Chapter Ten

 

Raven

“Guys, we are getting terrible feedback. We need to move the monitors back where they were, they are too close.”

“I can’t hear myself,” Zack bitched for the third time as he sneered at Reece who was smirking and twirling a drumstick between fingers.

G and I shared an irritated look as I motioned to our temporary sound guy to leave the levels as they were.

“The levels are perfect. If we turn you up, you wash everyone else out, and we sound like shit,” I explained. “Ian knows what he’s doing.”

Zack opened his mouth to complain, but I silenced him with a hard glare. With a scrunched nose, he focused on his hands and tinkered through a few bars of the song we’d just used for the sound check, purposefully washing out our conversation. He was moody—which wasn’t a surprise since the guy never got up before noon on a regular day. Zach was a party guy and almost two decades younger than the rest of the band. It showed.

And if hungover, miserable Zack wasn’t enough of a nuisance, it was hot, and we’d been sweating our asses off all morning setting up for the Ribfest event.

The mid-morning sun blazed from the cloudless sky, and the waves of humidity were visible in the summer air. Even this close to the water, there was little relief. The breeze was still, and the temperatures record-breaking. My T-shirt already stuck to me uncomfortably, and I fanned it as I pulled my phone from my pocket to see if Ireland had texted.

The festivities in the park were set to begin at eleven that morning. It was just past ten, but the smell of barbecued ribs already permeated the air and made my stomach growl. People were beginning to arrive, and they strolled through the park, visiting vendors who’d opened early as they enjoyed the summer day.

When I saw I had no message waiting, I typed out my own.

Ireland’s phobia had been up and down over the past few weeks. The nursing home had been in constant contact, explaining his mother’s condition was declining. He didn’t need to voice his inner turmoil, I saw it plain on his face and in his actions. Every time he flinched or shuffled back from me to give himself more space, the way he crammed his hands deep into his pockets or hugged himself, my heart ached.

He hadn’t gone to the nursing home for a visit, and I knew that decision had caused him a tremendous amount of guilt on top of everything else. With every update he received, he slipped backward regardless of his determination. Him showing up today would be a miracle—considering the expected crowd—but when we’d spoken that morning on our run, he’d assured me he was coming.

Raven: Any chance you can play guitar? I’m ready to kill one of my guys, and I’m looking for a replacement.

My phone remained silent for long enough, I pocketed it and rejoined the band on stage.

“I think we are good for now.” I sliced a finger over my throat to let Ian know to cut the feed. “If you guys want to wander, eat, and have some fun, just be back here at a quarter to one so we are ready for our first set. And keep your phones on in case I need to get a hold of anyone.”

The park security had assigned a handful of men to watch the stage and our gear so we’d have the freedom to explore the festivities between sets. They’d also provided the band with a string of ballots for the beer tent which would open later in the afternoon. The guys were happy. Food, beer, and fun was their idea of a perfect day.

“Is your boy coming?” G asked as he unstrapped his guitar and set it on a stand.

“Not sure. It’s kind of busy for him. Too many people.”

Because G and I were close, I’d given him the abbreviated version of Ireland’s struggles. He couldn’t understand why I bothered chasing someone I may never actually, physically connect with. I couldn’t explain that it had nothing to do with me chasing a good-looking guy. Ireland and I just came together in a way I hadn’t experienced with anyone before. It was more than attraction. We connected on a different level. Talk was easy between us. Our interests lined up. There was a sense of calmness that surrounded me while I was in his presence, and my life was chaotic most days, so it felt good. If all that developed was a solid friendship, I was truly okay with that. Ireland was someone I wanted to know.

“Wanna find coffee or breakfast or something?” G asked as he wiped a hand down his sweaty face.

“Nah, I’ve been up for hours already. I think I’m gonna give him a call and see what’s up.”

“Yeah, man, no problem. Catch you in a bit.”

We knocked fists, and G headed toward where a few of the other guys were gathered, talking and probably discussing what to do with their few hours of freedom.

I switched off my microphone and bent down to inspect my case where I kept my music, double checking my setlist was handy in case I needed to refer to it later.

“Anyone ever told you, you have an amazing ass? Especially when you wear those jeans.”

I startled and spun, pulling myself to stand as my gaze met Ireland’s. He stood at the front of the stage, a grin plastered across his face.

“Hey.” I returned his smile. “I texted you. Wasn’t sure if you were coming.”

“I told you I’d be here. I was driving, and no, I can’t play guitar, but tell Zack to climb down off his high horse—or get his hearing tested—something. Anyway, I figured I’d just find you and surprise you.” He nodded to the case I’d been rummaging through. “Please, carry on. I was enjoying the view.”

I liked this open, uninhibited side of Ireland. Staring down at my faded blue jeans, the ones with frayed cuffs and too many holes which cradled my ass and thighs exactly how I liked, I grinned.

“As much as I love you staring at my ass, I thought we could take a walk before it got too busy. See what all is going on.”

He chuckled and stepped back as I jumped down from the temporary stage the city had set up for us. We walked side by side through the park, admiring all the various food vendors and stopping to watch some of the entertainment already taking place.

