by Megan Derr
There was only silence for a moment, and Jet could practically stick his tongue out and catch disapproval on it. "Are you up for that?" Jason finally asked.
"Would I be going if I wasn't?"
"Yes."
Jet made a face, conceding the point. "I'll be fine, mom. I could use the craziness, honestly. Better to be doing something than going stir crazy here."
Except when he was with Jason, which was one of the reasons he had crawled over to Jason's house at zero dark. He was pretty certain Jason only thought he'd wanted to get laid, and Christ how he'd had a minor heart attack when he'd see Dai sitting there.
But while he certainly had no objection to getting laid, really he'd just wanted them to fall asleep together in bed. It wasn't something they'd ever done before, and he really fucking wished his father's death had not been what changed the pattern, but god he had loved it.
Saying that, however, probably would have just gotten him a sneer and a 'get out'.
Jet swallowed, but it did nothing to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat. "So, to change the subject entirely," before he had a fucking meltdown, "have you been able to work on your next book at all? Because I'm gonna be honest: if you don't hook up Reba and Donald, I am breaking up with you forever. Seriously. Throw Tom McFuckface in a lake. Preferably a lake of fire. If you don't, I'll throw you in a lake."
"There aren't any lakes around here," Jason said. "Unless you count the Mayfair's goldfish pond. Or I guess my koi pond, at that. Do you actually read my books?"
Jet glared at him. "You know I do. That's how I figured you out, Jayla. Granted, I kinda can't just read them anywhere since even I, with carebears on my ass, would never live that down with the guys. But seriously, man. Spoilers. Give them to me."
"Suffer," Jason retorted, but Jet could see he was pleased and trying not to smile.
They lapsed into a much happier silence the rest of the way home. Jet yawned as Jason pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. He was so busy still yawning as he climbed out of the car, he tripped and nearly introduced his face to the cement.
Making a face at himself, he followed Jason inside. It wasn't until they were halfway up the stairs, and Jason whipped around, that Jet realized just what he was doing.
"What are you doing?" Jason demanded.
Jet's heart sank at the irritation in his voice, the biting tone. So much for secret snuggling. "I-I didn't—I mean—sorry, I wasn't—" He stopped, realizing he was just making himself look like more of an idiot. He wasn't used to feeling flustered or embarrassed. He'd been caught naked on camera seven times (that he knew of) and after that, and all the ways the interviewers brought it up, he was pretty damn unflappable.
Except with Jason. Always, Jason was the goddamn exception.
"Sorry," he muttered again. "I wasn't thinking. I just wanted—"
"Yeah, clearly you weren't thinking," Jason said and his tone was so cold that Jet recoiled.
What the fuck?
"You only come here when you want an itch scratched, Jet. When you need something from me, though why you don't go elsewhere, I don't know. For fuck's sake, you're blackmailing me over it. Or did you forget that part?"
Anger flared. "I don't remember you exactly protesting. I don't remember it taking much effort at all to convince you to fuck me or shove your dick down my throat. All you needed was an excuse, so don't snarl at me for giving you that excuse. Don't tell me I'm the only one who needs an itch scratched. Nobody here was forced, and you fucking know it."
"That doesn't give you the right to act like this is your house, like you have every right to be here. All we do is fuck, and that's only when you feel like it and deign to drop by. So stop acting like you belong here."
Breathing was suddenly a very difficult thing to do. Even the things his parents had said to him the day he'd left had not cut as deep as Jason informing him in that awful tone that he did not belong. Normally, he still would have been able to shake them, or at least let them get him good and angry. Nobody told Jet where he did or did not belong, and fuck anyone who tried.
But lately he didn't know how to deal with anything. He felt like he was lost in a fog. Except around Jason.
Who didn't want him anymore, at all, and had said he didn't belong there. Jet swallowed, blinked rapidly when he realized he couldn't see anymore. "It was never about—" He broke off, knowing it was a waste of time. "I—fuck, okay. I'm sorry. I never meant—fuck it. Sorry. Really. I'm gone."
