by Z. Allora
“No….” Jordon hated to admit he hadn’t even thought about packing. He needed to get better with the details of his life.
“No worries. I’ve got your back.” Zack took out his phone and waved it. “I’ve got your packing list from the last tour right here, with the things you wanted me to make sure you didn’t forget. We’ve got thirteen hours before we head to the airport.”
Well, here was the segue served on a silver platter made of overprotection and micromanagement. Jordon exhaled hard. “I’m totally not ready to go.”
Dusty nodded. “Zack said he’d help you pack, and I’ll take you shopping if you need to pick up anything. Remember, this tour is longer than usual.”
“I know, but I have storyboards due to the publisher. I also have a painting that’s giving me hell, and if I can just focus, I can finish everything if I didn’t have to leave so soon.”
Dusty hesitated in placing the final sandwich on the plate. “What are you saying?”
“Do we have any chips?” Jordon hoped the redirection would give him space to spit out his words.
“I’m not even going to mention there are six open bags of the same kind of chips.” Zack pointed out the epic fail as he foraged through three more cabinets on the potato-chip scavenger hunt. “And two of them don’t have clip closures on them.”
Jordon chuckled. “High crimes and treason. Hey, that’s what happens when you abandon Dusty, Justin, and I to live at Obsessive Compulsives R Us—”
“It’s just wasteful to open so many bags.” He glared at Jordon and Dusty while he condensed the six bags down into one. Then he added a handful of salty crunchy deliciousness to each plate. He clipped the bag with the care of a surgeon and returned the chips to where he designated their spot should be.
“Jordon?” Dusty slid Jordon’s plate in front of him. “What were you saying?”
Shit. Here goes. “Well, I was thinking maybe I could just stay here for a couple of days longer.”
“What? Alone?” Zack’s shock was clear. “You don’t like staying in the house by yourself.”
True. He’d probably lock himself in his bedroom studio before it got dark. Justin had restocked his minifridge with his favorite orange soda and string cheese. He could hole up for a few weeks and be fine. “Look, I need to get over that. Besides, there’s a new alarm system now, so if I hear any noise, I can check the cameras. What, you think I’m going to throw a wild party?”
“No, of course not.” Dusty rooted around the refrigerator and grabbed two Cokes along with Jordon’s Mirinda. He passed the sodas out.
Yeah, why would he? Jordon didn’t have many friends in the area, other than the Dark Angels and his brothers. Between his art and touring with the band, he usually didn’t bother to make time to spend with others except for his bestie.
“Dusty, seriously, I can manage on my own for a couple of days. Besides, my therapist wants me to figure out ways I can be more independent.” He wasn’t playing the therapist card for the win, but she had asked him to work on being more responsible, learning to identify and share his needs with others.
Both Zack and Dusty stared at him in silence. Hmmm, the nervous coiling sensation that made him want to puke must be the discomfort she told him he might experience.
Jordon took a big bite of his sandwich, because hearing himself chew was better than brotherly quiet. The sandwich parted and some of the magic sauce dripped onto his T-shirt. “Argh! Dammit.”
Dusty handed Zack a napkin, and Zack dabbed at the drip. Dusty gave Zack some club soda, and he used it to make the spill vanish. “It shouldn’t stain but I can—”
“This is an example.” Jordon gestured down at his now-clean shirt. This had been the first T-shirt he’d speckled with paint, so he was happy it wasn’t ruined, but that wasn’t the point.
“Of?” Zack scrunched his face and glanced over at Dusty, who seemed to be just as lost.
“I know how to do laundry. I’m not helpless.” Granted, it wasn’t until Dusty’s fiancé had moved in with them and taught him. Justin showed him how to bleach his whites that had faded into that terrible grayish blah color when he tossed everything in together.
“Laundry is a lot different than traveling for almost twenty-four hours to a foreign country by yourself.” Zack paced. “What if something happens before you get on the plane?”
Jordon glared at him. “Zack, I’m twenty years old.”
