Ice on Fire (Treble and the Lost Boys Book 1)

by G. R. Lyons

  “Whoa, dude.” Smitty was suddenly at his side. “You alright, man?”

  Zac groaned and vomited again.

  “Shit. Here.” Smitty disappeared for a moment, then returned with an empty cup that he filled at the tap. “Drink this.”

  Zac took a sip, swished the water around his mouth, and spat it back out before taking another sip and trying to swallow, his stomach still churning.

  “The hells did you give me?” Zac croaked, blinking heavily and clutching the counter while his legs barely held him up, the drunkenness hardly diminished by his vomiting.

  “Just beer. Unless–” Smitty looked all around, then scowled. “Cyndi. Fuck. I told that bitch not to bring her cheap-ass drugs to my parties anymore.”

  Zac vomited again before he could ask what Smitty meant. He cleaned his mouth out again, then tried to catch his breath, his vision still hazy.

  “Come on, man,” Smitty said, setting aside his own beer. “Let me get you home.”

  Zac tried to wave him off, stumbling as he did so. “I'll get the shuttle,” he said, his words slurring.

  “Hells, no. I'm making sure you actually get there. Come on.”

  Smitty wrapped an arm around Zac's waist and steered him through the party. Zac wanted to ask if Smitty was sober enough to drive, but it was probably only Zac's inebriation that was making them stumble on their way out to the car.

  It wasn't until they reached Zac's building and Smitty started helping him inside that it finally occurred to him that Adrian was in Zac's apartment, and would have no warning, no time to prepare, no chance to hide the fact that he was living there.

  And Zac wasn't sober enough to come up with an excuse for his presence.

  What the hells was he going to do?

  Chapter 22

  ZAC SLUMPED against his door and fumbled for his keys.

  Gods, he couldn't go in there. Not in his current state, not after he'd left the way he had, and definitely not with Smitty still hanging around. Zac squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take a deep breath. This could be very, very bad.

  And it was all his fault. He had willingly gone to that party. Willingly stayed, willingly drank. Had known, deep down in the back of his mind, that there was always the possibility something might happen, no matter how much he didn't want it to.

  At least he hadn't cheated on Adrian. That was one small comfort. This moment had the extreme potential to blow up in his face, but that would have made it easily ten times worse.

  Zac tried to straighten and dig out his keys, thinking he'd just send Smitty on his way right then and there, but lost his balance and stumbled against his friend, clearly still too drunk to stand on his own.

  Smitty chuckled. “Alright, Blaze, let's get your drunk ass inside.”

  Zac worked his keys out of his pocket, and Smitty caught them as they slipped from his fingers. Before Zac could stop him, Smitty had the door unlocked and was helping him inside, the door slamming shut behind them.

  Absolute silence followed, until Smitty yelled, “Hey, what the fuck are you doing here?”

  Zac blinked, wishing the room would stop being so damned hazy. Slowly but surely, the blurry, shifting colors and shapes resolved themselves into Zac's messy living room, in the middle of which stood Adrian, still fully dressed but looking decidedly rumpled.

  “Dude,” Smitty said, looking at Zac, “what the fuck is the fag doing in your apartment in the middle of the night?” He looked back at Adrian. “If you're trying to rob my bro–”

  Smitty let go of Zac and took a step toward Adrian. Zac swayed and caught himself on the back of the couch, watching as Adrian backed up, holding up his hands, his eyes wide.

  Zac blinked, trying to get his brain to catch up. He barked a laugh, blinked again, then decided to run with it, giving Smitty a lazy grin. “Stupid fag passed out while we were working on our project,” Zac said, his words still slurring. A little voice in the back of his head screamed at him to stop, but the words were already out there. He couldn't take them back now. And his mouth didn't seem to want to listen. “So I just left him here,” Zac went on, waving a careless hand, “and went out to party instead.”

  Smitty barked a laugh and held up his hand for a high-five.

  Zac squinted, trying to aim his hand at Smitty's, and just barely connected, sending him off-balance so he stumbled against the couch again.

  He didn't dare look at Adrian.

