Word of Mouth

by Tymber Dalton

  Damn him.

  Jonah knew what that song meant to him. It’d been their song.

  How dare Jonah make him expose his heart in front of all these people.

  To dangle something in front of him that couldn’t be.

  And he still had the mandolin.

  In secret, Gordon had saved up for months to buy it for him. Jonah had wanted to learn how to play one, but it wasn’t in their budget. So Gordon took money he would have spent on lunches, or tips he earned at work, or any spare bit of change, sometimes busking on the sidewalk outside wherever he was working before and after his shift, to earn an extra dollar or two.

  He’d saved up and bought it from a small guitar shop that had closed down last year after the owner died. The guy had given him a discount on it because of a small scratch on the face. He’d given it to Jonah the Christmas after Gordon had gotten sober, and he’d sat up for hours watching Jonah work with it, teaching himself chords and watching YouTube videos together.

  He’d never forget the light in Jonah’s eyes as he’d watched his boy playing it.

  They hadn’t had a damn tree, they’d been so broke. And it’d been a warm day. So, that night, they’d sat on the balcony and played Christmas carols for the complex, him on his Martin that he’d inherited from his grandfather, smiling and loving the applause they earned.

  Then they’d gone to bed and made love. They’d both had the day off the next day, and they’d spent the day dreaming, planning their future together.

  They’d been their own little family of two.

  Until they weren’t.

  Gordon turned away from everyone while he blinked back tears, pretended he was shuffling through papers, the tabs for what they were going to be working on tonight.

  Doyle had followed him outside earlier.

  “He’s still in love with you,” Doyle had told him. “He regrets what he did. He told me that. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m a counselor.”

  “He told me.”

  “I’m just saying, I’ve been in your shoes. Don’t let fear keep you in pain. Please, stay behind after the others leave, and talk to him.”

  “I can’t stay late. I have to teach in the morning.”

  Gordon blinked, bringing himself back to now.

  He shouldn’t stay and talk tonight, not just because of teaching tomorrow, but because he needed to sort out his feelings.

  And why there was now…anger inside him.

  Why now?

  Shouldn’t there be nothing but joy that all his goddamned dreams were coming true? Did he have to self-sabotage this, too?

  Or would that happen if he gave in and let Lucy talk him into trying to kick the football again?

  At the end of the evening, while everyone was talking, Gordon quietly packed his gear and tried to slip out the door without anyone noticing he was leaving.

  But he was almost to his SUV when he heard the door open behind him. “Gord, wait. Please?”

  He didn’t stop until he reached his SUV and fumbled his keys out of his pocket with a trembling hand.

  He heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel behind him, saw Jonah’s shadow cast by the security light on the house, saw his reflection in the surface of the rear hatch before he raised it.

  “Please come inside and talk to me,” Jonah softly begged.

  “I’ll be here tomorrow a little after one,” Gordon said. “I have to teach tomorrow morning.” He stowed his gear and gently shut the hatch.

  It was that, or slam it.

  He refused to look at Jonah, afraid if he did he’d want to grab him and kiss him, or fuck him.

  Instead, without turning, he walked around to the driver’s door and got in, the backup camera painfully revealing the sorrow on Jonah’s face before he finally stepped aside so Gordon could back up.

  As Gordon drove away, he glanced in the rearview mirror and spotted Jonah standing there, watching him.

  I can’t do this again. I can’t survive another emotional maiming.

  * * * *

  Jonah was still standing there when Doyle walked outside. “He leave?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I told him you still love him.”

  “I don’t mind. I told him that, too. But I don’t think he trusts me anymore.”

  Doyle sighed. “Well, that’s a distinct probability, given what you told me about the circumstances.”

  “He asked me not to call him Master.”

  “Well, you said he uncollared you and released you.”

  “Yeah. But I thought…I mean, what happened in the bedroom. I thought it was a reconnection, then it was like he flipped a switch and didn’t want it.”

  “I’m sure he was in shock, seeing you like this. You both were.”

  “How do I prove to him that I mean it?”

  “I don’t have a good answer for you other than don’t give up on him.” Doyle looked at him. “Mal and I had a rough patch early on. Miscommunication and a misunderstanding, and I left and went dark. Took on another job and wouldn’t get in touch with him. Took a special friend of ours interfering in her own loving way and bringing us back together again. Forced us into a situation where we couldn’t avoid each other.”

  “Is that what happened here? Did Rich have something to do with this?”

  “No, this was accidental.” Doyle smiled. “But now that I know what’s going on, do I have your consent to meddle?”

  “Meddle?”

  He shrugged. “To see if I can’t help move him for you?”

  “Yeah. Anything. You can tell him anything I said, too.”

  Doyle turned to him. “Trust actions, not words. That’s likely running through his mind right now. So make sure whatever you do, your actions and your words match up.” He looked thoughtful. “That guitar duet you two played earlier. That was deliberate on your part, wasn’t it?”

  Why deny it? Jonah nodded. “It was our song.”

  “I wondered. I could see the look on his face from where I was standing. Like he was trying not to cry.”

