4. Phoenix

Phoenix

Edge Of A Broken Heart

“ H appy Anniversary,” I say into the phone.

“Fe, you didn’t have to call.” The sympathy in my sister’s voice dredges up the one thing I didn’t want to think about.

“Of course I did,” I tell her, wedging my cell into my shoulder and wiping my face.

It’s late, but I knew she’d be up. My niece is only a month and a half old. Veronica has already told me through our “sibling group chat” that mom life is hard. I guess Delilah is a poor sleeper most nights. I remember when she sat us all down to tell us she was pregnant. Still mortally wounded over being dumped, it had felt like the black clouds were parting a little. I’ve always liked kids.

“It wasn’t a happy day for you.”

“But it was for you . How’s Deke?”

“He’s great. Tired, but great. Delilah has his curls,” she muses sleepily, then yawns.

I smile a little, eagerly awaiting the next picture she will send me. My bandmates are chatting in the background, still wired from the show. The loud bass of Headhunter beats against the backstage walls. Shuffling away from the noise, I go through the side door that leads into the very back of the venue so I can hear my sister.

“How was the show?” she asks once I’m far enough away.

“Good. The turnout was killer, but mainly for the other guys.”

“They came for you too. Don’t sell yourself short.” Another yawn.

I feel bad for calling, but I didn’t get a chance to earlier, and I love my sister. “I’ll let you get to bed.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just—” Her yawn is so loud it makes me do the same.

“They’re contagious,” I laugh.

“Sorry. But I’m serious. Your band is great.”

I shrug out of habit. “Did you and Deke get up to anything good today?” I change the subject.

“Lots and lots of poopy diapers. Delilah puked on him. It went right into his mouth.”

A string of laughter bubbles out of me. “Was he holding her up like Simba again?”

“Yesss.”

“Sounds like he should’ve known it was coming.” I glance over my shoulder, feeling like I’m being watched, but there’s no one back here. “But, I gotta get back. Kelly’s gonna kick my ass if I miss her pit analysis.”

“Pit analysis?”

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I lean against the wall. “Yeah. Every show, she has us all sit down and go over how metal or not the mosh pit was. It’s an ordeal.”

“And clearly important.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, thanks for calling, Fe. I promise it’ll get easier.” I can hear the shrill wail of her daughter through the line. “Shit, she’s ready for the boob.”

“Go, go. I’ll text you later.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Happy Anniversary.”

I hang up as I hear her tell Delilah to hold her horses. Veronica is a great mom already. She’s older than me by a few years, and even when we were kids, she babied me. Mom says she would swaddle me when I was a toddler. I guess she’s just got that maternal bone, like people say. I’m happy for her and Deke; they have been trying for a kid for a few years. Jorge jokes that we don’t need any more Sawyers in the world, but Darien keeps pumping them out left and right. I’ve already got three nephews. Two of which are twins.

Against my will, I think about Eli. I think about that day.

“She’ll get pregnant,” Eli whispers in my ear.

I smile at my sister on the dancefloor, having her first dance as a new bride.

“He’s gonna breed her.” The smile drops as I gawk at him.

“Why would you say that?” I hiss, tugging him away from my Great Aunt Lucy, who looks ready to faint.

I take him out of the tent in my parent’s backyard and weave through the few people standing nearby. Once we are at a safe distance, I take a good look at him. He went to the bathroom before the dances started, and now his eyes are glossy and bloodshot.

“What’s wrong with you?” I pry.

Eli gives me a crooked smile, shaking his head and blinking at sunset. “Nothing.”

He’s been acting weird all fucking day and now he’s being vulgar around my family, some of them are old as shit who aren’t used to hearing that stuff. I fold my arms across my chest. “Are you high?”

His smile drops, and he pierces me with his dark blue eyes. “No.”

“Then why do you look fucked up?”

“I’m not.” He goes to walk away from me, but I lunge forward and grab his wrist. “Damn it, Phoenix, leave it be. I’m trying to enjoy the wedding.”

“So am I. But you can’t say stuff like that. Not the time or place.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but it’s not a real apology. Something is wrong.

Easing my grip on him, I step into his bubble and search his face. “Talk to me.”

“We don’t do that.”

“I know. But I can’t feel you right now.” He’s shut off, and the way he’s looking at me has my stomach flipping—not in a good way. I’m freaking out—probably over nothing—and slide my palm over his cheek. “Did my dad say something?”

Instead of answering me, he kisses me roughly. His lips taste sour, not right. I reel back. “Please,” he says softly and goes for my mouth again.