“You’re too trusting…,” Zack said as if the cryptic code couldn’t be cracked.
“I was sixteen and stupid. Going to meet a stranger off the internet like that… was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.” A ripple of terror echoed through him as all the horrid possibilities raced through his mind of what might have happened.
“You have no idea.” Zack’s voice broke a little, and pain could be seen in the haunted look in his eyes before he shuttered the expression away behind a glare.
When Jordon had gotten that weird feeling of wrongness and tried to back out of going to the guy’s house, the guy hadn’t taken the change of plans well. Thank God, Zack had followed him. There had been no doubt the man would have done much more than give Jordon a black eye. “I’m grateful you rescued me, but nothing is going to happen.”
“And what if I’m not there, and something happens?” Zack folded his arms.
“If there’s an emergency, I’ll dial 911. I’m capable of staying on my own for two days. I’ve got deadlines and one painting I need to finish before I go or it will never get done.” Being alone might help Jordon focus on his project, and maybe give him time to figure out the changes he needed to make in his life.
His brothers were great and always there as his safety net. Jordon never had to lift a finger. He was grateful he never went without, but maybe that was the problem. They took care of everything, and he’d let them. “It’s just a couple of days.”
Dusty studied him and let out a long exhale. “If you’re sure, I’ll have your ticket changed. You can follow us in two days.”
He saluted Dusty. “Fantastic. Thanks.”
“This is totally a terrible idea, Dust.” Zack could drone on all he wanted; Dusty had the final say.
Jordon couldn’t help but flash Zack a victory smirk as he stole the perfect chip off Zack’s plate.
A LITTLE after midnight Jordon waved goodbye to his brothers and Justin as they headed for the airport.
Alone at last. It was the first time in years Jordon had been outside of a five-mile radius of his brothers’ reach.
Amazing how liberating freedom felt—no one to disappoint… no expectations. He could do things the way he wanted.
The hours slipped away into days of drawing and painting.
Now Jordon stood outside his house. His BFF would be taking him to the airport. He and Gwendolyn Carrow had hit it off when they’d met in an art class.
Jordon tugged on his hood and checked his phone. Maybe he should text Gwen again? She might have forgotten the gate code.
No need. His bestie pulled her silver Camry into Dusty’s driveway.
Jordon wheeled his luggage to the back of her car. “Gwen to the rescue. You’re a lifesaver.”
She jumped out and popped the trunk. “That’s what best friends are for. Hiding bodies and trips to the airport.”
“Thanks.” He tossed his two bags into the car, then hugged her.
She pulled back and peered at his suitcases. “Um… is this all?”
He studied the trunk. “Yup, two bags. Not that I want to give Zack’s boyfriend—”
“You mean Master,” she added ever so helpfully.
He glared at the reminder. “Whatever the hell the guy is to my brother, I don’t want to give him too much credit. But those packing cubes were hella impressive. The number of things I was able to pack—geez, when everything was rolled, contained, and stored in zippered cubes—defied logic.”
“We can talk about your new packing fetish later.” Gwen shook her head. “My question is where’s your car
ry-on stuff, your travel sketch pad, your laptop, your iPad, your chargers—”
“Shit!” He ran back into the house, grabbed his knapsack, locked the door, and jumped into the car.
“Passport?” She fiddled with the radio.
“I—shit!” Slamming the car door felt good. He stomped back toward the house.
“And don’t forget to rearm your brother’s alarm system,” she called out.
Dammit. No wonder his brothers felt he needed a keeper—he did. No, he needed to remember what his therapist said about how change is a number of small steps. “Thanks, I will,” he called over his shoulder.
He found his passport next to where his knapsack had been. Zack must have put it there so Jordon wouldn’t forget. He reset the alarm and trudged back to the car.
Again.
“Thanks, Gwen.” He tucked his passport into his pocket.
“Welcome. Anything you need.” She put her finger out to stop his probably too predictable quip. “Except a blowjob.”
