by J. P. James
We’re bodyguards. We’re constantly assessing the room, the people, where we are, and where our client is at all times. But right now, in these last few moments, I’m not just my job. I’m a man, and I can feel myself burning with anticipation.
We wait behind the curtains. I can’t keep a straight face, but rather than look like a fool with a giant smile, I harden my features into something tough and formidable. Besides, my face might be the only thing I can control at this point. I can’t stop the way my heart thunders in my chest or the way my eyes see stars when Fyre finally steps off stage.
7
Fyre
The second the lights dim, I feel my shoulders hunch forward. There’s adrenaline thrumming under my skin, but my body recoils against my will. I’m exhausted. The schedule leaves no time to breath at this point in the tour. When I step off the stage, my body feels as if its being dragged through mud.
“Fyre,” Damon calls from somewhere in the dark.
My eyes adjust as I step back, and Damon pulls me into a tight hug before I get my bearings.
“Thank you,” I choke. He’s hugging me too tight, and he knows it. He releases me, and I smile, knowing he means well. I can’t forget that he’s shaken up too.
He steps back and hands me a robe and fresh towel. “That was amazing.”
I wipe at the sweat on my face and let the silk cool my skin. “It was just another night,” I try to explain.
“The fact that you can get out there and do what you did, after last night,” he says, exasperated, “You’re special.”
I want to believe him, but I also know what I am.
“Fyre Connell doesn’t miss a show,” I say as if I’m a brand and not a person.
He looks behind him, but I can’t see what’s there. There’s a light farther down the stairs that lead back to the Green Room, but otherwise we’re pitched in darkness.
A yawn racks my body, and I can’t hide my gaping mouth in time. I can tell Damon’s looking at me fondly.
“I hope you sleep well tonight,” he says with a smile in his voice. “There are two people I want you to meet first, though.”
My ears tick up, and I feel like a dog. “Who?” I ask, but Damon doesn’t say anything.
Instead, he leads me behind the curtains.
I can tell there are two huge guys standing near the curtains. I can barely make them out, but they’re tall and strong. I can feel their power. They’re dressed in dark clothes, covered from wrist to ankle in black. It helps them blend even more into the curtains around us. The only thing that sets them apart is the heat from their bodies. I didn’t know I could feel strength, but it radiates from them like rays of sunlight. It’s stunning.
“Follow us,” Damon instructs them.
He pulls me by the small of my back. Together we all descend the stairs, Damon leading us, and the other two following in tow. I don’t know these guys, but I feel warm and … safe.
Damon stops a few feet past the bottom of the stairs, and gently, he encourages me to turn around. I don’t know why, but for a split second, I hesitate. I threw myself into this performance to distract myself from last night, and now my lungs feel heavy. I desperately catch my breath, but I realize the second I turn around that the show isn’t the only thing that’s stolen my breath.
Coming face to face with these guys is like attempting to stare into the sun. It’s beautiful and impressive, and I’m not sure I can look much longer.
I’m thankful that I’m sweating and red from the night. I’m the only one who feels my cheeks flush.
“Fyre, I’d like you to meet Jordan and Jameson Jones,” says Damon.
“Jordan,” I repeat in my mind … until my ears register the names out loud. I gulp, feeling my cheeks flush harder.
“Yes,” Jordan says. He gazes back at me. His chest heaves up and down, and I let my eyes drop to his impressive torso.
“And Jameson,” I say, as my eyes move to the other brother.
Jameson’s expression is softer, but no less inspired. He looks back at me tenderly, like I’m something special.
It’s one thing for Damon to say I’m special. I’m used to it, maybe too used to it. It’s quite another thing, to see it confirmed in a beautiful stranger’s eyes.
“It’s, uh, nice to meet you,” I stammer, “Both of you. Jordan and Jameson.”
I stand there, speechless after my blubbering, but my eyes rake over both men. They may be dressed in suits, but my mind runs wild as I imagine the rippling muscles and hard abs underneath. My eyes struggle to take in as many details as possible. They have sharp jawlines, minimal stubble, piercing blue eyes, raven hair, and lightly tanned skin. They’re tall, and athletic. They look tough, but it doesn’t push me away. No way in hell could I stay away now. I feel like an astronaut pulled into their gravity. Who are these guys, and why do I feel the urgent need to know everything about them?
“Jordan and Jameson will be your bodyguards for the rest of the tour.” Damon’s words penetrate the cloud I’m floating on and bring me back to reality. The venue. The show. Baltimore. Still, did Damon just say what I think he said?
“Bodyguards?” I wonder out loud.
Damon clears his throat. “They know about what happened last night. They were working at the Kimpton at a different event.”
“They know about Percy?” I whisper, but not nearly as quiet as I thought.
“Damon briefed us on Percy Ellis, correct,” comes Jordan’s voice, calm and authoritative.
“They’ll be following me?” I ask Damon again, only this time I hold my gaze on the brothers.
Their gazes shift, looking at each other, then Damon, and back to me. Their shoulders tense. It looks like they aren’t breathing as easily. Did I say something wrong? They’re watching me just as intently, sending shivers up and down my back, but now I see worry behind their eyes.
