by Jet Mykles
“Yes. I have. I’m sorry if what I said last night put you on edge.”
Brent shook his head as cool liquid slid down his throat. “It’s not your fault. I just ...” Brent shrugged. “I’m not good at the fan thing.”
“How do you avoid it? Fans must be after you all the time.”
Brent chuckled, sucking at his beer. “Not really. Not me.”
“I don’t understand that.”
“Nothing to understand. I’m not the exciting one. Offstage, at least”
“I don’t agree.”
Brent shrugged. “Thanks, I think”
Leather sighed, and a sideways glance at Hell showed the cherub sitting back in his seat, pulling on his beer as he stared out of the opposite window. Brent could only wonder what was cooking in that agile little brain, but didn’t tempt his luck by asking. He stared out of his own window and was thankful that if traffic was with them, it was a relatively short drive.
“Is that why you wear the glasses?” Hell asked suddenly.
Distracted by wandering thoughts about the layout of New York City, Brent jumped. “Huh?”
Hell turned to face him, bringing his knee up on the seat between them “The glasses. To hide your eyes?”
“Nah. I wear ’em ’cause they’re super cool.”
Hell didn’t fall for his joke. He laughed but shook his head. “You hide behind them.”
Brent shrugged. “We all do what we gotta do.”
“The press bothers you so much?”
“Just big gatherings of them. I’m usually okay one-on-one.”
“What about the fans?”
“Same thing. I mean, I know they’re the ones that got us here, and I love ’em for it. But I don’t want to be with them.”
“Did you have a bad experience?”
Brief flashes of memories he’d rather not dwell on flitted across his inner eye. Tongue-tied and looking stupid at one of their first press conferences. A few mass interviews where he’d been unable to respond to direct questions. Quite a few times when he’d nearly drowned in a sea of screaming humanity that seemed to want to tear him apart. He shivered and shrugged, looking back out of the window. “I’ve just never been good at it, is all.”
“I’ve seen pictures of you at parties.”
Brent nodded. “Strangely enough, I’m okay at parties, but I tend to stick to the sidelines.”
“I’ve seen you dancing in those pictures..”
So? Irritated, Brent sank down in the leather, propping his booted feet on the seat in front of him. “Dancing I can do. You don’t have to talk when you’re dancing.”
“Ah. So it’s conversation?”
“I just don’t know what to say half the time, and I usually don’t want to say what reporters want me to say.”
Hell nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“It does. Having to watch what you say can be tiresome.”
Brent snorted. “You don’t seem to have a problem with it.”
Hell beamed. His hand landed on Brent’s knee and squeezed. “I enjoy talking.”
For a moment, Brent didn’t hear him. His brain scrambled at the heat of that small hand on his leg. Then he finally interpreted Hell’s words. He mustered control and turned toward the cherub, tilting his head forward so that the man could see the skeptical look in his eyes over the rim of his glasses. “Now that I believe.”
Hell laughed, a joyous sound that wasn’t unlike some of the melodies he coaxed from his Roland.
Brent’s heart leapt into his throat when Hell’s hand slid further up his thigh. He stared at the elegant spread of those fingers, watched the gold chain over the back of Hell’s hand glimmer as those fingers slid toward a tickle that was burning now in Brent’s testicles.
“Brent.”
He shivered at the sultry note in the cherub’s voice. Oh, God! Say something. Stop this! But, for the life of him, Brent couldn’t do anything but watch that hand slowly massage its way higher.
The cherub shifted closer. “I --”
The sound of the window between them and the driver distracted them. Brent looked up as the tinted glass slid down. Hell snatched his hand back, but he remained kneeling on the seat, facing Brent, turning only his head toward the driver The bodyguard in the passenger seat -- Russ was his name -- twisted around to look at them.
“I hate to say this --” he said.
Brent’s heart sank.
“-- but we just found out that the back entrance to the hotel has been blocked by an accident. We’re going to have to take you guys through the front.”