Kids bounced in a blow-up castle, a gymnastics school was putting on demonstrations, and there was a line-up for pony rides already.

The scent of sugary treats fought for dominance over the delicious smells of barbecued ribs being cooked throughout the park for the competition later. We found a food truck selling iced coffee, and I purchased two to take with us. After making a full round of the area, we returned to the stage and found a quiet picnic table among a cluster of trees behind it. It was off to the side of the festivities, so no one was around, and I knew Ireland would appreciate the more secluded spot.

“They are setting off fireworks tonight at ten. Right after our last set. Think you’ll be around that long?” I asked, finding a seat across from him at the picnic table.

“Possibly. I’ll play it by ear.”

Ireland’s hands were folded together on the tabletop, not quite reaching the middle. He twisted his fingers and wrung his hands while staring at the table’s surface, not seeing it.

As much as he’d hesitated, we still continued with simple contact. Knowing his limits, I didn’t initiate, but I did make hints for him to advance if he felt comfortable enough. With that in mind, I rested my hands palm down on either side of his. The motion snapped him out of his head, and he glanced up before turning his attention back to the table, knowing what I was offering.

The moment of hesitation was small. He unclasped his fingers and started by drawing a light touch over the surface of both my hands, tracing my knuckles and the length of each digit. Eventually, he rested his over mine, wrapping his fingers around me in a gentle handhold. Only then did I hold him back, keeping my grip loose so he could pull away easily.

“Can I ask you something?”

Our gaze met, and he nodded, finding the hoop in his lip like he always did when he was uncomfortable or nervous.

“Does touching not feel good for you? When we do this,” I indicated to our connection, “do you like it or… does it feel awful?”

My stomach turned at the thought. The last thing I wanted was for him to be forcing something that didn’t feel right for him. Tolerating touch wasn’t what I was going for between us.

A small crease appeared on his forehead as he thought, and my heart ached. I went to remove my hands, but he clung tighter, not letting me escape.

“It feels good,” he said, catching my eye. “I’m just trying to think of how to explain. You see, it’s separating logic from a lifetime of hard ingrained rules. It’s my head that doesn’t feel right about it, but when we touch… if feels right in here.” He knocked his chest over his heart before placing his hand back over mine. “I want to scream because I can’t turn my head off completely, and sometimes it overrides everything. Does that make sense?”

“I think so.”

Ireland stroked his thumbs over my hands and stared at where we touched. “I hear my mother’s voice reminding me all the time that I shouldn’t do this. And it’s those screaming thoughts I have to control. But it’s not easy. If I can successfully avoid triggers, I can manage to box it all up and shift it to the far back reaches of my mind. Their intensity becomes less, and then this,” he squeezed my hands, “can happen more.”

Because we were already connected, I took a chance and moved my thumbs along his hands like he was doing to me. Absorbing all he explained, I could see and understand his difficulties. How did a person avoid triggers when your own mother, a woman sick and in a nursing home, was one of the biggest?

“It’s exhausting sometimes,” he admitted, watching where my thumb glided against him. “Most people don’t get it. Believe me, when I tell you I want this, I crave it like anyone else, it’s just not automatic for me.”

“But you’ve gone far before. You’ve had relationships.”

“Yes.”

“How far have you been successful in going? Did you and Julia have sex?”

He pulled a hand away and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. I’d have thought he was upset by the blunt question except he chuckled.

“Are you really asking me about my sex life with my ex?”

It took him a minute, but when he finally looked me in the eyes, I shrugged with a smirk. “I have a vested interest in whether or not we can ever get that far. It’s a reasonable question.”

The humor left his face, and he studied me before pulling his other hand away.

“If sex is a deal breaker, I suggest you walk away right now.”

“So, you never had sex with her?”

His gaze turned hard, and his shoulders went rigid like he was bracing himself for something bad.

“I did. Three times in two years. And the last time was the day before she ended it with me. So, you better decide just how important something like that is for you, because like I told you before, intimacy is extremely difficult.”

He was throwing up walls left and right, and the world of hurt behind his eyes was soul-crushing. How many failed relationships had he experienced that came apart due to an intimacy barrier?

I was a forty-year-old guy, I’d had dozens of relationships in the past. Yes, I enjoyed sex—a lot—but what I’d learned in all the years I’d dated was that an emotional bond and friendship were far more important than bumping uglies. What good was great sex if you didn’t connect with your partner emotionally? The point of finding love was to find that someone who you connected with on such a level that you could envision yourself growing old with them. Sex didn’t have to be the most important variable in the equation, did it?

I’d stayed silent long enough, Ireland swiveled on the bench and scanned what we could see of the park from our secluded location. I relocated to sit beside him, straddling the bench, yet keeping a distance.

“Look at me,’’ I said when he refused to acknowledge me. “Please.”

He turned his head and studied me with sad eyes before straddling the bench as well and facing me.