“We won’t make you uncomfortable, Fyre,” Jordan vows. “This is for your protection.”
“We’ll stay out of your way as much as possible,” Jameson adds.
I gulp, and turn to Damon. He has the same worry, but he masks his more easily.
“I hope this is alright. It isn’t a permanent solution. Jordan and Jameson are New York City firefighters. They’ll only be around until they go back from vacation.”
I take a sharp breath, feeling adrenaline surge through my veins. It happens now and then, especially after shows. Small bursts of energy shoot through me for the rest of the night, until I pass out in bed. Something tells me this isn’t just a post-show rush.
“This is fine. More than fine. It’s a good, I mean, a great thing,” my voice struggles to string coherent words together.
Jordan and Jameson tighten their jaws, but I think it’s because there’s the slightest hint of a smile on both their lips. I feel like an idiot, and my mouth isn’t working, but seeing the faintest smile on their faces is like the first hit of a drug. I want to see more.
“Good,” Damon drags out the word just a bit. I know from his tone that there’s a smirk on his face, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. I keep my eyes glued to the guys in front of me and offer them my hand.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” I say, letting their hands grip mine in turns. They’re hands are strong, bigger than mine, but impossibly gentle. I won’t have a problem with their hands on me, that’s for sure.
I feel the genuine smile bloom on my lips, and it feels incredible. It’s light yet powerful. It fills me with something I haven’t felt in the last day or so: peace.
“Wow.” I look back at Damon and take in the way his eyes are shining as he drinks me in. “I’m glad to see you smile again.”
He pats my shoulder to comfort me, but a pang of embarrassment brushes across my shoulder and runs along my back. I pull the robe tighter and look quickly at my feet to ground me.
“I guess I’m feeling better already, thanks to you two,” I say as my face tilts back up. I meet their eyes again, and it give
s me the courage to smile wide and freely.
“We’ll do whatever we can to keep you smiling,” Jordan promises, looking over to his brother.
Jameson nods, but then something flashes across his face the next instant. His eyes lose their sparkle.
“It’s our job to protect you,” he says matter-of-factly. “We take our jobs very seriously.”
Damon continues to pat my shoulder. Something tells me it’s his way of agreeing with Jameson. I gulp, looking between the brothers as they share another quiet look--a look that only twins can decipher.
I don’t bother, so instead I focus on Jameson’s words.
Our job.
That’s what I am … a job.
My heart flutters in my chest. I need to find a way to squash the feeling as soon as possible. There’s no way these guys see me as anything other than a side gig. Money. A client, if anything. Yet here I am, coming undone just with their assured looks and piercing eyes. I don’t even know if they’re gay. My gaydar isn’t flashing, but I can barely tell these days. Plus I’m so lonely that I wouldn’t put it past my mind to play tricks on me.
“The town car should be here shortly,” Damon says. “It will take you straight to the hotel.”
He leads us towards the Green Room to wait, and the entire time, I can feel Jordan and Jameson’s eyes on me. I’m thankful they’re behind me. At least they can’t see the red on my cheeks, and it’d be too obvious to turn around and stare at them. Damon and I lead the way.
Damon squeezes my shoulder again. I give him a quick look, but as soon as I face forward, another thought crosses my mind. I’ve wondered before if Damon is gay, but I always forget. I don’t have the heart to come out and ask, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable either. I’ve never seen him with a guy before, but I haven’t seen Damon with anyone before. He’s so private, I wonder if anyone knows the real him.
We sit around the coffee table, Damon at my side, while Jordan and Jameson take the chairs opposite us. Damon doesn’t take his hand off my shoulder, continuing to rub my back for comfort. I grab a handful of sour gummies and pop them into my mouth. The taste draws saliva from my mouth and helps my throat feel better.
“So,” I say once I’ve swallowed the last of the sticky treat. “You’re firefighters and bodyguards? I don’t mean to sound rude, but that seems odd.”
They smile and give each other another private look.
“It’s pretty common for first responders to take side jobs,” Jordan says.
“NYFD pays alright, but everyone’s trying to save as much money in the city as they can,” Jameson finishes.
“Amen,” I tell them, and they nod their approval. “Do you do this often?”
“Not really,” Jameson continues. “Our cousins are NYPD, Logan and Mason Jones. They used to do it and recommended that we give it a shot, since we’re trying to save money.”
“I see it like training too,” Jordan muses. “We have a variety of skills, but we don’t always use them in our line of work. It’s good to keep them all sharp though.”
“Like what?” I hear myself ask.
Damon leans forward to gauge my face, but I don’t pay him a second glance. I’m too enraptured in what these mystery firefighter-turned-bodyguards have to say.
“There are the basics,” Jordan starts. “It’s the same with most jobs. We have to communicate effectively with our captain and company. We have to be resilient in the face of danger.”
“There’s specific training too,” Jameson chimes in. “We learn forced entry protocols, and obviously rescue and fire control.”
They describe in detail their list of accomplishments, what they can do in and out of their uniforms. I realize between their banter that I have nothing to contribute, and I’m perfectly happy with that. I could listen to the brothers explain their line of work all night. I love music and performing, but I know there’s more to life than that. Listening to them is a welcome reminder of that.