  Smitty turned toward the door and waved a hand at Adrian. “Come on, fag. Time to go.”

  Adrian glanced at Zac, clearly frightened and helpless, but Zac couldn't say anything. He might be drunk off his ass, but he knew well enough that he wasn't ready to out himself to Smitty.

  “Move,” Smitty barked.

  Adrian jumped, then slowly shuffled after the man. Smitty waved goodbye to Zac and lightly shoved Adrian out the door, pulling it shut behind them.

  Zac slumped to the floor, blinking as he tried to focus on the doorknob, just waiting for it to turn again.

  Several minutes passed before it finally did. The door inched open, and Adrian peeked around it, his eyes wide and his lip trembling as he looked down at Zac on the floor.

  Zac tried to get up. “Ade–” He slumped back again and resorted to just waving at Adrian to come in.

  Adrian finally did, slowly closing the door behind him and flipping the lock with a shaky hand.

  “I'm so sorry,” Zac slurred, not bothering to try getting up again. There was no way he could stand on his own. “Babe–”

  Adrian looked down at the floor, swallowed hard, then shuffled off to the bedroom. A moment later, Zac heard the washroom door click shut.

  Zac groaned. Adrian was probably furious with him, and no wonder. Zac flipped over onto his hands and knees and crawled into the bedroom, using the furniture to pull himself up and maintain some semblance of balance while he wriggled out of his clothes and pulled on a t-shirt and flannel pants. He flopped onto the bed, pressing his hands to his temples and wishing the room would stop spinning.

  If only he hadn't been such a fucking coward. If only he'd been man enough to accept himself for who he was, to not be ashamed of it, to neither flaunt it nor hide it. If only he'd been able to give Adrian the recognition he deserved. If only he hadn't been so stupid as to go along with his bandmates' stupid games for so many years just for the sake of maintaining the façade of being straight.

  Were those lifelong friends really worth all this?

  He used to think so. Now? He wasn't so sure.

  Lying there—wishing his lover would join him but knowing he didn't deserve it—he was pretty fucking certain that he'd just lost the most important thing in his life, all for the sake of clinging to the safe and familiar.

  * * *

  ZAC GROANED as he woke from a doze, the living room light still on and shining into the bedroom. The windows were still dark, though. Zac squinted, trying to make out the time. He'd only been asleep for a couple hours, just enough to get him back to almost sober. He sat up, groaning again, his stomach still achy from vomiting and his whole body itching with the need of a shower.

  He looked around, frowning. Adrian wasn't in bed. Zac started to get up to go check the living room, but noticed the washroom door was shut, so he headed that direction instead.

  Zac heard nothing but silence, an eerie, heavy weight settling over the apartment.

  He tapped lightly on the washroom door. “Ade? Baby?” There was no response, so he flattened his hand against the door and let out a sigh. “Baby, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. You know that, right?” Zac sniffed and choked back tears that suddenly sprang to his eyes. Stupid alcohol, and stupid him for drinking and saying the things he'd said. “Ade, I love you. And I'm so sorry. If I could go back and undo it, I would. I swear, I would. It's just…you know how the guys are and…Gods, Ade, I didn't mean it. Fuck, I shouldn't have even gone to that stupid party. I knew that, but…And I wasn't planning to drink that much, but then so
meone spiked my drink and–” Zac shook his head. “Never mind. Doesn't matter. Just…I swear, I didn't mean what I said. And after what you said, about never acknowledging you–” He blew out a sigh. “Ade, baby, this is killing me. I didn't want to be there…Not really. And I know that's no excuse. It's my fault. I went, knowing what always happens at those things…and I'm so sorry.” He paused, listening, but still couldn't hear anything on the other side of the door. “Baby, I love you so much. I'm so sorry. Ade? Baby? Please say something. Anything. Yell at me. Tell me you hate me. I don't care. Just say something.”

  Silence continued, and Zac strained to listen. Not a word, not a rustle, not so much as a sniff or a sob.

  “Ade?” Zac tried the door, and found it locked. “Baby?”

  He waited again, listening.

  “Ade? Please say something.”

  Still no response.