“Let me talk for a second and try to express myself, okay?” When he remained silent, I continued. “I know from all you’ve shared that nothing about having a relationship is easy. I can see you’ve been hurt. A lot. I made a decision weeks ago that I wanted to build something with you, regardless of how sexual it became. You told me I wouldn’t be satisfied. You told me I’d get frustrated and eventually give up, but how about you let me prove I’m a bigger person than that. I asked about Julia because it’s encouraging to know you can and have conquered those obstacles. Maybe someday, you’ll get there again. With me.”

“And maybe I won’t.”

“And maybe you won’t,” I agreed. “But what would your therapist say if she heard you talking so negatively?”

The corner of his lips quirked. “She’d be pissed.”

“Then knock it off. I like what we have, Ireland, even if it isn’t physical. Every time you touch me, I’m on top of the world because I know what kind of gift I’m receiving.”

Unsure what else to say, I let him think about what I said. Our eyes remained locked. His thoughts rolled around his head, their confusing jumble showing clear on his face. After a long moment of neither of us speaking, Ireland reached out and touched my cheek. The pad of his thumb landed on my bottom lip, and he glided it over the surface. I held my breath and absorbed all he gave.

He shuffled forward, eliminating our gap and allowing our legs to rest against one another. It was the closest we’d ever been, and I was acutely aware of all the spots where our bodies were connected.

Two weeks ago on the beach, Ireland had had the same look in his eyes. I knew what he was doing, and I saw the battle he fought to get us there.

“Please,” I whispered.

Another inch forward and we breathed the same air. Ireland shifted his thumb and slid his hand to the back of my neck, pulling me in and closing our distance. His lips brushed mine, and a foray of butterflies came to life in my belly. It took all my self-control to remain still and relinquish all power.

The soft brush ended when he pressed us together solidly and kissed me. Nerves jittered noticeably through him, but their presence diminished when he parted his lips and invited our tongues to join. It was slow and tentative. Every glide mounted pleasure which quickly consumed me. I explored his mouth, taking pains not to push him too far, but seeking as much as he would give. I’d forgotten about his tongue ring, and feeling the metal ball roll against me sent a zing of pleasure south.

The longer it went on, the more caught up I became. I tasted and nipped his lips, flicking over the hoop I’d seen him bite many times. As we caressed our tongues together, I lost myself in the moment. It was all so amazing, and Ireland seemed just as caught up as me. Not thinking—or rather, lost in the bliss of tasting him for the first time—I reached out and clutched his hips, unconsciously wanting to draw him toward me.

The moment I made contact, he jerked away, breaking the kiss. My hands flew from his sides, and I held them up, panic replacing the intense feelings that had been rippling through me only moments before.

“I’m sorry. Oh shit, Ireland, I—”

“Just…” He held up a finger, asking me to give him a second. I didn’t move a single muscle, ashamed I’d crossed lines. “Just, always give me a warning if you’re going to touch me. Please. I have to know it’s coming one way or another. It can’t be a surprise.”

I blinked, unsure I understood him correctly. “Are you saying I can touch you?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m saying we can try some. Take it slow. But always a warning. Please.”

“Okay.” I lifted my hand between us. “Incoming. If I’m allowed, I really want to touch you.”

He remained perfectly still, his gaze locked with mine as I touched his cheeks and lips in the same fashion he’d done to me. When I couldn’t take it another minute, I leaned close, hovering near his mouth.

“Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes.”

We came together with less rigidity that time, Ireland met me halfway, and our tongues found each other immediately. I closed my eyes and allowed the rare moment to wash over me, soaking up all that was Ireland.

As much as I wanted to touch him everywhere, I resisted. The most I allowed was for my fingers to move from his cheek to his hair at the back of his head.

The entire day—the festival, people, and upcoming performance—could disappear for all I cared. I never wanted the moment with Ireland to end.

But of course, it did, and the ache I felt in the absence of his mouth was physical. Ireland moved back a few inches, separating us completely. I didn’t comment and understood the enormity of the experience was likely overwhelming.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, hoping a change in topic might help calm his racing mind. “It’s noon. I have about forty-five minutes before I need to get on stage. Wanna try some ribs?”

He scanned the park, a smile replacing his tension. “Sure. That sounds great.”

We ate ribs until our stomachs ached. Ireland stuck around for our first set, hovering near the side of the stage where the crowd wasn’t permitted to stand. The park was full, and our audience was extremely receptive. People sang along while others danced. Each piece ended in an eruption of cheers. It fueled us to play a few extra songs before taking a break. By the time I jumped off the stage, wiping sweat from my brow, it was after two. We’d played more than an hour.

Ireland followed me around back to our bench again where we chatted and touched, sharing a few short kisses until G came and interrupted, informing me we had to be on stage again.

“I’m gonna head home for a bit,” Ireland informed me. “I’m feeling a little funky, and I’m betting my sugars are creeping up.”

“Okay. You all right?”

“Yeah. I didn’t take insulin before lunch, and that was stupid.”

“Text me.” On inspection, I noticed signs I’d overlooked. He’d become dazed, less focused, and appeared tired. “If you’re not well enough to come back, that’s fine. Don’t push yourself.”

“Maybe let me know when you’re heading home. I could come over… if you’d like company.”

His suggestions bloomed warmth over my already sweaty skin. The idea of having Ireland over and alone was exciting.

“For sure.”