by Jet Mykles
“O-kay!” Gretchen yelled over any further words from either Reese or Luc.
A little bit of a crowd had formed behind her, including Darien. Darien, after a quick look, hurried down the path toward Hell, who was brushing dirt from his clothes.
Gretchen stopped between Reese and Luc, looking at Reese. Her sharp look halted his writhing and words, but the anger he glared at Luc spoke volumes.
Brent sagged back against the tree and slowly sank to a crouch, trying his best to just disappear.
Chapter Fifteen
“Brent!” A heavy hand pounded on the door. “Open this door! You owe me an explanation.”
Brent kind of thought that he should feel surprise, but the events of the night had drained his emotions. At least for the moment. His eyes were still puffy and red from crying, but for the moment they were dry. He crossed the darkened main room of the suite and opened the door.
The blue-haired man stormed inside and spun, facing him. He still wore the same outfit he’d had on at the party, but the carefully applied makeup he’d been wearing had been washed clean. His eyes were puffy and red, too. “I promised myself that I’d find out what this is all about before I fly off the handle again. So. Is it true?”
Brent closed the door and braced against it, his hands splayed flat on the door at the middle of his back. “It’s not true that we’re sleeping together now, but we have slept together.”
“God!”
“Before you,” he hastened to add. “I swear to God, Reese, it was before you. We haven’t done anything since.”
Blue eyes a few shades lighter than Reese’s hair bore into Brent’s face. Reese took a deep breath and stood straight. “I believe you. I just can’t believe either of you would do that to me.”
Brent shook his head. “God, no. We wouldn’t.”
“So why didn’t he tell me?”
“He was afraid of how you’d react.”
Reese’s hands flexed open and closed as he continued to stare at Brent. “Okay. I can buy that.” He wet his lips with his tongue. “Do you love him?”
“Not like that. Not like Hell thinks.”
“Were you in love with him?”
Brent shook his head again. “No. Not ever like that. God, Reese, the entire time we were together, he used me as a substitute for you.”
That brought Reese up short. “What?”
Brent nodded. “Cried out your name and everything.”
“When-when was this?”
“Before he came back for you. Before we got the invite for Reegan’s wedding.”
“Before ...?”
Brent sighed. “He’s been in love with you for years, Reese. It just took him a while to work up the nerve to see you again.”
Reese snorted, turning toward the couch in the center of the suite’s main room. “That man is all nerve.”
Brent couldn’t argue that and decided to stop talking since things seemed to be going well. Reese was calmer now. He watched the man drop onto the couch, but stayed where he was at the door. “Have you talked to him?”
Reese shook his head. “I can’t. Not yet. I know the things he’d say. I wanted to hear it from you first.” He wiped a hand across his face. “He knows where I am.”
Brent was profoundly grateful that Reese was listening. He didn’t think he could handle breaking up their relationship on top of his own misery. “Reese, I’m sorry about this. I really am.”
Reese nodded. “Thanks. I believe you.”
Brent sagged in relief. “You should go talk to him. He’s got to be going nuts wondering what you’re thinking.”
Reese nodded again. “I will.” Those blue eyes turned up to focus on him again. “But first I want you to tell me why Hell would think you’re in love with Luc.”
Brent swallowed, tilting his head down, letting a fall of black bangs hide his eyes. Where were his shades? Oh, yeah, he’d never gotten them back from Luc, and he hadn’t bothered to get a spare pair when he’d returned to his rooms.
“Brent?”
“He thought that I was in love with Luc because I wasn’t in love with him.”
“Is that what you told him?”
“No.”
“Why would he think it?”
“Because I talk to Luc, like, every day.”
“True.” Reese laughed a little. “I guess I hadn’t really noticed. You guys have always been like that.”
Brent shrugged.
“Brent, are you really not in love with Hell?”
Shit! There were the tears again, along with that awful pull in his chest. What was up with him tonight? Too much happening. His fingertips hurt from clutching at the solid wood at his back.
