Connor Phelan thunked his head against the back of the bus, his muscles tense as the urge to do something overwhelmed the last of his patience. Fuck the rules, he should have taken off with one of the other bands. Either to the afterparty or…well, anywhere.

By his side, Tate Maddox huffed out a laugh and put a hand on Connor’s knee to hold it still. “Chill. Alder will be out soon.”

Scowling at the irrepressible, slender young drummer, Connor pushed away from the bus. “This is fucking stupid. Remind me why we gotta wait on them again?”

The laughter coming from the roadies, under the frame tent a few feet away, set his teeth on edge. He paced closer to them, hoping for a distraction at the very least. Fuck, I hate being stuck here.

Skull, the unofficial leader of the crew, rose from his folding chair, lighting a cigarette and holding out another for Connor. He didn’t speak until he’d lit both and inhaled deep.

“You don’t need a reminder, my boy.” Skull’s tone was deep and soothing, eroding the edge of Connor’s irritation like it always did. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened and he smiled at Connor’s nod. “Was rough with such a long flight, but you pulled it off. The drive here pushed you to your limit. Tonight will be good for you.”

Connor brought the cigarette to his lips, still nodding slowly. For some reason, just knowing Skull got it made him feel better. The man was old enough to be his father—hell, reminded him of his father in many ways. Dad wouldn’t put up with all the band drama, but he’d have some good advice on how to get through days like today. He was the one who’d gotten Connor into working out when he was restless. They still hit the weights whenever Connor went home to Detroit.

Another thing Dad and Skull had in common. Despite their ages, they were in pretty good shape. Not as big as Connor, but wiry. Strong.

The men would probably be friends if they ever met.

Skull snapped his fingers in front of Connor’s face. Then let out a soft laugh when Connor stared at him.

Connor rubbed his jaw sheepishly. “I miss something?”

“Yes. I said you can go, so long as you take one of the guys with you.”

“Serious?” Connor grinned as Skull inclined his head. Air came easier. He glanced over at the crew.

Every single man avoided his gaze.

Shit. He folded his arms over his chest, debating the best way to convince them he wouldn’t get in trouble. Or start a fight. Or get stoned or plastered or…

Then he turned back to Skull. “Would you—?”

“No.” Skull’s lips twitched. He put his hand on Connor’s shoulder just as he was about to look over at Tate. “And hell no. An adult, Connor.”

“Hey!” Tate hopped off the bumper and strode up to Connor’s side. “I’m legal everywhere. And I’m not in any trouble. Fully adulting here.”

Skull considered the drummer for a moment. Gave him a slanted smile. “How about I give you that box of thin mints I’ve been saving and you go sit and wait like a good boy.”

Dramatically clutching his hands to his chest, Tate retreated to the back of the bus, shooting Connor a pitiful look. “Cookies are my kryptonite. Sorry, man.”

I’m so screwed. Why couldn’t he be all cute like drummer boy? Tate could get anyone to do anything for him with his big blue eyes and his adorableness. He’d gotten Connor to fuck him once even though he’d been off limits since day one. Connor wasn’t even sure how that had happened. Between Tate and Brave, he’d been a goner.

Brave also managed to get his own way, but he was…hypnotic or something. The leader of the band and oldest living Trousseau brother could tempt a saint.

Connor didn’t have his powers either.

Come to think of it, every single member of the band had some unique ability to connect with people. They were charming, or smart, or intense. Fun to be around.

The last Connor wasn’t horrible at. When he hung out with other bands they seemed to find him fun. He rolled the perfect joint. Was competitive doing everything from boxing to playing any Xbox game they had on hand. No one expected deep conversations, so things never got weird. If someone got chatty, they usually wanted their dick sucked. The chicks wanted him using his mouth on their sweet pussies. He didn’t need to understand more than that.

But when he was stuck with Winter’s Wrath, he couldn’t always avoid talking. And keeping things light all the time… Shit, he was pretty sure the whole band thought he was an idiot. The chicks tried to draw him out, but he never knew what to say to them. Flirting was usually his go-to, but with almost everyone paired up, that wasn’t an option.

Tate and the new violinist, Dariel, were the only single ones left. And Dariel intimidated the fuck out of him—dude was smart. Which left Tate.

Who’d just abandoned him for cookies.

Forehead creasing, Connor struggled to get his mind on track. For a second, he couldn’t remember what he’d needed Tate for.

The afterparty.