He turned and bolted, all his wistful thoughts of falling asleep next to Jason dashed like crystal dropped on hardwood. He thought he heard Jason call his name, but chalked it up to wishful thinking.
Reaching his car, he unlocked it and slid in, barely remembering to put on his seatbelt before he sped off. When he reached his own house, Jet went straight to the bathroom and threw up dinner.
By the time his stomach finally eased up, alcohol and stomach acid had left his throat raw. He dragged himself to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, ignoring the way his hands trembled.
So that was that.
His dad was dead, gone three weeks, nearly a month. It still didn't feel real at times. Would it ever?
As if that hadn't been shitty enough, the closest thing he had to a lover had just thrown him out.
What was going to happen next? Jet wasn't sure he could take another blow.
He sipped at his water and wandered outside to sit in a lounge chair by the pool. All his life, he'd only had two goals. The first, made at age ten, had been to become a rockstar. Back then, he'd imagined himself more of the lead, but he was pretty fucking happy leaving that part to Dai.
The second goal had come a lot later, when he realized that he was more than a little crazy about his cousin. All he'd wanted since then was to make Henry Jason Kristopherson the Fifth his.
He'd never wanted anything as badly as the way he wanted Jason to see him, not just the irritating fuckhead he could be. Until that moment, he hadn't realized he'd just taken it for granted that eventually—someway, somehow—he would reach that second goal. That someday Jason would be his and fuck the rest of the world.
Neither had he realized that he would willingly say so long to his band, to everything, whatever it took, to keep Jason.
But doing that wouldn't make a difference anymore, if it ever would have. Jason didn't hate that he was a rockstar. Jason just hated him. However nice he'd been the past few weeks, however amazing the sex was between them ...
Jason had made it clear, had straight up said, that Jet didn't belong with him.
He jumped, dropping his bottle of water, when his phone started vibrating in his pocket. Scrabbling to pull it out, nearly dropping it, he looked eagerly at the call screen—and his heart dropped right back into his stomach in disappointment.
Brit
Well, at least it was the only person he knew would understand. Hitting the button to accept the call, he said, "Hey, loser. Kind of late to be calling ain't it?"
"We're heading out in the mor—what's wrong?"
Jet cleared his throat. "Wrong? Why do you think anything is wrong?"
"Jet, you sound like you've been crying. Even when you have been crying, you don't sound like it. Makes you really goddamn annoying. So give it up. What's wrong? Well, besides the fucking obvious. Finally all hitting you?"
"It's not my dad—okay, well it is, but not—I can't—"
"Jet."
"Jason threw me out," he whispered into the phone. "It's over. Done. Forever."
There was silence, which was a relief. Jet really couldn't take hearing 'I'm sorry' one more goddamn time.
"Be right over," Brit finally said. "Was calling to say we're headed back to New York tonight and we'd see you next week, but I think you should come with us. Be there in twenty."
He hung up, and Jet stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He retrieved his dropped bottle and finished off what remained of it. When he finally heard a car pull into th
e drive, he stood up and went around to the front of the house.
Brit climbed out of the car and walked toward him, pulled Jet into a tight hug, and didn't say a word. Eventually, Jet pulled back and wiped his eyes. "I thought you'd already gone home."
"Eh, stayed a couple of days to see some other friends. Like I started to say, we're headed back in the morning. Got a room closer to the airport, headed there now. We're leaving at ass crack o'clock because Brice hates me. You should come with us. Fuck everything else, man. Get out of here for a few days, get away from all the looks and condolences and all. People mean well, but people will also drive you insane with well-meaning. Stay with us, hide out in New York. Do your private show, then stay some more. Leave whenever you want."
Jet shrugged. "I don't want—"
"If you say impose, I swear to god I will remove every tattoo on your body," Brit said and gave him a gentle shake. "Come on, man. You've done a hundred things for me while I angsted about Brice and Kensi. Let me help you. And Brice wants to help, too. So come with us, okay?"
