Page 11 of Echoes of a Muted Song

“I’d forgotten about that,” he sputtered, giggling between words and completely oblivious to the dribble of alcohol dripping off his chin. “It all worked out in the end.”

“If by worked out you mean the cart narrowly missed getting nailed by three different vehicles before it struck the curb and tipped over, spilling me onto the sidewalk, then yeah, it worked out just fine.”

“It could have been worse.”

“How? What could have possibly been worse than the bruises that were all over my legs after the cart landed on me?”

“You could have broken them,” he offered, the look part imp and part sheepish as he peered out from beneath a fringe of hair at me. “Or hit a wall. Or actually gotten hit by one of the carsthat missed you. That would have sucked. One of them was kinda big.”

“Kinda big. I love the way you describe a fuckin’ Bronco.”

“Could have been a fuckin’ Suburban.”

Oh, that was it. I might not have been able to keep up with his wittiness on my text to speech device, but I could sure as hell teach that sassy ass one on the dancefloor, and back in the hotel room later. And as a reminder, I made sure to swat him on his leather-covered rear on our way back out there, a prelude to what he had coming.

Chapter 7

(Johnny)

Our two perfect weeks in Palm Springs were about to come to an end and I wasn’t ready for that to happen yet. Every night had been something different. Drag bingo, a drag performance ofHocus Pocus, a candlelit dinner at an Italian restaurant that served some of the best shrimp cocktails I’d had in a long time, and several nights floating beneath the stars, letting our hands brush as we enjoyed the warm nights and the peacefulness of being alone together. We held hands as we walked along the streets, popping into shops when something caught our eye, like all the gummies I’d gotten at the dispensary, because damn. I’d switched from smoking to vaping because it was less harsh, and in the process I’d started limiting how much of the devil’s lettuce I smoked. Didn’t mean that I didn’t love the buzz, I was just aware of the years creeping up on me. Creeping up at thirty. Mightnot seem like a lot to most, but I felt like I’d been running up and down the road forever.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

Whipping my head around, I expected to see someone on fire, or at the very least, a couple guys in ski masks with guns rushing out of the jewelry store across the street. Instead I was blinded by the flash of someone’s camera phone, and it didn’t stop at one. No matter how many times it happened, I was never prepared for it. The illusion he’d been lost in as he’d sauntered down the street was shattered as someone started yelling.

“It’s Johnny Amaral, oh my god, it’s Johnny from Blissfully Immune! We just saw you at Rocktoberfest!”

“Johnny, can I have your autograph?”

“Johnny, can I have your baby?”

Somebody touched my hair and I whirled, only to have Draven’s arm wrap around me as he snarled at the person not to touch me. His voice was drowned out by the crowd, but they couldn’t do anything about his size as he treated them like the buildings in a classicGodzillafilm and began mowing them down. I just clung to his side and let Draven shove us free of the crowd.

Fingers laced together we raced down the sidewalk, several voices calling out to us as they pursued us back to the hotel. Fuckin’ hell. It never failed to throw me when people werethis persistent, and invasive. It sucked making a spectacle of ourselves as we raced through the crowded lobby and into the safety of an elevator, whose doors were still closing when our pursuers burst into view. They were securities problem now, not that it sat right with me. I intended to personally thank them as soon as it was safe to do so. Could you tip security? Were they allowed to accept it? My thoughts were a whirlwind of questions and frustrations as we made our way back to our room.

What the hell had given us away? I was usually so good at flying under the radar until I wanted to be seen.

Like out at the clubs, where Draven and I had made a game of teasing one another into a frenzy before we’d retreated back to our hotel room to work it all off. Dammit, that had probably been stupid. All those people with their camera phones blasting us all over social media, of course people were aware that we were in town. Awareness meant vigilance, and those people had nothing better to do than spend their nights stalking the streets, hoping for a celebrity encounter.

