Now the air was empty. Like it lacked oxygen. Every breath was a goddamn struggle without him.

  I shouldn’t have hooked up with him in that goddamn bathroom. I’d known it would fuck everything up, but shit, the way his body had moved with mine, and then the way his tongue felt in my mouth, how he moved against me…

  I’d been so fucking lost in him. Hadn’t been capable of sensible thought. All I’d been thinking was claim, take, fuck, and Tor. Tor. Tor. Fucking Tor.

  I shouldn’t have given him the cold shoulder after. I should’ve talked shit out with him like a fucking adult. But instead, I’d done what I did best—I went inside my head, and I blocked him out in the process. And when he finally got up the nerve to confront me—nerve I knew it took a lot for him to have because Tor was just so damn soft—I’d cut him… deep. So damn deep.

  The hurt in his eyes that day still haunted my fucking dreams.

  I closed out the app on my phone and locked the device before shoving it into my pocket. Resting my head back against the couch, I closed my eyes, listening to the quiet sounds of the house. Everyone was asleep still. Couldn’t blame them. We’d been touring for fucking months—our first tour ever—and it was finally over. We had some time to rest. Tor could focus on writing songs for our next album, and in a couple of months, we would be back in the studio to record before prepping for our next tour.

  Sighing, I stood up from the couch and walked to the room I was supposed to be sharing with Tor, though we hadn’t really shared it in over a year now. Not since that night. I now camped my ass out on the couch, only coming in here when I needed something of mine. I hadn’t slept in my bed in… fuck, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d sat on the damn thing.

  It hurt too goddamn much to be in the same room with him. Living on the tour bus had been hell. I’d barely goddamn survived it. We’d planned for me and Tor to share a room, but every night, I crashed on the uncomfortable couch on the bus and Tor slept alone.

  Tor wasn’t in the room when I pushed the door open quietly. His bed was empty, still made. I blinked in surprise. Where in the hell was he? Tor was never up this early, and if he had to be, he wasn’t even functioning enough to make his damn bed.

  I quickly backed out of the room and began searching the rest of the house, but nope. He definitely wasn’t here. My heart lurched into my throat, worry and concern making my movements jerky. I pushed open the door to Dalton and Jesse’s room without knocking, unable to think past the pain constricting my lungs. Dalton sleepily lifted his head from his pillow, blinking at me.

  “What the fuck, Salem,” he groaned, dropping his head back down. “Some people fuckin’ sleep, you know.”

  “Tor is missing,” I told him.

  Jesse grunted and pulled his covers over his head. “No, he’s not,” Jesse mumbled, his voice a bit muffled by the pillow. “He went out like two hours after you passed out. He bunked at a hotel because he was too drunk to drive back.”

  I clenched my jaw, hating that they knew that about Tor, but I hadn’t. And really, had I expected to? Tor and I barely spoke to each other anymore unless it was absolutely necessary. I only found out what was going on with him and what he was doing through other people.

  It still wasn’t something I was used to—not even with all the time that had passed.

  “No one went to get him?” I gritted through clenched teeth.

  Dalton sighed and shoved his pillow over his head. “No, Salem. Tor is grown. If he wanted one of us to come get him, he would’ve said so. Now go the fuck away.”

  I stalked out of the room, barely resisting the urge to slam the door behind me. I yanked my phone from my sweats, my finger hovering over Tor’s name on my phone. But instead of hitting the green dial button like I so badly wanted, I instead scrolled past his name to the name of the guy I used for sex when we happened to be home.

  He’d signed an NDA a little over a year ago. He knew he was nothing more than a booty call, and he was good for when I needed to just get off. And fuck, I really needed to get off and distract myself. Otherwise, I’d end up calling Tor, demanding to know where he was and drag him back home where my selfish ass could still keep an eye on him, even though I didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him.

  I pressed Gray’s name and raised my phone to my ear.

  “Finally home?” he purred through the line, not bothering with niceties.