“We also,” Jameson says, but then hesitates. He looks at his brother, before taking a breath and continues.
“We know knot work,” he blurts out, rushing the words.
My cheeks flare up, and I can feel the heat creep even further across my face and down my neck.
“You can tie knots?” I clarify, but it feels like a stupid question. Could I have stopped myself from asking it? No way.
Jordan and Jameson both nod. I watch the way their Adam’s apples bob, watching my face for a reaction. I don’t say anything, so focused on keeping a growing erection at bay, that it steals all my brainpower.
“It’s silly,” Jordan says. “Some leftover Boy Scout skills that we don’t use often.”
“It doesn’t sound silly to me.”
There’s a beat. It’s short, as we regard each other, but significant. We sit and take in our admissions, and I feel like a kid in Catholic school. I have hidden desires to protect, but maybe I can trust Jordan and Jameson more than I know.
“Maybe you could show Fyre a few knots,” Damon tries.
I look at my lap. I have to hide the grin that betrays my lips. When I look up again, Jordan and Jameson are smiling at me.
“I’d like that,” I confess.
“We’ll teach you anything you want to learn,” Jameson promises.
Jordan coughs, clutching his chest. “We’ll do everything we can to make you feel empowered and in control.”
My heart lurches, and my chest feels tighter than ever. Still, it isn’t hard to breathe. Rather, the air feels thin, like I’m hiking Mount Everest and relishing in the giddy lack of oxygen. What are these guys doing to me?
“Jordan and Jameson will do their best to investigate Percy too,” adds Damon. “What happened won’t happen again.”
Damon’s phone rings, and he gets up to excuse himself.
I didn’t realize how much Damon’s presence affected me, but the moment he leaves, I can feel my body curling again. Jordan and Jameson’s hands come quickly, each placed on one of my knees. My eyes find theirs as they smile gently at me.
“We’re here for you,” Jordan says quietly.
“From here on out,” Jameson amends.
From here on out. That sure doesn’t sound like two weeks of commitment, but I don’t want to question them about it.
We haven’t gotten started, but two weeks already sounds like the blink of an eye.
A chill runs down my spine as I think about the imminent future. From here on out … sounds like music to my ears.
8
Jameson
“Are you alright, Jameson?” Fyre asks.
He sits across from Jordan and me in his private plane, his eyes shifting from the window to us.
The engines roar, and we accelerate down the runway.
I clench my jaw. “I’m fine.”
“He doesn’t like flying,” Jordan comments.
I step on his foot. He howls and quickly bites his lip.
“You run into burning buildings, and you’re afraid of flying?” Fyre asks. Is he teasing me?
I open my eyes and find Fyre. His eyes are tired, but there’s a glint to them as he watches me.
The plane rattles slightly until the wheels finally draw up, and we start our ascent into the sky above. I grip the arms of my chair tight, but every second we’re in the air, I feel my anxiety diminish.
“It’s the ascent and descent that freak me out. Jordan and I may be twins, but we’re not the same person. Jordan can sleep through anything.”
Fyre laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you in the event of a plane crash.” I can see the dimples pop on his cheeks as he stifles his grin.
“Very funny.” Despite my attempt to stay aloof, my chest feels light and free as I absorb Fyre’s words.
Fyre’s fingers dance along the arm of his chair.
“How did you convince Damon to fly us?” Fyre wonders. “I mean, just us?”
My hands release the arms of my chair as I watch Fyre. Even as
I feel my anxiety receding, I can sense Fyre’s growing.
“I’m sorry. You’re stuck on a flight with complete strangers, after the night you’ve had. We weren’t thinking straight I guess,” I tell him.
He smiles at that, and chews his lip before he responds.
“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to get to know each other,” he responds.
I feel heat rush under my skin, but thankfully, I don’t blush often. Jordan leans forward, resting his arms on his knees in front of Fyre.
“We requested a private flight with you,” Jordan admits. “We need to ask you some questions.”
Fyre gulps so loud that I can hear him from across my seat. His face flushes, but he ducks his head quickly.
“Only if I can ask the same of you guys,” he says with his chest puffed out. Jordan and I share a look, but nod once we turn back to him.
“Sounds fair,” I admit.
Fyre gulps again, shifting in his chair.
Clearly, we intimidate him. It’s going to take more than a quick meet-and-greet for him to trust us. I don’t blame him. Jordan and I are supposed to look threatening after all. I just wish we didn’t bring this reaction out of Fyre. I don’t want him to worry about anything, when we have his best interest at heart.
“How’d you get your start in music?” I ask.
Jordan hums next to me. “We should probably ask some security questions first.”
I look to my brother and push him lightly. “Let’s not freak him out yet.”
Fyre’s eyes find mine. He can be brave and strong on the outside, but his eyes give him away. Sometimes he looks so helpless that I can hardly stand it.
“I started out online. I would post cover songs all over the place. Eventually one of them got over a million views, and that’s when Damon’s agency reached out to me. I’ve been making music professionally ever since,” he says sweetly.