Brent froze. The front. Immediately, he conjured up the sight of the front of the hotel when they’d left that morning. What seemed like hundreds of Heaven Sent fans had been camped out on the sidewalk. There had even been police tape and officers present to help make sure that traffic kept flowing. This morning was the worst crowd yet since the fans knew for a fact that the band was playing at the hotel that night. “You’re shitting me.”
Russ shook his head. Brent noticed that he had one of those Bluetooth receivers in his far ear. He tapped it. “Got it.” He looked back to Hell and Brent. “We’ve notified security at the hotel that we’re just a few blocks away. They’re going to get the police to help them clear the way, but we need to go through the front.”
“Can’t we just drive around for awhile?” Brent asked.
Hell’s hand returned to Brent’s knee and squeezed. “We’ll be fine.” He spun his head around to meet the cherub’s gaze. Calm and centered and too damn beautiful for words. Brent could see that even in his panic. “It’s only a few meters.”
Brent collapsed back into the leather seat, eyes closed. “Fuck.”
“Mr. Rose?”
He didn’t respond. He pushed fingers up under the lenses of his glasses to rub at his eyes.
“Mr. Rose, should we drive around?”
He snarled. He knew damn good and well that it would make him look like the pussy that he was. Like Hell said, it was just a short way. “No,” he snapped. “Let’s just get this over with.”
He remained tucked back in his seat as they approached the hotel. Yep, there they were. Milling bodies, mostly teenagers, filled the sidewalks. The traffic was crawling. Brent cursed the people who’d gotten into the accident at the back entrance. He cursed Gretchen for sending them home too early. He cursed Johnnie and Tyler for buying a hotel right where someone was going to have a fucking accident. He creatively cursed anything and everyone he could think of as the teenagers discovered the limousine. A number of them swarmed the street, surrounding the car. They didn’t even know who was in it. They just assumed that a limousine meant one of the band members. Whose idea had it been to actually stay at the Weiss? It was such easy deduction that, if they were playing there the next night, Heaven Sent must be in residence.
“Will you be all right?”
Brent spun around and was again lost in huge purple eyes. Eyes that had widened in concern. For him.
Shit. Brent tried to pull himself together, but it was useless. Photo shoots were bad. Press conferences were worse. Interviews were agony. But this? This was ... well, this was Hell of the fire and brimstone variety.
Brent rubbed a hand across his forehead, through the sweat that now beaded his hairline. Shit.. “Yeah. I’m fine.” A little louder, “Are we there yet?”
“Almost, Mr. Rose.”
“Fuck.”
Long, warm fingers threaded through his other hand, and he froze, eyes wide and on the hand that was now entwined with Hell’s.
“They’re only people,” Hell murmured.
Brent barked a laugh. “Save your breath, Hell,” he advised, thinking he should extricate his hand but somehow not doing it. “They’ve all tried to get me through this. Nothing works.”
Hell nodded, accepting that. “We’ll run.”
“Oh, fuck yeah, we’ll run. At least I will.”
Hell squeezed his han
d, then let their fingers slide apart. “You’ll be fine.”
Brent really wished everyone would stop telling him that.
The limousine stopped at long last in front of the hotel. Brent stared in agony at the revolving glass doors that stood back from the sidewalk. Security and police had cordoned off a narrow walkway. A very narrow walkway. Brent wasn’t going to get through that one without someone touching him.
“Should I go first?” Hell asked.
Brent gulped, staring.
“Brent?”
“Yeah.” Brent heard his voice, very soft, very trembly. “Please.”
Strong fingers squeezed his shoulder.
Up front, Brent heard Russ talking but couldn’t make out the words. Outside, he watched three security guards trot down the narrow aisle toward the car.
Then the screaming started.
Brent winced.
Hell squeezed his shoulder again, hard enough to make him gasp. His eyes went wide as Hell surged over him, pushing him back into the seat. “Hell, what --?” But his confused words were cut short by warm lips slamming up against his. Too shocked to close his eyes and enjoy, he stayed stock still as Hell’s tongue swept his mouth briefly before the cherub pulled back.
