Page 34 of Our Deceptive Heat

I push her from my mind, focusing only on Digs as he turns me around, his hands expertly finding all my sensitive spots and setting that blaze higher.

As he pushes into me, his hand gripping my cock, pumping me. Sending us both towards that inevitable explosion of pleasure, I have a moment of regret. Just one flicker, one blip in the perfect world we’ve created.

I glance in the window and see her sitting on the couch watching in the reflection. She looks so sad and alone, but she smiles that brave, wondrous smile that I secretly love. I find my rhythm, staring at her the whole time, but it’s okay, it’s fine, because it’s all in my head. She’s not here, she never is.

I have the perfect pack.

I don’t deserve more.

Chapter eleven

Ryn

Stars burn brightly, neveras bright as you - Ryn Raines

I’m starting to hate planes. There is nowhere to escape them in these small, metal boxes. It’s claustrophobic. I’ve effectively avoided them for four shows now, almost two weeks of incredibly skilled disappearing acts.

I have been resilient, practical, sneaky, and I haven’t let them affect me, corner me, or trap me.

I sneak into the darkest corners and watch them play, unable to take my eyes off them. The stage lights are arrows pointing to what I want, painfully painting a picture while the rest of the world falls away.

I long for the stage almost as much as I long for them. But seeing them on the stage is the cruelest torture. They rise so far above me, phoenixes bursting into flames, reborn in the symphonies of our songs.

I fall in love a little bit more with each night, with each note. And in the darkness, I watch with a thousand other people, just another person in the dark, unseen and forgotten.

A useless beta.

I’ll never be good enough to walk in their light.

Which is okay. In the dark, while I watch them play my songs, I can be okay with hearing music I created on their lips. So I hide, and I keep hiding. Working until my eyes ache, forgetting about food and drink.

I’ve become friends with Immanuel, their driver, who has a dry wit and sarcasm that has me laughing until I cry. Cadee who does their makeup and never stops talking. Quint who adores hair and styling it. He misses his partner something fierce. Harris cooks all their food and has a passion only for creating visual, aromatic, and artistic experiences with fresh ingredients, but he’s been teaching me to cook in his spare time. While Nial and José head the security and have taken pains to help me hide from the band. I’ve already agreed to attend José’s bonding ceremony.

Even Tony helps me stay out of their way.

In the meantime, I turn their image edgier; I turn it darker. I remake them, slowly changing websites, merchandise, labels, logos. The interviews I get them are carefully orchestrated, and I direct the questions to be darker and on subjects that I know that will surprise Tyr into answering honestly.

And it works.

Fate’s Choice is entering a new era. Even their stylist is on board, excitedly getting their clothing to be more edgy and sexy, appealing to women and men alike.

I’m on a mission, and I’m winning. But every moment along this road is agony.

Until we get on the planes, that is so much worse. I get to listen to Tyr’s snide comments said under his breath. Mako studies me with a far too knowing and guilty eye. Envy ignores me like I don’t exist, and Digs glowers at me every chance he gets.

My heart beats faster, and I wonder at what point it will suddenly explode and claim my pitiful life. My headache returns. My hands get clammy, and my stomach flutters, and this damn ache that seizes my chest has me locked up, wishing I could be anywhere else.

Sometimes I wonder if this yearning will kill me.

And every single song I pitch at them gets rejected because it’s not right. Tyr knows they are perfectly good songs. He’s just doing this to punish me, and I hate to say it, but it’s working.

I’m starting to lose my cool. The constant headache and battle with the band is destroying me. I take my spot beside Tony, ignoring him as he reclines his seat and promptly goes to sleep.

It’s easy for him. He’s not surrounded by the glaring eyes of the band. Fuck, I can’t resent Tony. He’s done too much to help me.

I open my laptop and stare down at my to-do list. It’s an endless collation of jobs, and all the while, lyrics scream themselves into my head with even more fervor than usual.

I’m frantically scribbling the words down when I finally register the shadow staring down over my shoulder. I go to close the notepad, but Digs takes it out of my hand, frowning as he mouths the words.

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