by J. P. James
“That’s impressive,” I tell him.
Jordan eases next to me. He seems more uncomfortable with this conversation than Fyre does. Why, I have no idea.
“Tell me something about yourselves. Damon mentioned you guys are firefighters. I’ve never met firefighters before.”
Jordan sucks in air, and it dawns on me why he’s so edgy. He doesn’t like to share personal information, even though I just signed us up for this. I squeeze his knee as I clear my throat.
“We have a large Irish family that’s been full of police officers and firefighters for generations. It felt like a natural progression, and Jordan and I love it. We like helping people, and contrary to popular opinion, we do a lot more than fight fires.”
Fyre smiles, his hands clutching each other in his lap. “I like helping people too. I like to think I can protect people with my music, but what you guys do is amazing. You guys are amazing.”
He shuts up fast once he realizes he’s been babbling, and he fixes his gaze on the ground. I think it’s sweet and want to hear more of what he has to say.
“What are you passionate about?” Jordan asks.
This time, I look at him in awe. That’s quite a question to ask, but now that it’s out there, I’m dying to know too.
Fyre’s spirits seem to lift as he goes over a list in his head.
“I’m always trying to do good by the LGBT community,” he starts. He crinkles his brows, and looks at us for a moment before he continues.
“I haven’t spoken to my parents since I came out. They’ve never been supportive of my ‘lifestyle,’“ Fyre says with air quotes.
“Ah, you have that kind of parent,” I comment.
Fyre just nods, pursing his lips as he remembers them. “It doesn’t hurt much anymore. I keep to myself. It helps.”
Damn. That hurts my heart.
“At least you have friends, right?” Jordan asks.
Fyre laughs, but it’s hollow. “Not really. I have fans and people I work with. Friends and family, not so much.”
The air is silent for a beat, before Fyre cuts it with a small chuckle.
“I have this song called ‘Jay Jay,’ maybe I’ll play it in Philly. It’s about this imaginary friend I had when I was a kid. I used to tell Jay Jay all my secrets.”
His smile fades after that, the memory shifting in his mind.
“My parents found out and made me stop. They said it was weird and that kids shouldn’t have pretend friends. I wrote ‘Jay Jay’ as homage to sharing what’s on my mind, like a songbird.”
I reach my hand forward without thinking, resting it on Fyre’s. He jerks his head up but doesn’t move. Instead, he smiles back at me.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you. You were a kid,” Jordan says as I rub circles into his hand.
Fyre smiles again. It’s fast becoming my favorite thing to see.
“It’s nice to open up to someone,” he says hesitantly. “I can’t remember the last time I talked to someone, and it wasn’t about the tour.”
I purse my lips to speak next. “We try to support the LGBT community too. Our cousins enlisted us for this paint night event in the city. It involves us getting naked and figure modeling for paying artists, but the money goes to the local youth center.”
Fyre’s cheeks flame bright red, and it makes me feel just as exposed as he does. I guess he likes the image of me being half-naked. It makes me feel a strange mix of power and pleasure.
Jordan clears his throat, shaking Fyre and me from our stray thoughts.
“Right, we should talk security now,” I say quickly, before shifting in my seat.
“So Damon’s going back to New York?” Jordan tries.
I look at Jordan, silently thanking him for the change of topic. Plus, Fyre and Damon have a special connection, and it should help him feel better about answering our questions.
Fyre laughs, then yawns into the back of his hand.
“I can’t believe Damon flew out at 4 am. Although, he likes flying at ungodly hours. I’m not a diva, but I definitely need beauty sleep.”
Jordan writes a few notes in his phone as he muses. “We’ll keep him updated on the trip. If you feel uncomfortable at all, Damon says he can jump on the next flight to meet us.”
Fyre’s eyes are soft in the morning light as he shrugs slightly. “As much as I like to monopolize Damon’s time, he has other clients.”
Fyre looks out the window, humming to himself. I can’t help but grin at him, wanting to pull that bottom lip from his teeth and stop him from worrying so much.