He could leave now.

If he found a babysitter.

He eyed the roadies again. Nice guys, but they wouldn’t take a chance on his crazy ass for nothing. The band and the roadies were on two different wavelengths; he didn’t know any of the crew personally.

He could offer them blowjobs, but as far as he knew, they were all straight.

Maybe that didn’t matter?

“Who do I have to blow to get an escort?” Connor had their attention now. They were all staring at him like he was nuts. He forced a laugh. “Uh…I’m joking. I’ll behave, I promise.”

An Oomph! sounded behind him. Tate, bent over laughing, had fallen off the bumper.

Asshole.

Steady footsteps came from the side of the van, parked behind the tent, and Connor’s mouth went dry as Ballz sauntered into view, his azure eyes narrow as he met Skull’s level gaze. There seemed to be some silent communication between the brothers.

Ballz sighed and motioned to Connor. “Come on, I’ll bring you.”

Okay…did not see that coming. Ballz was a hard-ass head shrink who ran the security crew like he was still in the military and had been given the worst recruits to work with. Unlike Skull, who was a steady presence, giving advice without being all superior, Ballz treated the members of the band as if they were unruly kids in some fucked up regimental daycare.

The other guys seemed to like him, but Connor kept his distance at all cost. He could practically feel the disapproval seeping off Ballz from here.

Probably because, while everyone else had ditched smoking, drinking all the time, and drugs, Connor had pretty much doubled up his vices. Ever since Malakai Noble, the band’s bassist, had started going to Ballz for anger management shit, the head security guard seemed to be on a mission to ‘fix’ them all.

Connor didn’t need to be ‘fixed’.

That had been an interesting conversation. Ballz had tried to get him to ‘talk’. Connor had started giving details about his favorite porn. His humor hadn’t been appreciated.

Driving with Ballz to the club would likely lead to another fun chat.

At least it would get him there.

Half jogging to the passenger side of one of the rented vans, Connor quickly got in before Ballz changed his mind. The man probably hoped Connor would turn him down. Maybe he’d be all moody and silent on the drive. That would be okay.

Ballz settled behind the wheel a few seconds later and started the van. He glanced over at Connor as he pulled out of the venue parking lot. “I hope you were serious about what you said back there.”

Really? Connor blinked at the man, taking in the sharp cut of his jaw with a light shadow of stubble the same dark brown as his close shaved hair. The muscles in his forearms clenched as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His black t-shirt, with ‘Security’ written in yellow on the back and a Winter’s Wrath logo on his chest, stretched across his massive shoulders.

Connor kept himself in damn good shape, but Ballz had the solid build of a man who earned his physique through hard physical labor. Moving equipment couldn’t keep him in top form alone, but Connor had never seen the man lift.

“I expect an answer, Phelan.”

Fuck, why not go for it? Ballz might be a jerk, but he was a good-looking man. And even though his expression was always cold, his eyes were…fucking pretty. Maybe they’d warm up a little when Connor made good on his offer.

He shrugged, undid his seatbelt, then reached over to undo Ballz’s belt buckle.

Ballz nearly swerved off the road. He jammed on the brakes and Connor’s shoulder hit the dashboard. Pain lanced through Connor’s chest and up his neck, tearing a ragged shout from his throat.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ballz shot forward, fist raised.

This is gonna hurt. Connor pressed his eyes shut.

Cool air rushed into the van. The door slammed.

He opened his eyes and frowned at the empty driver’s seat.

A few beats later, the door opened. Ballz stared at him. “Explain. Now.”

Mind racing, Connor went over the everything that had just happened and came up blank. He shook his head and slumped back in his seat. “Don’t know what to tell you. If you didn’t want me to suck your dick, why did you ask?”

“Didn’t want you to…” Ballz went still. His jaw ticked. Then he appeared to be doing yoga breathing.

All that was missing was the Ommm sound Danica always made when she meditated.

Or maybe that was a separate thing.

“You seem to have a hard time following conversations, so let me make something very clear.” Ballz’s tone took on a rough edge. Barely contained rage. “I will never ask you to suck my dick. I work for this band and you pay me cash. Not drugs. Not sex. Understood?”

“But…” Connor shook his head, confused. “You asked if I was serious.”

“About behaving yourself.” Ballz stared at him for a long time, then groaned and slid back in behind the wheel. “You’re not off to a good start, kid. Now put on your fucking seat belt.”