I’d never seen anyone swipe a keycard as fast as Draven did, and the force with which I was propelled into the room made me stagger and take several steps in order to regain my balance. By then, Draven had locked the door and slammed the bolt shut, kicking the wood forgood measure.

The fury in Draven’s eyes when he turned reminded me of the night Draven had learned that his band’s ex-roadie had been responsible for the pyro accident that had ended his singing career and left their drummer scarred. He was the same man who’d been responsible for my best friend being electrocuted at one of Damaged Saint’s early return shows. It had only been luck, and Keegan’s quick thinking in knocking the mic stand away from him, that had kept Jagger from being hurt too badly. The ex-roadie was behind bars now, having taken a plea deal to avoid a trial and the evidence and public admission that would have buried him.

I sat on the edge of the bed while Draven paced and snarled what I was certain were curse words, but his voice was completely shot after his efforts to shout down the crowd. The only sounds in the room were the heavy tread of Draven’s footfalls and the hammering of my heart in my ears. All the energy I expended onstage meant I hadn’t even been winded by the run, but fury and frustration were another matter, and they were much harder to come down from.

The last night. The last fuckin’ night. Who the fuck did those fuckers think they were, ruining it for us that way? My fingers scrabbled for the phone in my backpack, and slid over the plastic on one of my gummy packs in theprocess. I popped three then resumed the hunt for my phone, withdrawing it to type a scathing message on the first social media platform my finger slid across.

To the fuckers who just chased me down a crowded Palm Springs street like a pack of hyenas, fuck you very much! I’m entitled to have a life offstage, one that doesn’t involve people invading my personal space, blinding me with the flash on their cameras and touching me without my permission. If you are a fan and really give a shit about the band and our music, then fuckin’ act like it and don’t put my mental health and wellbeing in jeopardy by mobbing me like it’s a fuckin’ music festival. I am prepared for that kind of attention when I’m at an event. This wasn’t an event. This was the street, with other people, innocent people who could have been hurt when you decided to fly into a frenzy of screaming and waving phones. Hell, I thought something was being killed, until I realized that I was the target of all that energy. Maybe you don’t realize it, when you’re fanboying and fangirling out that way, but it’s jarring and overwhelming. The last thing it will make me want to do is sign anything or stop and talk. Think about that a moment before you ever think about chasing me again. The only thing it will get you is arrested.

I posted it and tossed the phone on the bed as I fell back on the pillows, glaring at the ceiling as I waited for the gummies to kick in. Draven’s shadow fell over me as he came downon top of me, pinning me to the bed with his body, his hands, and his intense gaze moments before he claimed my lips. I could feel the tension and adrenaline still coursing through him as his fingers gripped my hair, his lower body grinding against mine as we made out.

His hand snaked beneath my shirt, cold fingers gliding along my ribs, making me rock up to hook a heel over the back of his thigh. We found a rhythm, rocking, rubbing, squirming against one another, our lips never losing contact, our fingers buried in each other’s hair, too lost in each sensation to even think about getting our clothes off. One of his hands slapped against my thigh, then slid beneath my ass to grip, hard fingers digging in so much that I was certain I’d bear the imprint of them through my jeans.

He tugged, like he was trying to rip the denim off my body, but the rugged material held, so he used his handhold to rock us together faster. Everything seemed to speed up and stop simultaneously, creating a crash of light and sensation, each more mind-blowingly brilliant than before. I came, crying out against his lips as he kept on kissing me, muffled grunts, groans and growls like the crescendo of a song. Everything erupted into bright, swirling sparkles of gold and white, until my body went limp beneath Draven’s as he came, too.

Melting.

Holy shit, the next sensation was an all-encompassing one, in which my body felt like liquid pooling against the sheets. Movement was the furthest thing from my mind and thought was impossible with shivers running over my skin and pinpricks of pleasure still running up and down my spine. I was still trying to figure out which way was up when Draven lifted up off me, allowing me to breathe a little easier, until he stole my breath away with the ferocity with which he undid my jeans and yanked them off.

---