“We can see how much he cares about you. It means a lot that he trusts us, and we aren’t going to let him, or you, down.”
The conviction in my words surprises even myself, but I can’t take them back now. Besides, they’re true. I feel the need to guard Fyre with every muscle in my body.
“Thank you for everything.” Fyre bites his lip.
“You’re welcome,” Jordan responds.
The cabin falls silent. We climb higher, and every hundred feet brings a new angle to the sunlight pouring through. The rays dance across the floor, the seats, and especially Fyre’s features. He has these big brown eyes that sparkle with every shift in the light. I see chocolate, hazel, copper, cedar, and even gold. They’re dramatic, just like Fyre.
“You have beautiful eyes.”
My mouth goes dry in an instant. I zip my fat mouth shut, wishing I could steal all the air back into my mouth and with it, my words.
Fyre looks back at me, speechless. I can feel Jordan going cold next to me, like a physical chill rushed through the cabin.
“I haven’t had any coffee,” I try to excuse myself. “My brain isn’t awake.”
Fyre’s face is still a flushed red, but he smiles before yawning a second time.
“Clearly, I’m not awake either. Compliments are nice at every time of day though, so thank you,” he says gently.
“We’ll be sure to grab Starbucks the second we land,” says Jordan.
My jaw flexes again, feeling tight from take-off, and now from my blubbering mouth.
“Tell us about your routine,” Jordan asks Fyre, and I’m grateful. I would like nothing more than to move the conversation along and forget about my flapping lips.
“Well,” Fyre starts, and I can’t help but hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. “We travel to our location. I go either straight to the venue to rehearse or straight to my hotel room to do some vocal exercises. Either way, I’m at the venue by call time. The crew does their thing, and I stay out of their way.”
Fyre recites his day like a book he’s read a hundred times. His days run like clockwork, whether he likes it or not. I know he’s a musician, and I know this is his job, but his voice lacks vitality. He’s completely different on stage. On stage is where he’s at home, but everything before and after is grinding him down.
“Then I eat a little something just before the venue opens, relax in the green room, and then voilà … show time,” he says without an ounce of enthusiasm. “Sometimes there’s an after-party to decompress, but Damon hasn’t planned anything for Philly or Boston.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I say.
“Speak for yourself,” scoffs Fyre. “I want to curl up in my robe and catch up on Game of Thrones.”
He smiles at me, and the sunlight catches flickers of green in his complex brown eyes.
“Now, that’s my idea of relaxing,” Jameson tells him.
There’s a question I need to ask Fyre. I feel my skin start to heat up.
“This is a personal question, Fyre,” I warn him. “But what were you doing when Percy arrived?”
I didn’t think Fyre’s face could get any redder, but he’s practically sweating at my question.
“I was–,” he says before stopping. He gulps hard, and it sounds like his mouth has gone dry.
“Take your time,” Jordan tries. “We just want to know what happened leading up to your night.”
“I was, well,” he says, wringing his hands between his legs. “I was on the couch in my penthouse. I was in my sleep clothes … silk boxers. I don’t know, I was feeling good. I took a picture of myself, you know, for my fans. But then, one thing led to another. I was about to, you know, take care of things.”
“Take care of things?” I ask. “Take care of what?”
Fyre’s cheeks flare up, but he tilts his head down. He jerks his neck towards his crotch.
Oh.
“I see,” Jordan responds, bringing his hand up to his neck and rubbing at it incessantly.
“Yeah,” Fyre continues. “I was close when I heard a knock at the door. Damon and I talked earlier that night, so I thought it was him on the other side.”
Fyre drops his head into his hands and groans.
“It’s so humiliating,” he whines. “And then I was so scared.”
His shoulders start to shake before I lean forward. My hands are on his arms before I know it, but it does the job. Fyre takes his head out of his hands, and his innocent eyes meet mine.
