Page 50 of Patchwork
“It’s a hell of a view,” I say, nudging the pizza box towards Onyx so he’ll take the last piece.
“It’s alright.” He shrugs, leaning his head on my shoulder.
We pushed the furniture aside and brought the comforter from his bed out onto the balcony so we could watch the sunset together. A tiny part of me wants to ask if he’s sure he wants to give all this up, but I’m done doubting him. If he says he wants to live in Fall Crosse, I’m not going to question him anymore. It’s not like Seattle won’t still be here if he ever wants to visit.
“Your bed is nicer than mine,” I point out, pulling the blanket a little tighter around my shoulders now that the sun has taken some of its warmth with it. “You should bring it, and we’ll get rid of the one at my place.”
He nods and smiles, biting into the last slice of pizza and licking the grease off of his lips.
“It is a nice bed,” he agrees. “Probably the only thing in this apartment I want.”
I glance over my shoulder into his place again. I get it. Nothing here is reallyhis.
“We’ll go shopping and you can pick out stuff to make our place feel more like home.”
“Our place.” He repeats the words like they’re lyrics to his favorite song. “I like the sound of that.”
“Me too.” I turn my head and kiss his forehead. “I don’t think I said it earlier—not in so many words, anyway—but I love you.”
He tilts his head to rest his chin on my shoulder and bring his mouth a tempting inch away from mine. “I love you too, Kaiden.”
We flirt with a kiss, both of us grinning as we bump noses.
“Maybe I could come on tour with you when you do go,” I muse, brushing a strand of his hair back.
“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it, sweetness. I need my personal tattoo artist with me at all times.”
I chuckle and finally catch his lips in a full kiss, slow and deep, full of promises for a future that’s more than just a fantasynow. A future full of adventures and late nights, long rides on my Harley, and lazy mornings in bed together.
Onyx’s fingers tap against my bicep in a rhythm I haven’t learned yet, a new song I can’t wait to hear the lyrics to one day. And hopefully a hundred more songs after that. Until his old fingers have arthritis and he can’t play anymore, then he can hum them to me while we watch the sunset in our backyard. Together.
Chapter 23
4 WEEKS AGO
ONYX
Onlyeightmorehoursuntil the tour bus pulls into Seattle. I’m so fucking ready to be off this reeking bus and have months of freedom ahead of me. Longer than that, if I’m being honest with myself. I’m just not sure I’m quite ready to commit yet. I need time to clear my head, to get away from all this and really think about what I want. But right now, what Ireallywant isn’t to go home to Washington at all.
What do I even have there? A quiet apartment. Boredom. The weight of the label breathing down my neck about my upcoming contract renewal. Yeah, fuck that.
I lean against the window, watching miles of nothing fly by, every single one of them taking me farther from where I actually want to be.
“Want to playMario Kart?” Jett asks, offering me the joint between his fingers as he leans across the seat with the Switch controller in his other hand.
“Nah.” I shake my head.
There’s shouting coming from the small bedroom—Jade and Gray either fucking or fighting. Jesus fucking Christ, I feel like I’m living in an unfunny version ofGroundhog Day. I’m getting more antsy by the second. I’m tempted to kick out one of these windows and fucking tuck and roll. Dead on the side of the road sounds more appealing than hours and hours more of this.
As if he can read my mind, the driver announces over the PA system that we’ll be stopping for gas and food at the next exit.
Oh hell yeah. I’m up, knocking Jett out of the way with only a muttered apology. I grab my duffle bag from under the seat and start to throw as much of my stuff into it as I can find. I’m sure I have some clothes and a few other things in the bedroom, but nothing I don’t mind leaving behind. My guitar and notebook are all I really care about taking with me.
“What are you doing?” Jett asks curiously, lounging back in his seat and watching me through hazy eyes, the joint still dangling between his fingers.
“I don’t want to spend eight more hours listening to that shit.” I jerk my head towards the bedroom door. “I have my car. I’m just going to drive back on my own.”
He grunts in understanding before stubbing his joint out in one of the ashtrays and splaying himself out on the bench seat like he’s planning to take a nap.