Footsteps padded toward him, and Brent averted his head, keeping it down, trying to keep the tears hidden.
“Brent?”
“I don’t know.” He took a breath, trying to squelch the wail that threatened to escape his throat.
“God, Brent, come here.” Reese took hold of his shoulders and led him to the couch, pushing him to sit, then sitting beside him. He squeezed Brent’s shoulder. “Talk to me.”
Brent shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter anyway.”
“What doesn’t matter?”
“If I did love Hell. I fucked it up.”
“You could talk to him.”
“After what happened tonight? No.”
“You’re going to have to do something. You guys can’t work together like this.”
Brent crumpled forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. A dry sob escaped.
An arm slid around his shoulders. “Talk to me, man.”
Without any other options, Brent did. He took the sympathetic shoulder Reese offered and spilled on it. How it started with Hell, how he felt about the imp, and what had happened that afternoon when it had all gone to shit. Everything. Even some of the things he hadn’t told Luc, all the stuff about Hell being jealous of Luc. To his horror, he was even telling Reese how he’d always been used as a substitute or as a false version of himself and never the real him.
Reese listened attentively and said little. He waited briefly after Brent’s words finally trailed off. “Is there beer in your mini bar?”
Caught off guard by the comment, Brent frowned and nodded.
Reese got up and fetched two cold bottles, returning with them. He handed Brent a beer and a napkin, then sat on one end of the couch. Brent sat on the other, wiping his nose and eyes as he faced Reese.
“Luc had to convince me that I loved him, you know.”
Brent had to smile. He was pretty sure Luc had filled him in on most of what had happened between him and Reese. “I know.”
Reese just nodded. “I didn’t believe him. I mean, sure I wanted him. Who wouldn’t?” He glanced sharply at Brent, realizing what he’d said and to whom, but then let it go with a shrug. “But love was an entirely different thing. I couldn’t possibly love him, because he deserved someone ... better.”
Brent saw where this was going, but stayed silent, nursing his beer.
“My sister was the one who pointed out that I wasn’t being fair to him. By seeing him as something more, I wasn’t seeing him as the asshole that he really is.”
Caught off guard by the humor, Brent nearly spit up a mouthful of beer. He frowned up at Reese’s bright grin.
“He’s just a guy, Brent, despite the fact that he looks like a Kewpie doll. And I’ll tell you, from everything I’ve seen, it looks to me like the two of you are in love. You said that your lovers in the past never saw the real you, but it sounds like Hell’s been focused on you from the start.”
Brent sighed. This was his cue to brush off the conversation. Throughout his life, people had been telling him that he didn’t give himself enough credit. He barely heard it anymore. But for some reason Reese’s words sank in. Maybe it was the horrible past few days. Maybe he was emotionally drained. Or maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe that he was in love with the cherub. And mayb
e that the cherub was -- or had been -- in love with him.
Scary thought.
“Could be,” was all he said.
Reese shrugged. “You deserve to give it a chance.”
“Don’t know that Hell will give me a chance.”
“All you can do is try.”
Chapter Sixteen
Brent left the moist, heated air of the bathroom to answer his cell phone, hoping Hell had finally deigned to return one of his calls.
It was Gretchen. “Brent, honey, you have got to let me know what’s going on with you and Hell.”
He frowned, dropping down into a straight-backed chair. He let the towel with which he’d been drying his hair drop to the carpet at his feet. “I’m not really sure what is going on,” he admitted on a sigh. “I’ve been trying to call Hell all morning, but he’s not answering my calls.”
“You know he left the hotel last night?”
“I know he cleared his stuff out of our suite last night before I got back. Didn’t know he’d left the Weiss.”
“He did. And he’s been a busy little beaver this morning.”
Brent started to get a sick feeling. On top of the nausea in his empty stomach, it was not a good thing. “Oh?”
“Yes. I got a call from a Christopher Faith this morning. He claims to be Hell’s new manager.”