“I’m not a fucking kid.” Connor ground his teeth as he snapped his seatbelt into place, knowing he sounded like a damn child. He let out a rough laugh as Ballz settled in beside him. “Maybe just seems like I am because you’re fucking ancient.”

“Could be.”

“Shit, did Skull get all the sense of humor in your family? He’s cool and you’re so damn…” Connor rested his head back against the seat, not bothering to finish the sentence. Looked like Ballz was ignoring him anyway.

The silence stretched over the next few miles and Connor did his best to distract himself by taking in the scenery, but as the sun disappeared into the horizon he couldn’t see shit. The afterparty was happening at a place almost an hour from Berlin. He hadn’t paid much attention when Jesse Vaughn, the tour manager, had laid out their schedule and all their stops, but he remembered that much.

Would have been smart to have considered the length of the drive before getting in the van with Ballz. Too bad he never thought that far ahead.

Rubbing his hands on his thighs, one foot bouncing on the floor, he observed Ballz in the flash of light as random cars passed, trying not to be too obvious.

The man didn’t look that old, honestly. There had to be at least ten years between him and Skull, if not more. He had some grey near his temples, but the dark brown hair he kept neatly trimmed was thick. Seeing him as anything but a soldier was hard, even though he’d been with the band for almost a year. His deep, commanding voice, the authority in his presence, all radiated command.

Might have been hot if Connor didn’t suck at taking orders.

Or even strong suggestions.

Letting out a low growl that shot a surge of lust straight into Connor’s balls, Ballz reached out and took a firm grip on his bouncing knee. “Stop that.”

Connor’s lips parted. His mouth went dry.

He let out a strangled laugh.

Ballz frowned at him. “What?”

“I was just thinking about my balls, and you…” Yeah, the man wasn’t laughing. Connor sighed and shoved his hand away. “How the fuck did you end up with that nickname?”

“It’s short for Balthazar.”

“Really? That’s it?” A glance at the man’s stoic expression and Connor grinned. “Why not Tsar?”

Forehead creasing, Ball’s shot him a sideways look. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Fuck you.”

“No offense, but you are ridiculous.”

“Yeah? Because ‘Ballz’ isn’t ridiculous?”

“You want to walk to the goddamn club?”

The dude seriously couldn’t take a joke. But at least he was talking. Connor relaxed into his seat, turned toward Ballz and grinned. “Looks like I hit a nerve. Do you even like people calling you that?”

Ballz shrugged, but his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Doesn’t bother me.”

“Bullshit.” Dropping the subject would be smart, but Connor couldn’t let it go. “Skull calls you Ballz, so there’s got to be more. Were you a tough kid, because that would make sense. And be kinda badass. Unless you were a bully. Which wouldn’t surprise me.”

The steering wheel creaked. The muscle in Ballz’s jaw went hard. “I wasn’t a fucking bully. And I wasn’t tough.”

“Then…” Connor sat forward. “I swear, I won’t tell no one.”

“Jesus, and I thought Tate was the one with the mouth. Do you ever shut up?” Ballz shook his head. “You need to learn to take a hint, boy. We’re not discussing my name or my past. Put on some goddamn music. I’m not here to entertain you.”

Humming U + Ur Hand by Pink, Connor smirked as Ballz shot him a death glare. And immediately stopped. Fine, he wasn’t great at reading people, but he tried not to be obnoxious.

Also, he had a feeling Ballz wasn’t joking about making him walk.

The radio had a lot of German music, which he enjoyed, but he needed something familiar to pass the time. The sound system in the rental was old enough to have a CD player, so he pressed play to see what was in there. They’d only had the van for a couple days, but roadies were good at making themselves at home in any mode of transportation they were given.

As the beat began, Connor blinked, not sure what to make of what he was hearing. He’d expected classic rock. Maybe country music that came out twenty years before he was born. Hell, even jazz would have fit the man sitting by his side.

Instead, it was the soundtrack to a musical. Not even the most popular musical out there, which some people listened to so they seemed more cultured or something. This musical was a new one out of Canada, called Come From Away, which was based on the factual events of planes being diverted to a small town named Gander during 9/11. Fucking beautiful story of how the people of Newfoundland had taken care of the scared, stranded passengers.

Connor hadn’t listened to musicals much after he hit his late teens, but this musical had taken the place of his old favorite, Newsies. He listened to the album nonstop in secret, then got into a few other musicals he found on YouTube.

