to be his leather jacket. And Damian’s destroyed shirt. Well, that didn’t last long.
“Well, I think the rest of us are going to bed,” Jace says, studiously looking the other way. “Don’t stay up too late.”
Damian muffles a noise—a laugh, Jordan thinks—and then the door shuts. Jordan is left half wishing the floor would swallow him. There are some things he just doesn’t want to share with his cousin, no matter how close they are.
“Come on,” Damian grins, shaking his cup at Jordan. “We can try a no talking rule.”
10
Damian
He has a dream that night, sleeping in a motel bed with Jordan. The past comes back to him in one timeless rush, memories fueling a strange and otherworldly dreamland. Damian hears his father’s voice, the shattering of glass, and then he’s waking up with a jolt, a soundless cry stuck behind his lips. He tries to calm himself, thinking you have nothing to be terrified of, you’re safe and with Jordan, but facts don’t mean anything to the dark spot in his heart.
“You okay?” Jordan murmurs, voice rough with sleep. Damian feels a little guilty for waking him up.
“Yeah. Fine. Just a bad dream. It’s nothing.” For better or for worse, Jordan clearly doesn’t believe him. He rolls over, watching Damian quietly before he ventures to talk again.
“You can tell me, if you want.”
Damian still isn’t sure he wants to explain. He decides to go halfway, though, because he likes this thing they’re developing and it’s starting to feel like maybe they could be more. He feels like they’ve been comfortably slipping into a relationship like a second skin, like they’ve always known how to be together. It’s more than just attraction, he thinks. It’s also a trust and admiration he hasn’t known for some time.
“There was a time, when I was younger, that my father was an alcoholic. It wasn’t long; maybe a few months, but it felt like forever. He always worked so hard to make things work for me as a single parent and I felt like I let him down… like maybe I could have stopped him.”
“You were a kid,” Jordan says quietly. “He was your father. You’re not supposed to save him. It’s the other way around.”
Jordan looks sad. More than just sympathetic, he looks like he wishes things were different. Easier. Damian’s glad for that. He’s too used to people being pitying, filling the air with trite phrases like that must have been hard. He’s too used to shock and murmurs. He feels a little better having told Jordan. Damian hadn’t said it to test him, but he thinks maybe if it were a test, Jordan would have passed.
“I guess,” Damian says, feeling a weight lift from his chest. “I probably took on responsibility too quickly as a kid. I also ran away a lot, though. When I didn’t know what to do or how to stop him, I’d run off to a friend’s house or to hide. It’s hard to break old habits.”
It’s been his only problem for as long as he can remember. He never stays too long in one place because really, deep down, he’s afraid of failing. He’s afraid of letting people down. Damian always leaves before he can mess things up, a compulsion driven into him since the days when he’d catch wind of his father’s depressed mood and sneak out of the house. It’s cowardly, he always tells himself, but he does it anyway before he can stop himself. Except for now. Now, he somehow feels safe. Reassured. Like he’s not the only one keeping everything afloat. Maybe there’s something more about Jordan that he likes though. Maybe it’s the fact that Jordan is so sure and dedicated that there’s no room for Damian to worry about failing him. Jordan knows what he wants; it’s clear and simple and Damian doesn’t have to guess. And if one of the things he wants is me, then maybe that feels good enough to keep me here.
“I know,” Jordan smiles, leaning closer. He kisses Damian softly, warm and slow and just a little bit sleepily. “You’re trying. That’s all anyone should ask.”
I might love him, Damian thinks, and then Jace is knocking on the door to wake them up. Jordan yawns and stretches, staring at the ceiling as if he doesn’t want to move. Damian smiles to himself.
“You can sleep on the bus,” Damian reminds him, rolling out of bed to get dressed. “I’m driving first.”
Jordan sleepily murmurs an affirmative and Damian slips into the bathroom, still thinking about their conversation. That’s all anyone should ask, Jordan had said. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s about time Damian had something worthwhile, because he’s tired of running and hiding. His father has moved on; he’s been better for years. If he could forgive himself and Damian could forgive him, maybe it’s time for Damian to do the same. Elizabeth is a small city in New Mexico, a few hours away from Las Cruces. It has the same desert valley terrain, with giant Saguaro cacti and dust in the air. The heat simmers up from the earth, barely softened by the coming of fall. Damian drives into the city at seven-thirty in the morning, an hour and a half before the band is due to perform. When he reaches the downtown area, he has to show an organizer the printed badge for the bus before a policeman waves him through a blockade, directing them to a closed street lined with tour buses and fleets of cars. There’s anticipation in the air, like the breath before the plunge—the muffled sound of a performance floats through the air, carrying faintly into the bus. He can even smell the street food.
“Whoa,” Sam says, nearly giving Damian a heart attack.