  “I fucked this up,” he said. “I fucked us up. I want to fix it. I want my Master back.”

  “Let’s start with trying to get your friend back first,” Doyle said. “That might be easier. And it’s the place we’ll have to start, anyway. Friends first.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jonah slept like shit that night. He swore he could still smell Gord on the bed and kept trying to follow the scent, sniffing the covers, his pillows.

  At this rate, he’d drive himself insane before they left for the tour. If he couldn’t figure out how to convince Gord to forgive him and trust him, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was going to do.

  Wednesday morning, he knew he looked like hell because he sure felt like it. He followed the aroma of coffee brewing to the kitchen where Mal and Doyle were sitting at the breakfast bar and talking.

  “Hey,” Mal said. “Can I fix you something to eat?”

  “No, I’m okay. Do you have any cereal or something?”

  “It’s no trouble,” Mal said. “Omelet? Pancakes? Eggs?” This morning, he wore shorts and the leather collar.

  And nothing else.

  They had nearly two hours before everyone else showed up to start working.

  The absurdity of the situation slapped Jonah in the face. “I can’t believe another submissive is wanting to make me breakfast, when, if anything, I should be offering to cook for you two for allowing me to stay here.”

  “You’re our guest,” Doyle said. “I wouldn’t care who you are, we take care of our guests.”

  “But he’s Mevi Maynard!”

  Doyle smirked. “And he makes damned good pancakes.”

  “Seriously. Cereal, or a bagel, something easy. My stomach can’t handle a lot right now, anyway. And my brain can’t handle the idea of a famous rock star making me breakfast.”

  “Mal, show him where everything is. It’s okay. Let him get his own
breakfast.”

  He’d swear Mal was pouting. “Yes, Sir.”

  Then again, Jonah got it. Not like when he was with Gord they’d had guests or money, or damn near anything except music and a lot of love. But he got it. He took care of Gord.

  It was his job.

  Maybe that’s where I start.

  So when Gordon arrived that afternoon, Doyle was able to give Jonah a heads-up because of the gate code chime. Jonah was standing outside, waiting for him when he parked. Before Gordon could get out of the SUV, Jonah was already moving in and opening the back hatch to get his things.

  “You don’t need to carry my gear, Jonah,” he said.

  But Jonah smiled, trying to stay positive. “I want to, Sir.” If he couldn’t call him Master, he’d default to the next best thing.

  He headed inside with Gordon’s gear.

  * * * *

  Dammit.

  Gordon was exhausted from not sleeping well last night—as in not sleeping at all—followed by having to keep up appearances for teaching that morning, and now…this.

  He didn’t have the energy to resist Jonah’s efforts to wear him down today.

  He trudged inside after him and soon realized, yes, that was exactly Jonah’s plan—to wear him down.

  Every time he turned around, it seemed, Jonah was right there, bringing him coffee perfectly made—damn him for remembering—or getting him a snack, or…anything.

  Finally, he escaped outside for a few minutes during one of their breaks, walking around the outside of the house, past a corner, to sit in the shade along the wall, out of sight of the entrance.

  I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough.

  He couldn’t even last four hours, and he was supposed to go four weeks?

  I’m going to have to back out of the contract.

  Which he fucking hated to do. Especially since this was his big break. He had a few tracks on his YouTube channel, music he’d written, and being affiliated with Mevi and the band would mean he could finally make extra money selling the tracks. It’d be enough to allow him to invest in better gear, upgrade his computer, so he could record and self-release more tracks.

  But it was either be unprofessional, like backing out of the contract, or be unprofessional when he snapped in front of Mevi-fucking-Maynard—thank you very much—oh, and the rest of Portnoy’s-fucking-Oyster—let’s add insult to injury, why don’t we?

  At least his pride remained intact with option number one.

  He closed his eyes and struggled against the tears, which was why he probably didn’t hear the footsteps, at first.

  “Hey.”

  He opened his eyes to see Doyle standing there, hands in his pockets and staring down at him.

  “Hey.”

  Doyle crouched in front of him. “I can’t tell you to give him a chance. You feel what you feel. But something’s got to give. I can see it in both of you already.”

  “I can’t do it again,” Gordon said. “I damn near lost my sobriety when I lost him. I can’t go through it again.”

  “I’ve only just met both of you,” he said. “But I kind of do this for a living. The counseling, the sobriety, and the M/s dynamic. That’s a boy who is about to twist himself inside out trying to prove to you that he means it when he says he wants another chance.”

  “Then please ask him to back off.”

  “What?”

  “Either he backs off and chills the fuck out, or I’ll have to apologize to Mal and back out of this. This is Jonah’s career. I won’t ask him to stay here in Florida with me. He’s probably used to working with all sorts of stars. I’ve got my teaching job. It’s not fancy, it’s not going to make me rich, but hey, last month I got to see the doctor for the first time since I was a kid.”

  Doyle looked at him funny. “How much talking did you do yesterday?”

  “Not much,” he muttered.

  Hard to talk with our cocks down each other’s throats.

  “You do realize that he was barely surviving out there before this gig happened, right?”