“Then why do you offer anything?” He feigned the exasperation their interaction required.
“I’m surprised your brothers didn’t arrange a car for you.” She zipped out of the compound and down the road.
He shrugged. “I told them not to bother. I’d take care of it.”
Stopping at the red light gave her too much time to throw a judgmental glare in his direction before she continued down the road. “And you decided not to arrange transportation until three hours before your flight?”
“I was working on a piece… and I had to finish it.”
“I get it. Sometimes I—” Gwen rolled down her window and screamed at the car that passed her, “Next time you ride my ass like that, make sure you pull my hair, and you better have used a condom.”
Jordon snorted. “You’re too funny. Control your—wait, aren’t you wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday when I FaceTimed you?”
She glanced down. “Um, yeah. Why?”
“Slut.” God, he wished he could be more like her.
“I prefer sexually expressive. And why the fuck is it ‘good job’ if a guy scores, and when I do, I’m a slut? Sexist, much?” She tightened her hands on the wheel.
“Um?” Good damned question. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you and society’s version of acceptable gender roles.”
She flared all hot oranges and fiery reds. The exact colors he craved. Dammit, not for the first time, Jordon asked, “Why can’t you have a dick? It’s such a waste.”
“Excuse me? Waste? Let me assure you my multiple orgasms reinforce in my mind what’s down there is no waste.”
Jordon put his hands up in surrender. Now he remembered why he didn’t say that! “Sorry. I know. I haven’t slept, and I’m just… bitter.”
“What do you have to be bitter about?” She didn’t scoff; she asked like she cared.
“I’m twenty, and what do I have to show for it?”
After stopping at a Stop sign, she turned to give him her wide-eyed “are you insane?” stare. One she used often enough to make him question how off-base she actually was in her assessment. She made a left turn. “Honey, you’re a successful artist. You’re young, beautiful, and you travel the world with a freaking rock band. Get a grip.”
“Eh, successful artist.” Right, but he’d had no relationships. Monks probably had more experience than he did. His life appeared great, but he felt like he was in shambles and exhausted by wanting something he probably wouldn’t ever get.
“You are. Though I don’t get why you don’t simply tell your brothers about Sakura Rose.”
Yeah, right. Tell his brothers he’d been publishing not only the Dark Angels manga but several series in Japan under the name Sakura Rose? “Not in this lifetime.”
“Why not? You’re an adult. What will they do? Ground you?”
He glared at her for making valid points. His fear of telling his brothers might be stupid, but it undoubtedly paralyzed him. “No, but…. Look, I’ve been publishing under SR since I was, like, sixteen, and they’ll want to know why I didn’t tell them before.”
“So?”
He sighed. His brothers were everything to him. “It’s dumb, but knowing I’ve kept a secret like that would hurt them.”
His oldest brother, Dusty, would get that apologetic look for being an inadequate guardian, and then he’d give Jordon a sad smile as if his feelings were irrelevant. Not even in a martyrish way, but a real, sliced-to-the-soul way. And Zack, he’d kill him. Jesus, Zack would be pissed, and yell at him. Then—
No, he needed to put the brakes on his guilt and inject reality into his narrative.
Zack would not kill him. Dusty might be hurt, but perhaps it could lead into a real discussion among all of them. A talk they should have had years ago.
At the next red light, she rolled to a stop and shook her head. “Okay, but if you don’t tell them, how do you plan to get to that publisher event? Are you going to slip away and go to Japan for a weekend?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Look, you made the commitment, said you’d be there.” Queen of the Freaking Obvious might point out the sky is blue and the grass is green next.
“Maybe I can back out, tell ’em I’m sick or something.” Sick of being a wuss, maybe.
“Dude, you’re not a little kid anymore. You’ve got to live your own life.” Gwen threw reality at him as if he wanted some.
“I know.” Somehow his brothers had this way of keeping him a little kid.