Gaping, Brent stared as Hell shone with an impish grin.
The guards reached the door and opened it.
Hell climbed over Brent and out the door. Brent felt the surge of cool air from outside, heard the cacophony of screams, but his entire focus narrowed down to the waft of lavender that settled over him in Hell’s wake. He even smelled like lavender?
“Mr. Rose.”
The guard’s voice snapped him back to reality. Oh, shit! Did anyone see? No, the door had been closed. Hadn’t it?
“Mr. Rose?” The man stuck his almost bald head into sight, eyeing Brent. He held out a beefy hand to wave Brent out of the limousine.
Brent closed his eyes and counted to ten. He turned and stuck his foot out the door, raising his gaze to see Hell a few feet ahead of him, laughing, reaching out to touch the hands that groped for him. A solid, tentacled wall of humanity surrounded him. God, they didn’t even know him yet. The announcement was just today.
I can do this, Brent told himself. The litany that he always had to tell himself when in this situation.
With one more breath, he pushed out of the car, the security guard’s hand at his back to help him stand.
“Breeeennnnt!” He knew it was a lot of different voices screaming, but they all seemed to synchronize on his name.
The guards moved in on either side of him.
Brent forced a smile as he stepped onto the pavement.
Up ahead, Hell disappeared.
Brent blinked, not immediately understanding what had happened. Then panic set in when he realized that the fans had pushed through the cordoned-off area. Police officers and security guards were shouting for them to get back, but it was like trying to push back a flood of water after the dam broke.
Hell was in the middle of it! Were any of the guards with him? Were the police? He was so small; surely someone was looking out for him!
Panic took Brent forward a few steps, surging through the crowd. He barely heard the cries and the screams. He distantly felt the fingers groping at his jacket and legs.
Four steps, and Hell was in sight. He was smiling and laughing as two police officers tried to usher him forward.
He was safe.
Which brought Brent’s attention back to himself.
Fingers caught at his hands. He looked aside to see crying, scary teenage girls. And not a few boys as well. A lot of them resembled the bald-headed guy in that painting The Scream. Amazed even as he was terrified, Brent felt hands pull him down and automatically pursed his lips to kiss upturned faces. Fingers grappled at his sunglasses, and he was horrified when they came off, but managed not to lash out in terror. He very nearly screamed himself as the glasses were whisked away, but the scream cut off when one of the security officers hauled him forward into a quiet spot Even better than quiet, it was the revolving door. He’d reached safety.
He came through the other side and very nearly stumbled into Hell. The cherub caught him by the arms and stared at his face. Brent blinked at him, shell-shocked to be staring into those vivid violet eyes without the shield of his glasses.
Hell squeezed his arms, scowling. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
“Brent! Hell!”
Brent blinked and looked up at the familiar voice. Tyler! His savior. The blond had never looked more like an angel than he did now in his crisp gray suit. He stormed forward, concern evident in his huge, angry blue eyes. Four security guards and two bodyguards trailed in his wake. Before he reached them, he was waving them forward. “This way. We’ll take you directly up to the suites.”
Brent allowed himself to be led. He followed Tyler with Hell at his side and a handful of security guards at his back. Once in the elevator, he very nearly collapsed. As it was, he sank against the back of the elevator, letting his skull thump against the brushed chrome.
“God, Brent, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Tyler stood before him, hand on his shoulder. Brent didn’t suppose Tyler had ever seen him like this firsthand, but someone -- probably Johnnie -- had told him about Brent’s quirk. “I would have done anything I could have to spare you that.”
Brent nodded, running a trembling hand through his black hair. “I know, man.”
“Are you okay?”
“Not yet.”
He shut his eyes, and thankfully, neither Tyler nor Hell chose to speak. They stood in silent support to either side of him, and he appreciated it more than words.
When the elevator door opened, Tyler led the way out. Only then did Brent realize that only the three of them were in the elevator.