  “What?”

  “He sold his car because he couldn’t afford it. He was living in a shitty little room over an auto parts store. He literally brought all his earthly possessions with him on the flight out here, and he’s currently living with me and Mal until the tour starts. He doesn’t have a home. He had fifty bucks in his pocket Sunday morning when Clark—the band’s manager—called him and asked if he wanted to work the gig.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. So if he lied to you and painted some sort of—”

  “No. I mean, I just assumed he was—”

  “That he was famous? Did you ever hear of him playing with anyone?”

  “I didn’t search his name,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, he wasn’t. He was too embarrassed to call you and tell you that you were right after the things he said to you. He said he was horrified, and worse, he figured that you’d probably laugh in his face, or that you’d probably found another guy and moved on already.”

  Doyle sighed. “Karma bit him in the ass. You, on the other hand, survived. Maybe not thrived, but you were doing a damn sight better than he was. Maybe instead of trying to look for all the ways this can go wrong, you should keep an open mind and look for what could go right.”

  “So is he using me because he needs a safety net? Because he hit rock-bottom?”

  Doyle scrubbed his face with his hands. “No. He loves you. Talk to him. Stop throwing up walls out of fear. Maybe see where this leads.”

  “And then he goes off on tour and I never see him again?”

  “Or he goes off on tour and comes back to you and you live happily ever after.”

  “Or he goes back to LA and I never see him again. Because I can tell you from personal experience, it’s hard to make a living as a fucking rock star in goddamned Venice, Florida.”

  “And yet you’re paying your bills.”

  Stalemate.

  “All I’m saying,” Doyle continued, “is to keep an open mind and maybe don’t think you need to rush to any kind of decision right now. If you want, yes, I’ll talk to him and ask him to ease up.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So will you please stay on?”

  Gordon finally nodded.

  “Thanks. See you inside.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Once Doyle walked away Gordon finally stood and stretched, then looked up at the clouds overhead.

  Please grant me a fuckton of wisdom.

  * * * *

  Doyle returned before Gordon did and motioned for Jonah to follow him into the house.

  “Ease up,” Doyle softly said. “I had to talk him out of quitting.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. You didn’t bother to tell him about everything that happened in LA, I guess?”

  Jonah felt his face heat. “We didn’t have time to talk much.”

  “He thought you were making a good living out there. He thought this is just another big-time gig, for you.”

  Jonah groaned. “Oh, shit. I doubly fucked this up.”

  “Ya think? Ease. Up. Friends. Let him want to not lose you again, because, right now, he’s got himself convinced if he lets you back in that you’re going to leave him again.”

  “I won’t. I swear.”

  “Swearing it and following through are two different things. You’re going to need to take it easy and prove to him that you mean it.”

  He nodded and followed Doyle back to the studio, where Gordon had returned.

  And despite it killing him, despite him wanting to drop to his knees in front of Gordon and beg him to believe him…

  Yeah, he got it.

  So he eased up, watching, trying not to pressure him.

  When they called a break for dinner, Jonah waited for his chance to catch Gordon alone.

  “I’m sorry,” Jonah said. “About coming on strong. Please, don’t quit. I’ll back off, but pl
ease don’t quit. You’re too good.”

  He hated the wary look in Gordon’s eyes. Worse, he hated that he was the reason it was there in the first place.

  Never in their time together, before that ugly afternoon, had Gordon ever looked at him like that before.

  With mistrust.

  With fear.

  “Okay,” Gordon quietly said.

  Jonah held out his hand. “Friends, at least? Please?”

  He wasn’t sure at first if Gordon was going to shake with him. Finally, Gordon reached out and took his hand. “Always friends,” he said. “I missed you so much.”

  “I missed you, too. And I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too,” Gordon softly said.

  “You don’t have anything to apologize for. It was all me.”

  “Yeah, well, you had to deal with your fair share of shit from me before I got sober, so I guess we’re even there.”

  Jonah shook his head. “I would do it again in a heartbeat,” he said. “I couldn’t let you kill yourself with that shit. I wasn’t going to let you.”

  * * * *

  Gordon felt a wave of shame wash over him. Yes, when he’d hit rock-bottom, it’d been Jonah kneeling there next to him and begging him to get back up and keep trying.

  It’d been Jonah he’d been strong enough to keep fighting for.

  Gordon finally opened his arms to him for a hug, and he wanted to cry over how sweet and perfect Jonah felt in his arms.

  Jonah tightly hugged him. “I’ll prove it to you,” he whispered. “I promise. I won’t leave you again.”

  “You have to, for the tour.”

  “But I’ll be back.”

  He couldn’t resist rubbing his face in Jonah’s hair despite the fresh heartache welling inside him. “Don’t make me promises you can’t keep.”

  “Stay late tonight so we can talk. Please?”

  “I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep last night.”

  “Then stay here.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to sleep together again right now.”

  “You can use one of the guest rooms. I know it’ll be okay.”

  Reluctantly, he finally released Jonah. “Let me see how I feel when we’re finished,” he said. “And I’ll let you know then, but not before. No promises.”