Both Danica and Shiori—the girl who’d somehow tamed Brave and hooked Malakai while training to replace Danica as stage performer—listened to the odd song, but they also listened to K-pop. And got teased for both.

If the guys knew he liked musicals, they’d lose their shit. He’d never hear the end of it. And he’d probably end up with some weird nickname, like… Well, he didn’t know exactly what, but give Tate five seconds and he’d come up with something creatively humiliating.

They saw Connor as a meathead. A dude-bro with no real interests who happened to kill it as their rhythm guitarist. They didn’t like him fighting or getting shitfaced, but that was more about the band’s image than anything. No one really gave a shit.

You gotta get out of your head, Phelan. You’re fucking depressing.

Nodding to the lively beat of the music, he closed his eyes, singing softly, ready to chill for the rest of the ride.

The volume lowered. He opened his eyes to see Ballz watching him from the corner of his eye.

“You surprise me.” Ballz shook his head, staring at the dark road stretching out beyond the headlights. “They say you can tell a lot about a person from the music they like.”

The man’s tone was…different. Unlike the dismissive, or irritated one he usually used when speaking to Connor.

His lips slanted slightly as he glanced over again. “I only play this soundtrack when Skull’s with me. He doesn’t mind it, but he’s not a fan.”

“He doesn’t assume you’re…like, gay or something?”

“Heavy on the stereotypes for a bisexual man, don’t you think?” Ballz chided, one brow arched.

Connor went still. The band knew, obviously, but in public most assumed he was straight. Kept his life simple. “What makes you think I’m bi?”

“You offered a blowjob for a ride to the club.”

“I was joking.”

“Of course. My belt buckle was offensive, so you decided it had to go, right?” Ballz let out a soft laugh as Connor chewed on his bottom lip. “You’d forgotten that already, had you?”

For the first time, Connor didn’t have a damn clue how to respond. Ballz was right, he’d already pushed the awkward experience out of his head. He was usually more careful about who he hit on. Closeted guys in other bands didn’t talk and he had no problem being some stranger’s dirty little secret. With Brave and Tate he’d had the security of their label wanting them to stick to the typical metal image of straight alpha males.

Ballz was a dangerous unknown. And the guy didn’t like him, so he had no reason to be discreet. If Connor’s head wasn’t so fucked up, he would have thought of that earlier.

Time for some damage control. He let out a weak laugh. “Look, I do stupid shit sometimes. I was messing with you, and I shouldn’t have. Can we just pretend it never happened?”

“No, but I won’t discuss it with anyone else if that makes you feel better.” Ballz’s expression turned thoughtful. “Do you often have trouble focusing? Remembering things?”

“Nope. And we’re not doing this, so cut out the fucking psychoanalyzing.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“It is. It’s what you always fucking do, and I’m not into it, okay? Can we just listen to the goddamn music?” The air in the van became hard to breathe, thick and tightening his throat, weighing on his chest like oxygen and blood had solidified within.

Nothing got to him more than people thinking there was something wrong with him.

They could assume he wasn’t too bright. That he was a jerk or a player. But he didn’t want the pity that came from people who learned he’d been born different. He wouldn’t give a shit about being ‘out’ as bisexual if not for how fucking wild the media went with every story they could get their hands on. They’d dig into his past, interview his father, and all that was ‘wrong’ would be exposed.

The music shut off. Connor tipped his head back, cursing under his breath.

“I’m sorry. I was being intrusive.” Ballz thrummed his fingers on the side of the steering wheel. Then he cleared his throat. “I was a runt. Smallest kid in my class until senior year. Also a huge nerd.”

Connor’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t picture Ballz as a kid, never mind a tiny nerd. But he wanted to hear where this story was going, so he simply nodded for the man to go on.

“This may sound like your typical after-school special, but I was bullied. A lot. Lunch money stolen, stuffed into lockers, knocked around every day, the whole deal. Skull had already graduated, so he couldn’t help, but he tried. He’d show up at lunch and threaten the assholes, but they eventually figured out he wouldn’t touch them. A twenty-six-year-old man beating on a thirteen-year-old?” Ballz shook his head. “Our parents both worked crazy hours, so he was the one who went to the principal. Then to the counselor when that got him nowhere. I told him to drop it, but he wouldn’t. He was fucking worried—and I don’t blame him. I was…pretty depressed.”

Rubbing his hands on his thighs, Connor leaned forward. “What happened?”