“I didn’t know you were awake,” Damian says faintly, swallowing his heart back into his chest.
“I get up earlier than the others,” Sam submits. “Where are we?”
“Downtown Elizabeth. VIP backstage parking. Mary Ann assured me it’s easy to get in and out of.”
Sam snorts. He drops into the passenger seat easily—a flop that would have been inelegant if anyone else had done it somehow seems stylishly careless when he does it. So he’s the cool guy to Jordan’s tough guy. It’s no wonder they make such a great band.
“I’m not waking the other two up,” Sam says, kicking his feet up as Damian parks. “You get the honors.” Something about the way he says it makes it seem like it’s anything but an honor.
Damian isn’t too bothered by the responsibility. He’s itching for a stretch, keyed up for his first gig, and hungry. Very hungry. He hopes they can get breakfast fi
rst. He decides to try waking Jace first—he suspects it’ll be an easier and faster job than trying to wake Jordan up. Well, that, and he’s nervous about facing Jordan. Somehow, now that they’re back on the bus and not in a hotel room, their relationship feels more real. Damian is excited about it, but he certainly doesn’t want to rush Jordan into anything..
There are two sets of bunk beds in the hallway of the bus—the road crew and Damian each have a place there. The back room houses a queen-sized bed that Jace and Jordan share, a daybed across from it Sam’s spot. The setup has made it easy for the band members to stay tucked away from everything else, allowing them silence and uninterrupted sleep on the road. After their last show, Jace had tried to take Damian’s bed, clearly making an effort to let Jordan and Damian get closer. Damian had only agreed to switch places on days when they were travelling; he can’t bring himself to push Jace out of a proper bed when he’s performing.
Damian slips into the bedroom carefully, pausing to survey the two figures huddled under the covers. Without a closer look, he almost can’t tell which is which. They have the exact same hair color. His job is easier when he notices the small differences—Jace is thinner and his arm is tucked over the sheets.
“Hey. We’re here,” Damian says, trying to keep his voice low. He hesitates, not sure if he should shake Jace, and settles on carefully folding down the edge of his sheets. He’s greeted with a low grumble—was that a growl?—and then Jace turns over and groans into his pillow. “Um…?”
“I’ll get up,” Jace says, barely audible through his mouthful of pillow. He sounds vaguely resentful—not at Damian, though, but at the world in general. Or mornings.
Guess I was wrong about what kind of morning person he is, Damian thinks, fighting a laugh. He slips away without another word, moving around the bed and towards Jordan. I hope he’s not as grumpy.
“Jordan. Hey, we’re here.”
He almost laughs when Jordan squeezes his eyes tighter, sighing heavily through his nose. He turns over, rubbing his face with his hands. Jace is already rolling out of bed on the other side; he even bumps into the doorway on his way out and Damian slaps a hand over his laughter, trying to keep quiet. He gets the feeling Jace won’t appreciate it.
“G’morning,” Jordan mumbles. Damian feels his pulse jump and he swallows his laughter, resisting the urge to jump into bed next to the man. It’s certainly big enough.
“Morning. You sleep well?”
“Mm. I slept like the dead.”
“Good. You’ve got about an hour before stage,” Damian says. “Time to eat something. You’ll need the energy, especially if this is what your energy level is.”
“I just need to get dressed,” Jordan yawns, turning his face into the sheets. Damian grins.
“You do that. We’ll wait at the front.”
He’s reluctant to leave the sleepy man behind but he knows there are things to be done. He leaves Sam in charge and slips away quietly, helping the road crew unload the trailer and check in with the event manager. Lucky that we’re using the sound system here, he thinks, or this would be an all-in setup like last time. It barely takes twenty minutes for them to get everything moved and Damian leaves the road crew with their set by the stage, walking back to the bus to check on the band. He’s hoping to find Jordan alone but he knows the chances are slim. At least if he finds him, he thinks, he won’t have to pretend. After their conversation at the motel, he has the reassurance that Jordan isn’t trying to keep their relationship a secret.
“I found coffee,” Sam greets him, leaning against the side of the bus nonchalantly. He looks back at Jace, who is sitting on the steps with a vaguely embarrassed expression.
“Feeling more human?” Damian jokes, bumping Jace’s knee with his leg.
“Not really. I’m going back to sleep when we’re done.”
“I’ll bet. Heck, I’ll go back to sleep once I’ve eaten.”
“Food,” Jordan agrees, appearing at the top of the stairs. “We need to check out the food trucks after the gig.”
Damian can’t compose an answer. Not when Jordan is wearing dark jeans that fit perfectly and a soft—looking green shirt that makes his eyes look brighter. I’m not going to last very long being patient if all I can think when I see him is how much I want to touch him, Damian thinks, trying not to stare. He can remember telling himself something about waiting for good things, but at the moment, he wants to put the music festival on hold while he takes his time with Jordan. Their only encounter had been somewhat rushed, considering the circumstances. But it was plenty fun.