“Thank you for telling us.” Suddenly I feel hot. Too hot. I lean away from him, gathering my wits as Fyre collects himself. I clear my throat to explain.
“I want you to feel like you can tell us anything, and I want us to tell you what’s up too. That’s why–”
Shit. I don’t know how to word this. I don’t want to sound rude, or like I’m reprimanding him. I don’t normally have issues with words. I choose mine carefully, and I get my point across.
“But what, Jamie?”
I pause at that. “Jamie?”
“You don’t like it?” Fyre asks, looking at me and then moving his gaze to Jordan. “I was thinking Jordy for you. It just feels nice.”
Jordan gulps next to me. “I don’t mind.”
Really? I only think about it for a second, though, before my resolve cracks.
“Call us whatever makes you feel comfortable,” I tell Fyre.
His eyes light up, and I know it’s the right choice.
I don’t like nicknames, but this feels different. In fact, I like mine … a lot. For one, Fyre came up with it. That’s enough to change my mind about nicknames forever. What’s more telling, however, is that Fyre put thought into this.
He thinks about us. I can’t describe it, but the fact hits me like a jolt of electricity. It’s a small way of showing us he cares. I didn’t know how much that would affect me until now.
It’s a small kernel of hope, but I’ll take it. Hell, I’ll run back to New York with it. I take a steady breath, and with my new nickname to give me confidence, I meet Fyre’s gaze.
“I’m worried about you, Fyre,” I say bluntly, my voice gravely and tight.
“You are?” His eyebrows try to burrow into his face, and yet … he’s smiling.
I love that smile, but I can’t let it get to my head either. He’s probably glad that we’re taking our jobs seriously. This is a job. No matter how much I have to remind myself of it.
“You offer a lot of information. It’s fine when you do that with us, because we need to know what’s going on with you. We’re here for you, but I’m concerned about what you share with others.”
Fyre’s smile fades, and worry colors his face.
“What do you mean?”
Jordan eyes Fyre’s pocket, and on instinct, Fyre takes his phone out. He inspects it a moment.
“What’s wrong with my phone?” Fyre asks hesitantly, holding it like it might have a virus.
I forge on. This might upset Fyre, but he needs to hear this.
“You’re a social media fiend. I know celebrities have to maintain their social persona, but you need to be careful. What have you posted today?”
Fyre takes a second to think. “Let me see. I said something about being desperate for a white chocolate mocha–,”
“Gross, but continue,” Jordan jokes. Fyre rolls his eyes but chuckles sweetly under his breath.
“I thanked Baltimore and said I can’t wait for Philly tonight,” he adds, a smile dancing on his lips.
Fyre has a beautiful smile, the kind that radiates from the inside out. The way his peach lips pull across his face has my mind clouding over. For a second, I can imagine his lips on me. On my body.
“What was that last part?” Jordan cuts in.
“I snapped a selfie in my hotel room. I felt good in my red terrycloth robe and wanted to share it with the Fyreflies,” he says with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
Shit. Jordan clears his throat while I rub my cheeks.
“What’s wrong?”
“You shared your location, Fyre,” I explain.
Fyre cocks his head to the side, his eyes scanning mine for the answer he can’t seem to find.
“I always post pics in my hotel room. Damon says sharing personal photos makes for better publicity. Hell, I posted another selfie before we took off, so my fans know I’m en route.”
Jordan grunts, shaking his head side to side as Fyre tries to explain. I don’t blame him, because I can barely contain my feelings either.
I try to keep my voice gentle. “You have to be careful with your personal information. When you post your location, everyone knows where you are and who you’re with.”
“If you’re alone,” Jordan continues. “They can see how secure your room is, where you are. If someone is in the same city, they could track you easily.”
Fyre’s eyes go wide. He slouches in his chair, his eyes scanning the ground at our feet.
“Is that what Percy did?” he asks.
“It’s likely,” I say. “Your fans don’t need to know what you had for breakfast or how your date is going.”