  Zac banged a fist on the door. “Gods damn it all, Adrian. Baby, you're scaring me. Please say something.”

  Adrian continued silent, so Zac banged on the door again, his heart racing. “Adrian, swear to gods, I'll break this fucking door down if you don't say something right now.”

  When he got no response, Zac took a step back and rammed his shoulder into the door. It rattled, but held, so Zac tried again, screaming Adrian's name between each thrust.

  “Adrian, open this gods-damned door!”

  * * *

  ADRIAN STUMBLED against the sink as he shut the washroom door, a roaring in his ears that threatened to drown him.

  Zac had denied him. Again. After Adrian had openly accepted Zac in front of his father, in the face of losing everything he had, Zac had turned around and thrown it back in his face by so openly and cruelly degrading him in front of his friend.

  Adrian's stomach heaved, and he braced himself on the counter, but nothing came up. Gasping in a deep breath, Adrian yanked open a drawer and found his razor, tucked away in his shaving kit. He dropped the kit in the sink and threw himself on the floor, shoving his pants down to his knees, leaving his scarred thighs exposed.

  Then he hesitated, just sitting there on the cold, hard floor. He waited, but he wasn't exactly sure why. For Zac to come stop him? Come apologize? Hells, even come fight with him? Adrian lost track of time as he sat there, hearing nothing but silence coming from the bedroom. Maybe Zac had simply passed out, too drunk to care.

  Adrian shifted, his backside aching from having sat for so long without moving. He sucked in a breath, trying to resist the urge to cut himself, but no matter how hard he fought it, he kept hearing Zac's words on repeat in his head, calling him a stupid fag. He knew Zac hadn't meant it, but it still hurt.

  Zac still couldn't own up to the fact that they were together.

  Adrian slashed the razor across his leg, then waited, holding his breath, but he felt no relief, a roaring sound still screaming inside his head, begging to be silenced with more pain, more blood. He cut himself again, and again, then switched to the other leg, but no matter how many times he dragged the razor across his old scars, it didn't help.

  He was vaguely aware of Zac suddenly speaking to him from the other side of the door, but couldn't make out the words. It was all just more noise. More noise adding to the storm inside his head, and he had to get it out. He needed silence.

  Adrian attacked his thighs again, watching blood run down the insides of his legs, but it still wasn't enough. He felt no relief. Not a hint of the screaming noise went away.

  He gasped in a breath, his whole body shaking as the panic only got worse. This always worked. Always. But now it wasn't doing a thing. He barely felt the pain, and there wasn't nearly enough blood.

  Adrian looked around frantically, desperate for relief, his temples throbbing and his breath coming in frantic gasps. Clutching his leg with his free hand, he brought the razor toward his skin again.

  That was when he noticed the veins on his wrist standing out, visibly pulsing, calling out for attention.

  Adrian changed course, touching the most prominent vein he could see on the inside of his forearm and then dragging the razor along its length, all the way down from his elbow to his wrist. Blood ran over his arm, dripped onto his leg, then joined the rest on the floor.

  The newness of the action—cutting his arm instead of his leg—brought a moment of relief. He almost smiled at the sight, a maniacal laugh bubbling up from somewhere down deep, though it came out without a sound. Adrian slashed the blade across his wrist, then switched hands and gave the other arm the same treatment, feeling somehow both frantic and gleeful at the sight of all that blood, and at the calming effect of the pain.

  The roaring in his head quieted enough that he noticed a thud at the door, but the sound didn't make sense to him, didn't belong in his world, where everything was narrowed down to blood and pain. Adrian brought the razor toward his arm again, but his blood-slick fingers lost their grip, and the blade tumbled to the floor between his legs.

  He reached for it, then swayed dizzily and slumped back against the wall. Adrian blinked. He couldn't remember the washroom always looking so damned hazy, not even after an especially hot shower steaming up the space.

  A harder thud sounded behind him at the same moment his vision started to tunnel down, going dark around the edges.

  Oh gods.

  His heart raced with panic as he realized what he'd done, realized too late that he'd cut too much, lost too much blood. As the roaring in his ears faded away and cold, hard reality set in, Adrian knew he was going to die, and there wasn't time to do anything about it.