  I grunted. “Yeah. Need you to come over.” I never had him come over—always went to his place or got a hotel room. But Tor wasn’t here, and if he was as drunk as Jesse said he was, then he wouldn’t be home for a while.

  I could get off and boot Gray back out before Tor probably even got up for the day.

  He chuckled. “Say less.”

  The bedroom door opened as I bent Gray damn near in fucking half, trying to get deeper inside of him. Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes widened, my hips immediately coming to a halt. Horror filled every pore of my body, and I softened so fucking fast, I should have been embarrassed.

  Tor was standing in the doorway, his hand white-knuckling the door handle, all the color washed out of his face.

  I’d thought I had fucking time. I’d never let Tor see me with anyone else because I knew it would fucking hurt him. But here he was, and here I was… and here Gray was.

  Fuck.

  “Tor—” I started, already pulling out of Gray and moving to get off the bed.

  He rushed from the room, slamming the door shut behind him. I cursed and stumbled to my feet, yanking my sweats off the floor and quickly tugging them on. I rushed for the door. “You need to leave,” I told Gray before I ran out of the room after Tor, feeling sick to my fucking stomach. Tor was high-tailing it for the back door. I slipped as I rounded the corner and quickly gripped the wall for support. “Tor, wait, fuck⁠—”

  He swung around in the kitchen once I neared him, and then pain exploded along my jaw, turning my vision white for a moment. I staggered back, slamming into the old fridge behind me, my hand coming up to cradle my jaw. Tor shook out his hand, his chest heaving.

  “I fucking hate you,” he seethed, tears in his eyes and pain in every bit of his expression.

  Then, he spun around and pushed out the backdoor, slamming it shut behind him.

  I didn’t go after him.

  2

  Tor

  I didn’t know which hurt more—catching Salem with his dick in some random guy or knowing he didn’t continue to chase me after I punched him in the face. The old Salem would’ve tackled me to the floor, sat on me, and forced me to forgive him.

  I didn’t even know who this Salem was anymore. He certainly wasn’t my Salem. He’d died right after our bathroom tryst.

  I’d gone out last night by myself for the first fucking time ever, and I got wasted and high. I couldn’t even remember half the damn night. Apparently, I’d had enough sense to get a hotel and text Jesse that I wasn’t coming home, but fuck, that was about it. I had no idea what the hell I’d done, and I didn’t want to take a look at social media yet in case I’d done something stupid without my best friends there to keep my drunk ass in line.

  I had a feeling it wouldn’t be pretty. As it was, both Delia and Giselle had tried calling me this morning, but I’d refused to answer. I wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at. I just didn’t have the energy or the mental headspace for them.

  I was always the good one out of the six of us. I didn’t get in trouble. I stayed on the right side of the law. I was even known for stopping the others from getting into dumb shit.

  And now I was the one doing dumb shit. All because I’d lost my rock, my best friend. All because months—fuck, over a year—of spiraling had left me empty and hollow.

  I’d been trying to keep it under wraps, but it was all sliding from my pores now. There was no containing the agony I felt anymore. Especially not after what I’d witnessed mere hours ago.

  I lifted the bottle to my lips and laid back on the concrete patio, jerking in surprise when I knocked over an empty vodka bottle. It made a loud clang, and the glass cracked as it hit the concrete before rolling away. Grunting, I stared up at the darkening sky. I’d been out here for hours. Didn’t know what damn time it was. Didn’t care.

  I didn’t want to care about anything.

  I was tired of hurting. Tired of feeling. I just wanted to be fucking numb.

  Was it too much to ask to just feel okay for a little while?

  I sat up on my elbows and lifted the bottle in my grip to my lips again, draining the rest of it before setting it aside. Laying back down, I closed my eyes and folded my hands on my stomach, my head swimming just a little. Certainly wasn’t enough. Months of drinking alone had built up a tolerance.

  I missed the days when alcohol affected me faster.