I should’ve known then something was coming. I should’ve seen the signs. Pulling myself back to the present, I head back to where my bandmates are waiting. It’s hard to turn off my head once it latches onto an idea or feeling. I’m in a freefall, wondering how I could’ve been so blind—so stupid. I feel sick, and I don’t know why. It's like the time I ate bad shrimp and knew eventually I’d hurl, but not when. That’s the feeling.

I’m nearing the end of the long, empty hall when the sensation of being watched comes again.

The hairs on my neck shoot up, my arms bubble with goosebumps. I stop walking and glance at the doors. They’re all closed. Only the soft hum of music too loud to be contained hits my ears. Maybe I’m dehydrated or paranoid. No one has outright said so, but I know Eli is here. He’s in this city, staying at the hotel Headhunter booked for the night. We sleep on the bus mostly because we aren’t that financially well off.

Is he in this building? In this hall ? I swallow hard and leave with speed.

L eon Persson is a talented drummer.

I think it’s like a rule that people from Sweden are just phenomenal at music. Some of my favorite bands are from there. Like Orbit Culture, God, those guys are amazing. I might even look up to Leon if it was under any other circumstance. We’re standing outside the bus, just finishing packing the last of our gear, when Headhunter comes out. Their trailer with all their gear is at the hotel already, seeing as they have roadies to help out. It’s just us and a handful of local fans we agreed to let help on certain shows.

I watch him talk to his bandmates, utterly clueless about what he’s saying because it’s in Swedish. The way his mouth moves isn’t all that fascinating, but it’s the confidence of his posture. It’s the glint of happiness in his eyes.

Physically speaking, he’s a normal-looking dude. Shorter brown hair, brown eyes, and a stocky build. He might be a good cuddler. Maybe he’s the kind of person you talk to, open up ‘n shit.

There’s absolutely no good reason that I’m analyzing him so hard. I’m simply jealous, and that’s all there is to it. I never used to be until Eli. My first boyfriend, Luke, was a massive flirt in high school. In ways, he reminded me of Jorge, but…you know…gay. I can’t say I was ever in love with Luke, but I liked him a great deal. All that messy shit you go through as a teenager, I went through with him. It didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would when I found out he was cheating on me. I chalked it up to him wanting someone more chatty.

That’s fine.

But with Eli? I discovered the meaning of jealousy with a severity I’m sure is certifiable. And him being a pornstar did not make it any easier. For a while, I stewed in silence. Every time I saw a new video with a new collaborator, I went and got tested instead of telling Eli that it bothered me. Whenever he wanted to try something new, I never said that I didn’t want him to record it with someone else.

It was…toxic.

I kept all those horrible feelings inside until, one day, I fucking lost it.

I think Helios still has PTSD from that night. He hates yelling.

To my surprise, though, Eli didn’t get angry with my outburst. Instead, he fucked me until I wasn’t angry anymore. Then, he’d peppered me with sweet, gentle kisses and said he’d do solo stuff from that point forward. I fell harder after that night. And my jealousy got worse, too.

I knew people got off watching him. I knew he liked the attention and the money that came from their many perverted orgasms. I mean, fuck, I was one of them until we met. But again, I kept my mouth shut.

So, yeah, I’m very jealous of Leon fucking Persson.

He sees me glaring at him and offers a friendly smile. Before everything went down a year ago, no one knew Eli was dating me besides my family and band. There is no way in hell that Leon doesn’t know about us now. What happened even hit mainstream media, which usually wouldn’t give a flying fuck about two gay guys getting in some shit. So why is Leon smiling? Why is he walking over—

Oh, God, he’s coming.

“Fuuuck,” Kelly says beside me, grabbing my shoulder in support before dashing inside the bus.

Jorge sees this and throws his arm around me. “I got you,” he whispers.

“Hello,” Leon chirps. His accent isn’t as thick as I expected. “You’re Phoenix, right?”

I nod once.

“I was watching the set, and you guys killed it.” Alright, I guess his smile is nice. Straight teeth.

“Thanks,” I say softly, trying to mask my feelings.

Jorge feels me tense and pipes up fast. “It was a dope start to the tour. Everyone put in their all and it shows. The TikToks are already popping up. Andre looks like he’s about to shit in one of them.”

The pair of them laugh at Jorge’s bluntness.