  So close to freedom, and he'd just inadvertently thrown it all away in a moment of lost control.

  Zac…

  Adrian's arms fell limply to his sides, no longer having the strength to hold them up, and consciousness slipped away.

  Chapter 23

  ZAC SLAMMED into the door again and heard something splinter. “Adrian!” He threw himself one more time, and the door flew open, slamming into the adjacent wall in the washroom with a bang.

  Time stopped, and Zac sucked in a breath as he took in the scene. Adrian sat slumped against the bathtub, a razor between his legs, and a pool of blood spreading around him.

  “Ade!”

  Zac threw himself on the floor, grabbing Adrian's lolling head and shaking him. “Baby, wake up. Baby, look at me! Adrian!”

  His lover was completely unresponsive. Breath shallow and erratic. Pulse weak.

  Zac scrambled to his feet, raced to the bedroom, found his mobile, and dove back into the washroom, clutching Adrian's body to his chest with one arm while he used the other hand to find a phone number for the nearest emergency services.

  The call was barely answered before Zac cried out, “Help! Please! My boyfriend's cut himself. He's bleeding. I don't know what to do. Please–”

  The voice on the other end of the line told him to calm down, take a breath, state his name. It was all Zac could do to get through those few instructions, and then he felt as though he blanked out and went on autopilot, following the voice's directions, answering questions, and only minutes later, he heard a firm knock at his door.

  Zac carefully let go of Adrian and ran to let the medical technicians in.

  They followed him to the washroom and gently commanded him to stay back while they attended to Adrian, checking his vitals, assessing the bleeding, and preparing him for transport. Zac watched in a daze, unable to think.

  He couldn't lose Adrian. Not like this.

  “Hello?”

  Zac felt a hand on his shoulder and snapped out of his funk.

  “Take a deep breath,” the tech said, giving Zac's shoulder a squeeze.

  Zac tried to do as he was told, then got distracted by the sight of Adrian being strapped onto a board.

  “Look at me,” the voice said, kind but firm. Zac tore his eyes away from Adrian's body, and he stared up at the man standing before him. “Take a deep breath.” Zac did as he was told. “Good. Now. Do you have your phone?
”

  Zac flexed his fingers around the mobile still clutched in his hand. “Yes.”

  “Wallet? Keys?”

  Zac frowned. Surely the words meant something. It took a moment for them to click, then Zac raced about the apartment, found his wallet and keys, and shoved everything into the pockets of his pajama pants.

  “Shoes,” the med tech reminded him.

  Zac found a pair of boots and shoved his feet into them.

  “Alright, come on.”

  The tech gestured at Zac, and he readily rushed after the man. With a gentle reminder, he paused long enough to lock the apartment, then they all raced down to the ambulance waiting on the street, and took off for the nearest hospital.

  Zac got lost in the whirlwind of activity, then found himself sitting in a waiting room chair with a cup of coffee clutched between his hands. He wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten there, or how much time had passed, but he didn't care.

  All that mattered was Adrian.

  “Hey, there.”

  Zac's head snapped up and he looked around, grateful to see the same kindly med tech walking toward him.

  “You alright, kid?” the man asked, giving Zac's shoulder a squeeze.

  Zac tried to nod, then went to set the coffee aside, his stomach turning at the thought of swallowing any sort of food or drink. His hands shook, and the tech darted in to take it from him before the hot drink could spill over and scald him.

  The man set the cup aside and crouched before Zac. “He's in good hands, you know. This is a good hospital.”

  Zac nodded absently.

  “Do you need anything? Anyone you need to call? Or…”

  Zac shook his head. “I need him to be alright,” Zac whispered.

  The man gave Zac's shoulder another squeeze. “I think you called quickly enough. I'm sure he'll be fine.”

  “What if he isn't? Gods, this is all my fault.”

  The whole situation spilled out of him without prompting, and the man sat there patiently, listening the whole time. When Zac's story finally got around to the call he made that morning, his babbling momentum wound down and he looked at the med tech, who hadn't left his side, hadn't interrupted him, hadn't removed that comforting hand from his shoulder.