Still Jet hesitated.
"Okay, it's not an offer anymore. Now, it's an order." Keeping hold of Jet's arm, he signaled to Brice, who climbed out of the car and followed them into the house.
They made Jet sit on his bed while they packed his clothes and anything else they could think of that he might need. When they were ready, Jet left a note for Dai with the promise he'd email or call later. Dai was going to murder him and probably be hurt that Jet had just fled without him, but hell. He'd already upset one brother; may as well go for broke.
When everything was ready and the house locked up, they bundled Jet into the car and headed for the airport.
"Don't know what's going on," Brice said. "But whatever it is, I'm sorry. You've got enough shit going on without adding more drama."
"My own fault, really," Jet said quietly. "But thanks."
Silence fell, and he stared blindly out the window until the car finally stopped in front of a dimly lit hotel. A few minutes later, Brit returned from checking in and led them to their room.
They urged Jet to go to sleep, and since agreeing was easier than arguing, he obediently went. But after Brice and Brit fell asleep, he got up, got dressed, and took a notebook and pencil downstairs to the lobby.
An all-night coffee shop provided him with some half-decent joe, and he settled at a wobbly table and pulled out the notebook, tapping the pencil against it for several minutes before he finally began to write.
When all else failed, he turned to music. If he couldn't play, then he wrote songs to play later, songs for Dai to sing. He just hoped that Dai never figured out some of them were about Jason. He hoped Jason never figured it out, either.
Jason. Fuck. If he was running away, he had to let Jason know. Pulling out his phone, Jet stared at it. Stared some more. Willed it to provide answers, or fix everything.
He pulled up Jason's number, went to hit call—then bailed and pulled up his email instead. Bending over the small screen, deleting every other word due to typos, he laboriously typed out an email to Jason.
Going to New York for a little while. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone, but if I need to come back to deal with dad's business, I will.
I'm sorry. Never meant to use you. I thought I was taking what I could get.
Jet
He hit send before he could talk himself into deleting the entire mess and put his phone away. Taking a deep breath, he shoved away all the jumbled thoughts in his head and just focused on enjoying his coffee and writing songs.
By the time he was tired enough to fall asleep, there were only three hours left before they had to be awake to catch their flight. Which reminded Jet he did not actually have a ticket, but it was a safe bet that Brice had taken care of that at some point.
Slipping back into the room, he toed off his shoes and padded to his bed, and almost immediately fell asleep.
When he woke up, it was to Brit shaking him awake. He stared blearily, and then everything from the night before came crashing back down on him. Jason had thrown him out. He was running away to New York.
"Don't be so happy to see me," Brit said teasingly.
Jet rolled his eyes, but couldn't seem to make his voice work. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling discombobulated.
"Hey," Brit said quietly. "You don't have to go if you don't want. I'll totally take you back to Jason's house, and we can throw bricks through all his fancy windows and piss in his stupid fish pond or whatever. Screw him."
Smiling weakly, Jet shook his head. "No, I think you've got the right idea. If I stay, I really will do something that stupid. I don't—" he broke off.
"Brice is in the shower, he won't hear shit," Brit said. "He won't get upset I know something he doesn't. He understands secrets and shit. If that's what you're worried about."
Jet nodded. "I don't want to cause problems. Mostly, though, I just don't know what to say. He thinks I was using him. Saw him as nothing but—but a fucktoy. I guess it must have seemed that way. Fuck." He scrubbed at his face, then dropped his hands again. "Can't blame him, really. That's the part that bugs me the most."
"You don't use people. If he doesn't know that—well, shit. I hope he figures it out soon. Forget it for now. I think a break is the best thing for you." He stopped as the shower turned off and hugged Jet tight. "By the time you get home, you'll be ready for round two. You might lose the odd battle, Jet, but I've never known you to lose the war."