“The usual. The kid who’d come after me the most had to meet with the counselor. With his parents there, and mine. A lot of ‘boys will be boys’ and ‘promise to be nice’ and that was it. Skull was pissed. He started teaching me how to fight.”

“And you finally kicked the little turd’s ass.”

“No. I grabbed his arm after he shoved me into a locker and he broke my nose. Then I grabbed him again and he gave me a black eye.” Ballz’s lips quirked at the edges. “So I kicked him in the nuts.”

Cringing and laughing, Connor tried to picture mini-Ballz nailing the punk in the…balls. A smile crept across his lips. “The nickname makes sense.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never been a fan, but it stuck.” Ballz rolled his shoulders and glanced over at Connor. “Skull was proud of me, so I didn’t have the heart to tell him to cut it out. But that stays between us.”

“Understood.” Connor relaxed into his seat, cocking his head as he considered all the man had just told him. Ballz was very private about his personal life. And a big tough security guard probably wouldn’t want people to know he’d been bullied as a kid. “Why… I don’t get why you told me all this.”

“Because sorry isn’t enough. I had no right to play doctor with you.” Ballz blinked as though he’d just heard his own words. His lips slid into a wry grin. “That didn’t come out right.”

Sputtering out a laugh, Connor shook his head. “I knew you were a kinky fucker.”

Ballz rolled his eyes. “You have a wild imagination.”

“Yeah? So you don’t get off on being all commanding?” Connor didn’t let Ballz’s stoic expression deter him. He leaned closer to the other man, enjoying the rare opportunity to get under his skin without fear of backlash. “I can see you being into bondage. Whips and chains and the whole thing. Playing doctor might be new though.”

They’d reached the club, tucked away at the back of a huge lot in what looked like the warehouse district. Parking at the edge of a long row of cars, Ballz shut the van off and palmed the keys. He eyed Connor, his expression unreadable.

Then his lips curved. “You’re not wrong.”

Pulse quickening, Connor stared at Ballz’s back as he stepped out of the van. The door shut, and he shook his head to clear it. He shifted uncomfortably as his dick decided now was a good time for some action.

Not because of Ballz. No fucking way. The man was nothing like the women—or men—Connor was attracted to. He was too serious. Too stuck on the straight and narrow. Likely hardcore on the straight.

Everything Connor wasn’t. They couldn’t have less in common.

The passenger side door opened and Connor inhaled roughly before he lifted his head to meet Ballz’s fucking entrancing azure eyes. People wore contacts to get eyes like that, but this man wasn’t the type to change a thing about himself for vanity. Some cruel god had painted him in alluring perfection to mess with Connor.

Only…why hadn’t he ever noticed before?

“You coming, Broadway?” Ballz’s eyes shone with amusement as he rested his forearm against the top of the van. “Best hurry if you wanna get a head start with the ladies.”

“And men.” Connor swore he saw Ballz’s jaw tighten slightly with the addition, but he was probably imagining things. Just because he was seeing the man in a new light didn’t mean Ballz suddenly gave a shit about him.

Winter’s Wrath’s head of security had a job to do. Keep the band safe. He’d made that damn clear.

“Is this the first time you’re admitting that out loud? Your attraction to men?” Ballz’s eyes warmed at Connor’s slight nod.

“It’s no secret with the band, but it’s not…not public knowledge. I never had to say it, you know?” Connor wasn’t sure why it felt like a big deal to have said it now. He did what he wanted. He didn’t need a label to make who he was okay.

But being all hush-hush was stifling. No one really knew him. He was an easy laugh, a warm body, slick lips. Nothing more than a good time. This little road trip with Ballz was the longest he’d spent talking to anyone in the entire time he’d been with the band.

Reaching out, Ballz put his hand on the side of Connor’s neck, his palm calloused and warm. His touch made Connor shiver, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I’m glad you told me. You don’t need to ‘say it’ to anyone if you don’t want to. There’s no pressure and your bandmates aren’t even completely open about their relationships. But if you ever wanted to come out, I hope you know you have my support.”

“Thank you.” Connor wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready for that, but knowing someone had his back was really cool. He sensed Ballz beginning to pull away and grabbed his wrist. “What do you want me to call you? I mean, since you don’t really like ‘Ballz’.”

Ballz went still. His gaze slid down to Connor’s hand. He inhaled quietly. “Use my name, Connor. Call me Balthazar.”