“Everything’s ready,” Damian says instead, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the stage. “They seem pretty excited to have you all here. Have you been to Elizabeth before?”
“Nope,” Jace says, rising to stretch. “But we do have a fan group. They came to our show in Las Cruces when we landed a spot last year.”
“Well, they’re probably all here,” Damian muses. “It’s packed, even from what I could see by the stage. They also blocked off a lot of the streets in the area. I felt like I was driving into a quarantine zone.”
“Gotta keep those rabid music fans away from the people,” Jace smirks.
“We should probably go,” Jordan sighs, moving towards the trailer. “Half an hour is going to fly by, especially since they’ll probably let us on earlier to get set up.”
Sure enough, the rest of the time they have before performing flies by in a rush. The band that’s playing finishes in twenty minutes—Jace takes video the entire time, working like a jockey on his phone to keep all the social media accounts updated as they wait. He reads a few messages to them—hey, Sarah L says she’ll buy us all hot dogs if Sam does a backflip on stage—and then the set is over and the other band is leaving the stage, greeting and wishing luck. Damian barely has any time to worry or wonder about anything; he helps the road crew set up, listening in as David talks to the sound manager and passes him a sheet with numbers, explaining what they need—Sam’s mic should be low; keep Jace’s high and don’t adjust it; he’ll move it further away if he needs to. Damian tries to catalog all the words that are exchanged, directions and information and pleasantries, and then he’s moving to the side of the stage as the band does a soundcheck.
There are already people cheering. Jace talks to the audience, keeping up an easy flow and capturing their attention with his steady attitude. He calls out some of the names of people he’d read messages from, waving when they scream up at the stage. They’re ready to play within five minutes and then the show starts, Jordan leading them with a few notes from his bass guitar.
They really are good, Damian thinks. Even from the wrong side of the stage, he can feel the energy they bring to the show. He’s almost surprised, given Jace’s previous sleepiness. Somehow, all traces of whatever they’ve been through on the road have disappeared—there’s only the moment and the crowd, a shocking amount of which sing the chorus right alongside Jace. Damian can’t even imagine what they’re feeling; even he feels like he’s catching energy from the people in the crowd. It feels a little like charging a battery, he thinks, some invisible current running under everything.
“I feel like I should be doing something,” the soundboard operator jokes between songs, leaning back in his chair.
“We get that a lot,” David laughs.
“We’ve had some good sets,” the man continues, “but this is professional. Can’t believe I’ve never seen you guys before.”
“We’ve only started traveling in the last three years,” David explains, voice rising a little as the next song starts. “They’ve been playing since college, though. It took a while to get into it full-time.”
“Well, it was a good choice!”
Yeah, it was. Damian has never really seen the proof of being born to do something, aside from his father working as a sheriff. Watching the band perform, though, he feels like there’s no other way to describe it. They must have bee
n made to make music together, even if it had taken them a while to do so full-time. He can imagine a million different universes in which they could have started at different ages or times, or even made it big. The good thing about this one is that I get to be with them.
It’s a privilege, getting to see them in their element—especially Jordan. His serious expression, the gaze Damian can remember so clearly, seems to fade away as a quiet certainty takes its place, a joy that radiates from within. On stage, Jordan seems more at home and relaxed than he does anywhere else. It makes Damian want to coax that change out of him every moment; pull him out of his shell and make him feel safe and open every second of every day. He thinks about it for the rest of the performance, wondering how he can do it and if it’s even possible. It must be, he thinks. It has to be.
They leave the stage to a roaring cheer unlike anything Damian has ever heard before. Jace pauses to take a selfie with the crowd, laughing when some people jump. Even the announcer seems energized, laying the praise on thick as she sends them on their way.
“That was amazing,” Damian manages, following the band offstage as the road crew roll away the drums and small equipment left behind.
“Seems like a lot of people came out to see us,” Jace agrees, grinning as his fingers fly over his phone screen. “Our accounts are blowing up. I’ll have to keep up with them for the rest of the day.”
“We had a good spot,” Jordan muses, rotating his arm as he pulls his bass off. “Just after the middle, so there were more people out. And the closer to the end, the more likely they’ll remember.”
“I don’t think the placement will help their memory as much as Sam doing a backflip,” Jace says drily. “Let’s not make a habit out of that—I don’t want to have to find a replacement when he breaks his neck.”
“You underestimate me,” Sam snorts, twirling his drum sticks in his hands.
“Well, whatever we do, we need to stop by…‘Hot Diggity Dog’,” Jace laughs. “Sarah L is reserving us hot dogs. We can pick them up and get some other stuff to take back to the bus.”