Gwen yelled at a metallic red sports car that zipped in front of her extremely close, “There are restrooms at the mall, but I hope they’re closed and you pee your pants.”
Jordon snorted. “What the fuck was that?”
“I try to give bad drivers a reason for their poor decisions so I get less mad.”
Jordon hated to point out the truth, but…. “It doesn’t look like it’s working.”
“Nah, it totally is.” Gwen smirked and then scrunched her face. “Hey, if you’ve been publishing since you were sixteen, how do your brothers not know? I mean just with taxes and such.”
“By the time I was actually published, my first check came after my eighteenth birthday.”
“Wow, long time.” She rolled to another traffic light. “So you deal with all the Japanese tax stuff?”
Jordon shook his head. “Nah, I hired an accounting company to deal with all the nonsense. Math is hard.”
“Tell me about it.” The light turned green, Gwen started driving again. “Anyway, I’m going to make a prediction you will get your cherry popped.”
“OMG! Don’t be gross.”
“What? You’re going to find someone great. I just know it.” Gwen, if nothing else, was persistent.
“Sure.” Lots of men wanted someone with no interest in fucking or being fucked, only in sucking, hand jobs, and cuddling. If it got out, the rainbow community would take away his gay card.
“Hey, you know I know things.”
He rolled his eyes at the reference to her self-proclaimed psychic abilities and changed the subject. “Whatever. Tell me about last night’s one-night stand?”
She put her hands at the ten and two positions on the steering wheel, started looking at all her mirrors, and acted as earnest as a first-year driver. “We’re almost at the airport.”
“Is this avoidance? Tell me.” Had he been so absorbed in his own shit he’d missed hers?
“Whatever.” Snarkish responses and her red cheeks added up to something.
Jordon fished. “Maybe last night wasn’t a one-time thing?”
She shrugged.
“What? So is he your boyfriend or something?” Jordon didn’t approve. Who was this guy, and why didn’t she tell him?
“Boyfriend is a juvenile term. He’s my lover.”
“Ew, Gwen! Lover? I just threw up in my mouth. All joking aside… that word is gross.”
They both giggled.
>
“I know, right?” She groaned. “But what do I call him? My man-friend, male companion, maybe my—”
“Is it serious?” His therapist would identify this creepy crawly feeling slithering through him as fear of abandonment.
“Look, I don’t know. I’ve been seeing him for a while, Jordon. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but now I really like him.”
“Him or his cock?”
After a long pause, she frowned at him, then admitted, “Both, but if I had to pick, I’d choose him.”
“Wow.” She was serious. The sliver of fear expanded. Would he be replaced? He didn’t know what to say. But this was a fraction of how his brothers would feel if they found out he’d kept a secret for years. Betrayed.
“Hey, Jordie. You know I love you, and you’ll be my bestest friend always no matter who I’m boning.” Her sincerity broke through his worry.
“Yeah, yeah. I know you. Attached or not, I still expect to drive you to the sex shops when I’m eighty-eight, and he better not have any problems with that.” Jordon tried to sound tough, but his laughter ruined the effect as he pictured the scene he’d described illustrated on a manga storyboard.
“Of course he won’t. I promise I’ll be there to point out new flavors of lube for your harem of boy toys.”
“I don’t want a harem, just one man who loves me, you know? Why is that so fucking hard to come by?” He didn’t mean to get depressingly dramatic on her.
“It’ll happen.”
“Gwen, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.” He wasn’t terrible-looking. Hell, he was actually pretty cute. Though most of the men he’d met were interested in bagging the brother of the Dark Angels’ drummer and not Jordon. They wanted to be close to a star, nothing more.
She pulled into the Albany airport. “I’m telling you, start putting yourself out there.”
“Oh my God! Remember the last time you dragged me out?”
“You mean the one time six months ago? When you used me as a shield against any potentials interested in either of us, I might add. Yes, I recall the stock of Energizer spiked due to all your cockblocking.” She’d bitched at him and made him buy her a thirty-six pack of AA batteries.