“Good thing I don’t date,” he mutters before looking as if he wants to eats his words. “I mean, I don’t date much. There’s no time, but I’d like to. I’m not adverse to it. I just–,”
He buries his head in his hands and groans for a moment. Against my every rational thought, I reach for his knee and squeeze firmly.
His eyes find mine, already shining.
“It’s my fault. I brought this on myself. I have to use social media, but it makes me so damn depressed sometimes,” Fyre sputters.
His lip quivers until he can’t take it, and then covers his mouth with a free hand. He gasps, trying to suck in air.
“Fyre,” I say gently.
It doesn’t work. His eyes glaze over, and he gasps harder for breath. It’s enough that something breaks, like a log in a dam against a raging river.
“Fyre!”
His eyes snap up to mine. I hold his gaze with mine, and my hand grips his knee harder.
“Listen to me, Fyre. You have to breathe. Follow me, okay? Breathe in, 1-2-3, then out, 1-2-3, and again,” I repeat, as my hand rubs small circles into his leg.
Jordan watches as I talk Fyre through his anxiety. It takes a minute before he brings his hand down and takes normal, full gulps of air.
“Thank you,” he says.
Jordan reaches forward, rubbing his arm as tenderly as I massage his knee.
“This isn’t your fault. It’s our job to not only keep you safe, but help you keep yourself safe,” Jordan assures him.
My heart aches as I take my hand off Fyre’s leg. I straighten up, because he’s better now, and because I need to put some distance between us.
“We won’t be here forever,” I remind Fyre. He looks at Jordan, then at me, then nods.
“I know,” he says, shaking his head lightly. “Clearly, I have a lot to learn.”
If Fyre has a lot to learn, then we’ll be here every step of the way. It’s our job to protect him, but no one needs to know the promise I make to myself. Fyre stirs something inside me, lighting a fire in my chest that I can’t extinguish. I will protect Fyre with everything I have.
9
Fyre
“Philly, how are you feeling tonig
ht?” I bellow as the song enters another dance break.
The cheers from the crowd hit like a wall of sound, enveloping the stage in a blanket of love. It’s a welcome surprise at this stage in the tour. As tours end, everyone feels the burnout. I have countless blisters, bags under my eyes, and my voice doesn’t want to function for weeks after. Still, even though the days start to drag, my Fyreflies make everything ache less.
“That’s what I like to hear,” I say as the song fades. “I’m going to need your help with this next one. Here’s ‘Jay Jay’.”
It’s a light, fun song. It’s upbea and doesn’t have the drama of a ballad or love song. I only play it when I feel joy radiating from the audience, like tonight. It’s colorful and noisy, just like the bird. Just like me, and it makes me feel good about being a singer in this industry.
This show is my first in Philadelphia, and I’m absolutely in love with this city. We’re at the Fillmore, a beautiful venue a stone’s throw from the shores of the Delaware River. It’s a big space but manages to keep a level of intimacy I usually find in Brooklyn clubs. The best parts are the grand chandeliers scattered across the ceiling. They refract shards of pure light across the audience, and whenever I catch a glimpse of my hands, I can see the light on my skin too. It sounds stupid, but the thought of the light dancing off my body makes me feel like a piece of treasure.
When I’m on stage, I feel like a beacon of light. It’s easy to get lost in the industry, but when I was a kid, music was my escape. I want my music to be that for others. If even one person can hear my music and feel lighter, then I’ve done my job.
Despite what happened with Percy, I sing for kids like him too. I feel so much better with Jordan and Jameson by my side, but I haven’t stopped thinking about Percy. I should hate him, but I don’t. There’s a kid inside him that’s been misunderstood his whole life. He wants to feel safe like everyone else. I can’t blame him for that.
The song ends, and while I can’t see everyone’s faces, I can feel the energy in the room. I can feel the laughter and tears of joy. I let the feeling permeate my skin and sink into my soul.
“Another great show,” Jordan says once I’m backstage.