“What?”
“Yes. Want to tell me what the heck is going on? What happened between you two?”
“We had a fight.”
“Oh, yeah? I couldn’t tell.”
“Ha ha.”
“Mmm. I don’t like being kept in the dark about these things, Brent. Your sex life is your business until and unless it interferes in my business, and Heaven Sent is my business.”
“I know.”
“Are you and Hell breaking up? Is he leaving the band? Should I start making arrangements with this Faith person?”
“No!” The word was out of his mouth before conscious thought. “Do not start making arrangements. I have to talk to Hell first.”
“Okay. Well, you’d better make it quick. Hell’s going to talk to the press at two.”
“What?”
“It’s not surprising. I’ve been fending off calls for you all morning. There was press there last night, you recall. This guy’s probably advised him to talk to them all in one group.”
A look at his watch showed him it was now almost noon. “Shit. Where?”
“At the Marriott.”
“You think he’s going to say he’s leaving the band?”
“I can’t think of much else he could say, do you?”
“Shit! Fuck!” This had gone beyond what he’d expected. He’d intended to get hold of Hell first thing this morning so they could talk, but Hell was already making arrangements to leave the band?
“What do you want to do here, honey?”
“I don’t ... Gah!” He tore into his hair, trying to think.
“Calm down. You want me to come to your suite so we can make arrangements?”
“Yeah. Hurry.”
“I’m on my way.”
Brent pressed the button to end the call and stared at the readout on his cell phone. Without much further thought, he pressed the quick dial for Luc’s cell.
“Yeah?”
“Man, I need your help.”
Brent stared at the tinted glass façade of the hotel while Luc and the driver discussed where to meet up. This wasn’t going to take long, probably. Either Brent would succeed or he’d fail. Either Hell would agree or he wouldn’t.
This sucks.
“Let’s go,” Luc prodded him.
Nodding, Brent got out of the car. He adjusted his long overcoat and glasses while Luc got out and stood beside him. They exchanged a glance, nodded, and headed toward the hotel’s revolving front door.
“Could you tell me where’s the Embassy room?” he asked the nice lady at the information stand.
She smiled that hotel clerk smile and pointed. “It’s down that hall and to your left. Your press passes will be checked at the door.”
Brent just nodded and led the way.
Luc chuckled at his side. “Guess she’s not a fan.”
“Guess not,” Brent said, hardly listening. His heart was pounding.
They turned the corner and saw about a dozen reporters milling in the hallway.
Brent froze in the middle of the walkway.
Luc put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe we should come back.”
“Too late,” Brent murmured.
A few of the reporters noticed them. Recognized them. At once, all the people in the hallway were hurrying in their direction, microphones and tape recorders out, cameras rising up to shoulders and flashbulbs going off.
A familiar surge of panic seared Brent’s chest, stopping his breath. He shook and knew Luc could feel it. But he resisted his friend’s tug and started walking toward the flood.
“Brent! Luc!” They were on him, like rabid dogs on a side of beef. “What are you doing here? Is Hell really leaving the band? Are you part of the press conference? We weren’t told you’d be here.”
Sticking to his plan, Brent ignored them and waded through the crowd. Hands gripped at his arms, trying to make him stop, but he kept on. Up ahead, he saw more reporters streaming out through the double doors.
The guards at the door exchanged a puzzled glance but didn’t do anything to stop it. But they did stop Brent when he reached the door. “Sorry, press only,” the man told him.
Brent stared at the guy, taken aback. He hadn’t counted on anyone preventing him from getting into the press conference.
But a pretty little brunette reporter came to his rescue. “Are you crazy? Don’t you know who these guys are?”
Obviously, the one guard did not.
The other, however, did. He brushed his companion’s hand from Brent’s shoulder, then nodded to Brent. “Sorry, Mr. Rose. I’m sure it’ll be okay if you and Mr. Sloane are admitted.”