"I hope you're right," Jet said, and for the first time actually began to hope it wasn't all lost after all. "You shouldn't give up either," he said quietly.
Brit smiled sadly. "Cousins and brothers are two different things, but thanks."
They fell silent as Brice emerged, and Jet gathered up his few scattered things while they did the same. It took only a matter of minutes from there to check out, load everything in the car, and drive to the airport.
After returning the rental, they checked in, shuffled slowly through security, and finally made their way to their gate. Jet was grateful that he was not generally recognized by anyone when he was on his own. When he was with Dai it was a completely different ballgame.
He started to check his email about five hundred times, but chickened out every single one of them. What was he expecting Jason to say after all? Come home? Ha.
Jet honestly wasn't certain what would be worse: a reply, or nothing at all.
It was something of a relief when they finally boarded the plane and he had to turn his phone off. He tried to focus on a paperback he'd bought in the terminal, but read the same page three times before he gave up.
In the aisle seat, Brit had passed out again. Brice looked up from his own book and pulled off his reading glasses. "So what's wrong? I know the details aren't something you can share with anyone, and I won't press for them, but you're not the run away type."
Jet shrugged. "I was in love with someone. Am in love with someone. He accused me of only using him for sex and threw me out."
"Is this a music thing?" Brice asked, because that was an old tune in their line of work: lovers who stayed at home and got tired of it, tired of everything that went with being famous and being gone for months, even years, at a time while on tour. Then there were the interviews, the charity functions, the private shows—being a musician wasn't just about singing, and it wore people out fast.
Shaking his head, Jet replied, "No, just a me thing."
"Sounds like a communication thing," Brice said. "I say that because it's a problem I know well. Whatever the hell happened, repeat that whole 'love' part to him. Telling the rest of us doesn't accomplish a damn thing."
"I know," Jet said quietly. "I don't know that I'll be able to, but I'll sure as hell try."
Brice nodded and, slipping his reading glasses back on, went back to his book. Jet tried again with his own and was surprised that it actually worked.
Track 06: Enough is Enough
Jason set his coffee dow
n on his desk along with the files he'd taken home the night before and finally set his laptop bag on the floor right in front of the desk. He'd only just sat down and turned on his computer when Kelly, his legal assistant, poked his head in the room. "Boss, they want you in the main meeting room."
"Wonderful," Jason replied sourly, not bothering to hide his foul mood as he left his office and briskly strode down the hall to see how he was going to be screwed over that week.
He almost asked Kelly who 'they' were, but then decided he didn't care. Probably just his father and the other senior partners wanting to harass him about Jet. Fine, then. He was in the mood for a fight.
Another fight, anyway. One that would not leave him feeling two inches tall and utterly miserable. He'd regretted the words the moment he'd seen that look on Jet's face. The urge to go after him was strong, and Jason was still tempted—especially after the email.
But he couldn't quite tell if it was a 'let's fix this' email or a 'goodbye forever' email. As much as he wished that the world would stop for a day or so to let him fix his fuck up, it just wouldn't. He couldn't take off for New York to drag Jet back, or even have it out there, because there was shit that had to get done.
Hopefully, after the concert he'd mentioned, Jet would come home and they could talk again.
Why in the hell had he let his temper get the better of him? He was supposed to be smarter than that. But jealousy and anger and wanting things he couldn't have had gotten the better of him—he'd let them get the better of him—and he'd driven Jet away when he'd only wanted him closer.
If it was possible for a man to be dumber, Jason did not want to be that man. He was ready to shoot himself just to spare Jet's friends the hassle.
Stifling a sigh, putting his personal problems aside as best he was able, Jason tried to slide into work mode. An unexpected meeting with higher ups was never a good thing, especially when one of those men was his barely-speaking-to-him father.
Pushing through the double doors to the executive area, he turned right and down the hall to the main boardroom—and nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw through the glass walls who exactly was waiting for him.