“I had some food sent up when I heard you’d left the press conference,” Tyler was saying. “Gretchen hasn’t called to tell me the others are on their way, so you should be able to relax for a while.” He used his own key to open Brent’s door and stood holding it while Hell led Brent inside.
Brent felt much better now that the crowds were behind him. He took a deep breath, eyes closed, head back. Then he realized that Hell was still holding his hand. How long? He wondered, but didn’t ask. He took another breath and pulled away gently. “I’m okay, guys.”
“Are you sure?” Hell asked.
He dragged a hand through his hair “Yes.” He was a bit wigged to not find the sunglasses perched on his nose He recalled the feel of hands at his face, ripping them off, and shuddered. “I just ... let me chill out for a while.”
Tyler nodded from the doorway, a skeptical frown on his face. “Can I get you anything else?”
Brent managed a smile. A real smile for him. “Nah.”
Tyler shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Wasn’t your fault, man. It’s a hazard of the job. I know that.”
Tyler nodded. “Okay. You’ve got my cell number if you need anything.”
Brent waved his hand, stepping up to the wet bar. A drink was definitely in order. “I can call room service. You’ve got enough on your mind.”
“Call me if you need anything,” he insisted. “Either of you.”
“You’re the best, man.”
“Thank you,” Hell said.
Tyler left.
Brent placed a glass on the bar and reached for the ice bucket. He saw Hell out of the corner of his eye. He found a laugh for the serious look. “Seriously, man, I’m okay.”
Hell didn’t look convinced. He stepped up to the bar and splayed the hand with the gold chain thing on the surface. “Perhaps I should stay. You need company.”
A sudden, vivid picture of making out with the cherub filled Brent’s head. Soft lips, silky hair, lavender scent, and all. Yeah, that’d make him feel a lot better.
Oh, God!
He shook his head violently, turning back to the ice bucket. “No. I just need to be alone for a while.”
Hell looked like he wanted to protest, but didn’t. He nodded. “Okay. You call if you need me. I’m right next door.” It was a statement, not a question.
Brent concentrating on dropping ice into his glass. “I’m not an invalid. I was just shaken. I have done this before. I’m better already.”
“Has it been like this before?”
Brent grabbed a tiny bottle of vodka and twisted it open. “Actually, yeah. Like this and worse.”
“Why do you do it?”
He smiled and poured. “Except for that and the press, it’s the best job I could ever hope to have.”
Hell took a step toward him. “Brent ...”
Instinct had Brent stepping back away from the bar, away from Hell. It was either step back or grab him, and he was determined not to do the latter. “Hey, Hell, please just leave me alone right now.” He stared hard at the empty bottle in his hands, keeping himself from looking at the cherub.
He heard a sigh. “All right. I’ll see you tonight.”
He nodded, still not looking up. He stayed exactly where he was until he heard the door close safely behind Hell.
Chapter Five
The sound check that afternoon was a hurried affair. Brent showed up a little late on purpose, hoping to time it so that he arrived just as the others were ready. He was almost on the ball, but he still got there before Luc. Luckily, there was plenty to do and enough people to deal with that he didn’t have to really talk with Hell.
But he watched him. Trying to be casual about it, he kept an eye on the cherub who stood on the platform behind Brent’s accustomed spot onstage. Both he and Hell were located to the audience’s right, Brent manning the front of the stage and Hell raised about three feet above him. The main keyboard faced roughly center stage with four others mounted around him. The amplifiers provided a dark background, perfect for what Brent was sure would be a flashy outfit worn that night. Now, however, Hell was dressed rather simply in an oversized blue button-down shirt and jeans. He looked deadly serious as he adjusted knobs and talked in low tones to his roadies.
Brent tore his gaze away and concentrated on his own instrument when the sight of Hell biting that lush lower lip made his cock stir. Get the cherub out of your head, he admonished, turning to face front and playing a few licks to warm up his fingers. It didn’t do any good to think about Hell or that kiss. Nothing was going to happen And his sound was off anyway, so he went to find his own roadies.