We’ve never met Headhunter before. Dark Wing, the headliner band, organized the tour. We know the members of Dark Wing pretty well. I had high hopes of smooth sailing this tour. Chatting when it was needed of me and being my usual antisocial self the rest of the time. It seems like Leon wants to bond because he starts asking me about my kit.

“---that snare. The sound was so crisp.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s simple to get it to do that.” And so, I explain how I tighten the cymbal and hit it while playing. He nods, listening eagerly, but then suddenly stops and pulls out his phone.

I see it the moment his demeanor shifts. He gulps audibly, a blush creeping up his face. Motherfucker. Without a shadow of a doubt, I know he’s either reading a filthy text from Eli or looking at an obscene picture of Eli. He enjoys doing both when he wants you desperate and needy.

“Well,” Leon croaks. “I better get going. It was so good to meet you.”

“You too, bro,” Jorge says with a bit of bite to his voice.

“Yeah. You too,” I murmur and turn towards the bus before anyone can see the disfiguring of my features.

I ignore Devon, Michael, Kelly, and our driver, Terry. Making a beeline to my bunk, I throw myself in it and shut the curtain. It’s the equivalent of a coffin, which is fitting because I need to be confined so I can die in peace. Laying flat on my back with my hands folded over my stomach, I take a deep breath and hold it. It hurts more than it should.

We've been over for a year. To the fucking day.

Not only have I not attempted to contact Eli because as devastated as I am inside, I won't chase after someone. He also made it clear that his disappearance and temporary deactivation of his social media accounts meant he didn't want to be contacted. I might be strange, quiet, and closed off, but I'm not that guy. Not the “pick me” type. Maybe if I were, he'd give me another chance. But do I even want that? I don't know Eli like I thought. He hid so much from me that the person I fell in love with doesn't exist. At least, that's what I tell myself.

I loved what he presented.

I loved fucking him and watching him breathe.

I loved how he moved through the world like nothing could hurt him, his ever-present broodiness, how short he is, how he would dominate me, and how he'd just know things that I never talked about. But there's a darkness to him I didn't know how to love. Most of the time, I didn't want to because I knew what that would mean for us, and it scared me.

All his scars. The endless ladder of proof his life wasn't always good. He'd sometimes vanish for days and then come back hungrier than ever. And then there was always that gut feeling inside me that knew he did drugs. My brother, Oliver, still struggles with the stuff, and Eli would lie to my face. Tears prick the corners of my eyes as my breaths grow shallower, more unsteady. I really thought I could fix him. We'd somehow overcome all his issues, and it'd be forever.

I told him that night that I wanted forever. Obviously, he didn't.

“You okay, man?” Jorge asks softly. He's standing outside my shallow bunk, waiting for permission to pull the little curtain back.

“No,” I croak because I can’t lie to him right now.

“Let me in.”

Absently tugging the curtain open a few inches, I don’t bother looking at him. In silence, Jorge opens it fully and shoves at my side. I wiggle over as far as I can so he can slide into my bunk with me. As soon as we’re mildly comfortable, he flips onto his side. “What hurts?”

The top bunk rests only a handful of inches above my face. I swallow hard, wetting my lips. “Everything. I miss him.”

My best friend cuddles me. I lean my head against his, letting the comfort soothe me like a warm blanket. “I feel that way sometimes about Riley. Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t try harder, ya know? She seemed almost half-assed in the breakup. It was like she was giving me an option to argue it. But I didn’t. I let her go.”

I close my eyes, remembering his ex-girlfriend, who was probably the only person he ever loved romantically. “Why did you?”

He sucks in a rough breath, threading our hands together. “Because I know it wouldn’t work. She wanted kids ‘n all that. She wanted that family man. There was a disconnect. Sometimes, love isn’t enough.”

I flip on my side so we are nose to nose. “Shouldn’t it be?”

“It should,” he breathes. “But that’s not life. Only certain people can overlook everything else.”

Squeezing his hand, I let a tear slip free. “I wish I could. I wish I could be in that group because a big part of me still screams that it might’ve worked.”

“Would it, though?”

I meet Jorge’s big brown eyes and feel my guts twist. “Guess I’ll never know.”

“Come here.” I let him hold me because I really fucking need it. And Jorge is always down for platonic cuddles—as he says. “If I liked dick, I’d wife you up in a heartbeat, Bebe.”

A wet laugh escapes me. “You couldn’t handle dick.”

He scoffs, rubbing my upper back. “My ass is better than yours and would gobble dick.”

“That is true.” Jorge does have a great ass.

“It’ll get easier. I promise.”

I know it will. The question is: when?