Midnight Blue

When the show was over, Alex walked in, dripping sweat. Drops trickled from his chin onto his bare chest, and my stomach clenched and knotted in an unfamiliar way when his tight abs constricted with every step he took. I bit my lower lip, setting the laptop aside.

“Good show?”

“No,” he grunted, scooping a bottle of water and unscrewing the cap. Instead of drinking, he splashed the water onto his face from above, then crushed the empty bottle on the table with his palm. “Bloody amazing show.”

I didn’t even have a smile to spare him, so I got back to staring at the wall. Alex nudged my foot with his boot, plopping beside me and nearly breaking the laptop in two.

“Midnight in the hallway, Stardust. I reckon tonight’s gonna last a bit longer. I’m behind schedule with the songs.”

“What are you talking about?” I mumbled, rescuing the laptop and placing it on a stand by the couch.

“Gig night is Muse Night. That’s what we do after a show.” He stared at me like I’d grown a second, green head from my shoulder.

“We’re doing that again?” I blinked, trying to kill the butterflies dancing in my stomach.

He rolled onto his side, giving me a spectacular view of his inked chest and abs, his head propped on his bulging arm, his stare as intense as his husky, drugging voice.

It felt different. So different.

Different from the way he usually looked at me.

Different from the way anyone had ever looked at me.

Something happened to my body that prompted me to cross my legs and clamp my inner thighs. His lips were close to mine, ruddy and plump from screaming into the mic. I needed to get up. Why wasn’t I getting up? Jesus, it was like my ass was glued to the sofa.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Stardust? You’re weirder than usual, and that says a lot.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” My eyes dragged up to the window. There was always a window. In each and every one of his dressing rooms. I wondered if he specifically asked for it, and if it made him feel less trapped. Trapped in a situation. Trapped inside himself.

“Well”—he slapped my thigh lightly, and fireworks, in different colors and sizes and shapes burst inside my chest—“I’m not asking you courteously. You’re on my payroll, under my wing. You’ll be singing like a canary.”

I sniffed, ignoring the dull headache that came hand in hand with crying for hours on end. “Technically, you’re under my wing.”

“Impossible,” he said, lifting my limp arm. His touch was like a blanket. Warm and oddly protective. My body felt like a phoenix rising up from the ashes of dormancy and rediscovering it had muscles, and nerve-endings, and flesh that craved to be touched and bitten and nipped at. I swallowed hard.

“You can’t fit me under this thing. My knob is probably the length of your leg. You’re under me. All puns intended. Now tell me what’s wrong. Trouble in Lucas and Stardust paradise? Finally figured out he’s a knobhead?” One of his devilish eyebrows arched sarcastically. He made it sound like Lucas and I were a couple, which wasn’t the case, and I wanted to believe there was an edge in his voice, but why? He wasn’t interested in me, and even if he was, Jenna had warned me about him. The world warned me about him.

“Seriously, Winslow, you don’t want to know.” I gave him one last fair warning, waving him off tiredly with my hand. It wasn’t my job to protect him from the truth. The truth was ugly, and real, and open like a wound full of puss. The way I figured it, Alex was used to the photoshopped version of women. Not the likes of me, who came with two tons of baggage and actual flaws.

“Spit it out, Bellamy ,” he enunciated.

“It’s my parents’ deathaversary.”

“Come again?” He leaned forward, his muscles taut with…what? What exactly was he feeling?

“Four years ago today, my brother and I got the phone call that they were involved in a hit-and-run near a restaurant in Koreatown. My parents worked three jobs between them and never went out. But every wedding anniversary, Dad took Mom to an all-you-can-eat buffet to celebrate. Some psycho ran them over when they crossed the road into the reservoir to take a walk, and took off, leaving them to die. They lost their lives on their anniversary. Hence the title, deathaversary.”

We just stared at each other. I couldn’t read him, but for the first time, I didn’t care. This was my heartbreak. My pain. My life. I didn’t need to try to make it fit his. And so what if he looked tortured by my confession before darting up to his feet, walking over to the virgin mini bar across the room.

“You were…what? Seventeen?” He schooled his voice, steeled his expression, put his usual poker face back on.

“Junior in high school.” I nodded. Up until then, I’d been a straight-A student. I’d soared. I was going to ride my grades all the way to a full scholarship, but after the accident, they started slipping, fast. Partly because I needed to get a part-time job that ate into my studying hours, but mostly because I lost the drive without Mom’s support. By senior year, things got so bad, I barely graduated. I flunked Spanish and am pretty sure my English teacher took pity on me. Alex scratched his chin, downing tonic water with lime and staring out the window.

“You probably hate me a little extra for getting arrested for DUI.” He sounded like nice, normal Alex tonight.

I collected my bag and Lucas’ laptop and started for the door. If I stayed, I would tell him the truth—yes, I hated alcoholics, and I loathed people who thought it was okay to get behind the wheel when drunk and put not only themselves in danger, but innocent people walking home from their anniversary dinner. As I was heading out, Lucas was coming in. We bumped into each other, and he chuckled, running his fingers through his brown hair.

“Been looking for you.” He offered a sweet smile, his gaze jumping to Alex momentarily before landing back on me.

I handed him his laptop. “Thanks for that. You’re a lifesaver, Luc.”

“No worries. Are you feeling any better? You seemed on edge earlier in your room.” There it was again. The look he gave Alex. He was looking for…something. A reaction, maybe.

I opened my mouth, about to answer, when Alex appeared behind my shoulder. I looked up, getting a view of his chin. He was much taller than me, and although lean, packed with tons of charisma, we didn’t even look like we belonged in the same species. His fingers strangled the doorframe and his nostrils flared.