Brent returned the guard’s nod. He tried to smile, but he was still too nervous. So he just went inside the doors, leaving Luc to smile and do his thing behind him. Luc was here for backup, after all, because during the hour they’d discussed this improvised plan with Gretchen, Johnnie, and Darien -- and then even Reese and Tyler -- everyone had known there was no way Brent could have gone through with it alone.
He felt and saw the reporters follow him into the room and heard Luc’s murmured answers to some of their questions. It turned out that their appearance had cleared the room, because every metal folding chair in front of Brent was empty.
Empty until Hell appeared through a partially open door toward the back. Oh, God! Brent halted halfway down the makeshift aisle, filling his gaze with the vision. Lavender hair curled sweetly around Hell’s face, his features angelic despite his scowl. Gemstone eyes narrowed, and his glossed mouth twisted down at both sides. He wore one of his dresslike jackets, this one a deep burgundy in a vaguely Asian design, complete with a gold embroidered dragon over his left breast. Dozens of bangles clattered on each wrist, and he had on a pair of heeled boots that added at least two inches to his height. Beautiful.
Someone grabbed Brent’s arm from behind, but he yanked away, focused on the dais and the surprised little pixie who stood on it.
Brent had to wind around to the side of the platform and the three steps that led up to it. Hell’s heels clacked as he walked toward the center podium, the sound loud to Brent’s ears despite the tidal wave of flashes that went off when the two of them got close enough to be photographed together. A man in a suit followed Hell into the room, but Brent dismissed him, his entire focus on Hell.
Hell stopped an arm’s length away, hands on hips, glaring. “What are you doing here?”
“I want you back.” His voice cracked, and he cleared it with a cough.
A hush fell, so complete that Brent could actually hear the hum of the various cameras. Or was that the buzzing in his head? God, he was dizz
y!
Hell’s gaze flicked behind Brent, presumably registering Luc’s presence. At least, Brent was pretty sure his friend stood behind him. Hell’s frown deepened as he glanced at their audience, making sure Brent was aware of them. “You want me back for what?”
“For the band. For me.”
Hell’s chin twisted aside, his skepticism plain in his face. “For you?”
Brent forced a deep breath into lungs that felt full of water. He raised one shaking hand to his face and took off his sunglasses so the cherub could see his face.
Hell’s eyes went wide.
More flashbulbs went off.
“For me. I love you. Please don’t leave me because I was too stupid to say it.”
A few shrieks -- feminine, by the sound of them -- erupted from the crowd of reporters, followed by a wave of hisses hushing them. Quiet settled again.
Through it all, Hell’s eyes didn’t leave his face, nor did his skeptical look fade. “What?”
Brent hadn’t expected it to be easy. But he knew that this was his best chance. Hell knew he hated this, knew he didn’t want an audience. By doing it this way, Hell had to see that he was desperate.
“I love you.”
“How do I believe you?”
Brent swallowed. “How’s this for a start?” He closed the distance between them, carefully making that step on watery knees. He reached up with both shaking hands to cup Hell’s face. He let Hell see the worry and the torment, kept nothing from his gaze, as he lowered his lips toward Hell’s.
Hell could pull away. He could refuse. This was an excellent opportunity for him to shun Brent.
But the soft skin of Hell’s cheeks stayed within Brent’s hands. Shining pink lips parted, and violet eyes closed just before Brent’s mouth touched his.
Any sound and any sensory awareness outside of the feel of the man he was kissing didn’t exist for Brent. The icy shards of panic and fear in his chest started to melt when he felt Hell’s arms snake around his waist, pulling him closer. The cherub sighed, mouth opening and head tilting to invite a deeper kiss, and Brent was helpless to deny him.
He was too keyed up to stay in the kiss for long. He pulled up and opened his eyes, hands still trembling where they held Hell’s jaw. He looked into those black-lined eyes as they opened. “I love you,” he murmured, far to low for their audience to hear. “Please talk to me.”