  Even now, when Salem had hurt me so fucking badly, I dreamed of the day he would be mine. I dreamed of him holding me like he used to, back when we were friends and hadn’t ever decided to hook up in the bathroom at a random fucking bar.

  I dreamed of a day when I could call him and he’d be there in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

  I couldn’t do that anymore. If I called him in need, would he even show up? Or had he finally gotten what he wanted from me a year and a half ago and had decided I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore?

  Fuck, that somehow hurt even more.

  Why wasn’t I drunk enough yet?

  The back door opened and quietly snicked closed. I knew it wasn’t Salem, so I didn’t even bother opening my eyes. Salem moved like a ghost—quiet, unheard, unseen. He’d always been similar to a predator in my eyes. And once upon a time, I’d been safe from his crassness and violence. Had known without a shred of doubt that he’d never hurt me.

  I’d been a fucking idiot—obviously.

  “Delia called me,” Spike said, taking a seat on the concrete beside me. His thigh pressed against my arm. I sighed and opened my eyes, staring up at the sky again, watching as the stars slowly came to life.

  “I ignored her call,” I grunted.

  Spike sighed. “I figured. You’re all over social media—without Salem.” I barely resisted flinching at his name. I could only imagine the shit storm that had blown up. “Giselle logged into Salem’s profile and posted a public apology for a fight,” he quietly explained. “They’re doing damage control.”

  I sighed. I hated the image we had to put up together—the picture-perfect gay couple, there to give hope to the LGBTQIA+ community. I had no problem supporting that community. I did my best to donate, and I was active in multiple charities. I even had dreams of getting an LGBTQIA+ homeless shelter running one day. But I hated lying. I hated that Salem and I were actually on the outs and only putting up a front for our fans.

  I wished we could hate each other in public. Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel so sick to my stomach every time we sang together and forced smiles on our lips and pretended like we were madly in love with each other.

  I mean, it wasn’t that hard to fake it on my part. I loved Salem as much as I hated him. But I knew every bit of his front was just that—a front.

  Even thinking about it made me sick. I avoided social media as much as possible so I wouldn’t have to see the pictures of us together flooding my fucking feed.

  “I’m guessing you two still aren’t talking,” Spike finally concluded.

  I shook my head. “Nope.” I popped the P. Okay, I was obviously a little drunk, but not fucking drunk enough. Definitely not drunk enough for this conversation. “Caught him balls deep in some random fucker.” I rolled over onto my hands and knees, the world spinning for a moment before I managed to push to my feet, my legs a little unsteady beneath me. Spike lurched up to help me, but I waved him away, stumbling to the door. “I’m okay,” I told him.

  He sighed, a sad look passing over his features. I turned away from him, unable to stomach his pity. “You’re not okay. You haven’t been okay for a while, Tor.”

  I shrugged and grinned at him over my shoulder, though I knew it was fake as fuck. Clearly, he could tell because his frown deepened. “I’ll survive,” I told him. “Been surviving this long.”

  “Tor—”

  I walked inside, shutting the door behind me, cutting off the rest of his words. The world was spinning badly now. Moaning low in my throat, I stumbled to the dining room off to my left, my feet barely working with my brain. I managed to make it to the small dining room table we found at a thrift store when we first got this place, which we still hadn’t moved out of despite our success and despite our promises to do so as soon as we had enough money.

  I slumped in the chair, and the moment I put my head on the table, the world went blissfully dark.

  3

  Salem

  The door creaked open, and I lowered my phone, squinting through the darkness, hoping it was Tor. I’d been laying here all fucking day, trying to figure out a way to ambush him. I knew chasing him would only make shit worse. He’d been angry enough to hit me—my jaw still fucking hurt—and he’d never done that.

  Tor hated violence. After the abuse all of us but Dalton had suffered, it made Tor sick to his stomach to see anyone using violence. Yet, he’d swung on me.

  Honestly, I was still a bit shocked that he’d punched me in the face. And with so much force, at that.

  Spike entered the room, Tor slumped in his arms. Immediately, I lurched from the bed, reaching for him, concern throbbing deep in my chest. It fucking hurt to see Tor like that. Something was wrong, and I desperately needed to find out so I could fix it. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he unconscious?

  “No,” Spike grunted, making me scowl at him and drop my hands before he moved past me and gently laid Tor on the bed. Immediately, I eased Tor’s shoes off his feet, and then Spike covered him up, tucking the blanket in around Tor’s slim body to cocoon him and make him feel safe. My Adam’s apple bobbed when I swallowed, my throat clicking. Even from the foot of Tor’s bed, I could smell the alcohol fucking wafting off him.

  Tor never drank like this. Not unless we were in a group setting or at a club. He preferred keeping a level head, especially when I wasn’t around to protect him.

  Had he even recovered from his hangover this morning before drowning himself in another bottle?

  Spike turned to face me and crossed his thick arms over his chest, the muscles of his biceps bulging and straining against his black, short-sleeve shirt. His hair was a mess, like he’d run his fingers through it, and the strands brushed his broad shoulders instead of being up in a bun like they usually were.

  “You two need to fix this shit,” he growled at me, his voice low so he wouldn’t disturb Tor. Though, I didn’t think Tor was going to be waking up anytime soon. He was obviously too damn drunk for that. “Tor is fucking spiraling, Salem.”

  I gritted my teeth. Spike knew I hated it when people shoved their fucking noses in my business. What I did was on me. It had nothing to do with the rest of the band, even if they were my closest friends.

  “Fuck right off,” I growled at him before walking over to my bed and snatching up my phone.

  “Keep your fucking little toys out of the house,” Spike snapped at me, his voice only marginally raising before he forced it to lower again. Anger rolled through me so hotly, it burned. Scorched my insides. Spike was overstepping his boundaries.

  I spun around to face him, dropping my phone back on the mattress. “Don’t fucking tell me what the fuck to do in a house I pay goddamn rent on, too, asshole,” I sneered at him. His nostrils flared, anger sparking in his gaze. We all pulled our fucking weight and contributed. Always goddamn had. He had no fucking right to tell me what I could and couldn’t do and who I could and couldn’t bring into this fucking house and into my bed.

  Spike stepped up close to me, narrowing his dark eyes at me. “When what the fuck you do sends Tor into a goddamn drunken stupor, I damn well will tell you what the fuck you can and can’t do, Salem,” he snarled at me. “You’ve turned the kindest one out of all of us—the fucking most level-headed one—into a mere shell of himself.” Spike jabbed his finger hard into my chest. I knocked it away hard enough to make my palm sting. “Fix it, Salem,” he snarled.

  I clenched my jaw. “It’s been too goddamn long to try to fix anything.” I knew I was looking for an excuse. I didn’t know how to admit I was wrong. I didn’t know how to fix the damage I’d caused, even if I had to stare at Tor and see the agony ripping him to shreds every fucking day.

  I was a dick. And even though I’d sworn I’d never let the darker parts of me touch the most important person in the world to me…

  Well, I fucking had.

  I’d even managed to destroy the one thing in this world that’d always been so full of light.

  Now…

  Well, now I was just standing in pure darkness. There was no light. There was no beacon to lead me out of the pain and misery.

  Instead, I was now forcing Tor to drown with me just so I wouldn’t be alone. It was selfish of me, but I was terrified if I did try to fix things, he’d prove to me I’d waited too long. He’d run away. Finally leave once he got his closure.

  I couldn’t let him go, even if I was making him bleed out.

  “It’s never too late,” Spike told me, his tone softening. I looked away from him. “Pull your head out of your ass before we all lose him, Salem.”

  With that, he walked out of the bedroom, the door shutting behind him with a quiet shnick that sounded as loud as a bomb dropping.

  I slowly took a seat on the edge of my bed and stared across the room at Tor, watching the blanket slowly rise and fall with his deep, even breaths. How did he still breathe so easily when every bit of air I pulled into my lungs was heavy with heartache and pain?

 

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