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28. Tate

CHAPTER 28

TATE

After the drunken nightmare that was Sunday night at Tryst, and the love confessions the night after, Brooks and I were pretty much inseparable. I kept waiting for the newness of him to wear off, but every time he smiled at me, it was a breath of fresh air. By the time Thursday rolled around, I was ready for the weekend and also ready for a change of clothes. Brooks had been diligent about ensuring the few items I had at his place were always clean and available for me, but I’d been wearing the same clothes for four days and I needed something new.

Much to his disappointment, I made the decision to stay at my own apartment on Thursday night. The intent was twofold because I also wanted to check in on Dylan. I believed Brooks when he said his friend Alex had been checking on him, but Dylan was my best friend and I needed him to know that even though I had a boyfriend, I was still his best friend and I was still available for him. The only reason I’d been comfortable staying at Brooks’ for the week was because Dylan had kept in touch, responding to my text messages, if not my calls.

When I got home from work on Thursday night, Dylan had his guitar case open on the couch. He was dressed in all black, and the bruising around his neck had turned a barely noticeable shade of yellow. I only saw it because I was looking for it. Most people would have probably thought it wasn’t anything more than a shadow. He looked up and caught me starting, and I rubbed the back of my neck, averting my gaze.

“Hey,” he said, snapping the case closed.

“Are you leaving?” I asked, realizing he had on shoes, that his messenger bag was slung over his shoulder.

“I got a last-minute gig.” His cheeks burned and he lifted his guitar from the couch. “I know I haven’t seen you in a few days, but I need the money.”

“Right.” I held up my hands, like I needed to apologize for my presence. “That’s fine. Of course.”

“Did you want to come?”

I’d spent the whole day looking forward to crashing on the couch with Dylan and sharing a couple of beers like old times, but in light of the weekend revelations, I wasn’t going to say no to something that would make him money and help him out.

“Of course.” I tugged the tails of my shirt loose from my slacks. “Just let me change and we can head out.”

I changed into jeans and a t-shirt and brushed the product out of my hair so I didn’t look so uptight. Dylan was halfway out the door when I got my sneakers on, and I jogged after him down the stairs, texting Brooks to let him know where I was going. It wasn’t like I needed to account for my whereabouts, but it felt like the right thing to do .

Me : Going to a gig w Dylan tonight. I’ll text you later.

Brooks : I’m with Alex.

The message didn’t make sense, but when Dylan and I reached the venue, the meaning clicked into place.

The spot wasn’t much larger than a coffee shop, with a small black stage tucked into the far corner with fairy lights strung from the ceiling and hanging down the back wall. There was a worn-down Persian patterned rug on the stage, a short black stool, and a singular microphone in the center. The place was decently busy, most of the attendees looking like some sort of copy of Dylan or myself, which was why Brooks and Alex stood out like two sore thumbs.

Even dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, Brooks looked like if you cut him open, money would pour out of him. There was something about the way he carried and presented himself that made his class and status indisputable. The two men leaned against the side wall, drinks in hand, heads angled together while they whispered back and forth, completely unaware of our arrival.

“I want you to tell me about Alex,” I said to Dylan, following him into the very small backstage area that was more like a closet than a dressing room. It wasn’t like he had any prep to do, but I appreciated the private space.

“What about him?” Dylan pulled his guitar from the case and leaned against the wall, giving one last run through some chords to check that it was tuned properly.

“Brooks said Alex had called you. That he was…” I trailed off because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what Brooks had meant with any of the things he’d told me about his friend, just that it meant Dylan was in good hands and I di dn’t have to worry about him the times that we weren’t together.

“I don’t want to talk about Alex with you,” Dylan said, looking up at me with tired eyes and half of a frown. “But I promise I’m fine. We can talk about the rest of it if you want to after the gig.”

“We don’t have to,” I said. “I don’t want to press.”

Dylan squared his shoulders. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

“I know.” I closed the snaps on his guitar case and propped it up in the corner against a dirty mirror. “I don’t want you to be defensive with me. You’re my friend and I love you. That’s all.”

Some of the fight went out of him, the frown lines around his mouth softening until he was less than a second away from a very small smile.

“I made some bad decisions, but I’m not going to do that anymore.” Dylan angled his head toward the door. “We have time for a drink before I have to play.”

My stomach flipped at the mere idea of drinking liquor, and I made a show of clutching my gut like I was going to be sick at the thought alone. That earned me a smile and a laugh, and Dylan let me wrap my arms around him in a quick hug.

“I’ll get water,” I told him, opening the door. “Did you know Alex was going to be here tonight?”

As soon as we were out of the dressing room, the noise grew exponentially louder. Dylan set his guitar down on the stage and then linked his arm through mine, weaving through the quickly growing crowd to get to the bar. Brooks and Alex were still in the same spot as when we’d walked in, but Brooks had looked up to scan the crowd, mouth pulling into an honest and pleased smile when he saw me .

“Alex got me the gig,” Dylan said before leaning over the bar and shouting an order to the woman on the other side. She gave him a thumbs up, and he dropped back down onto the ground.

“Oh?”

I realized there was already far more to their relationship than I had suspected, but with Brooks and Alex both on their way toward the bar, it wasn’t the time to ask. Besides, Dylan had already made it very clear he didn’t want to talk about his association with Alex, and I wasn’t going to push him.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said to Brooks, stepping into his embrace when they reached us. He wrapped his arms around me and dropped a quick kiss against the side of my head, then loosened his hold enough for me to turn back toward Dylan.

“I told you I was with Alex.”

“You did,” I agreed.

Alex maneuvered himself halfway behind Dylan, leaning down and whispering something into his ear when the bartender returned with my bottle of water and his whiskey sour. Dylan clenched his jaw and turned his attention toward his feet, nodding with a quick jerk of his head. I grabbed the water off the bar and twisted off the top, taking a long and cold swallow.

“No drink tonight?” Brooks teased.

“I never want to drink again.”

Alex reached around Dylan, took the tumbler and drank it in one gulp. The tips of Dylan’s ears were red as a cherry, and Alex set the empty glass back down onto the bar and ordered a second bottle of water. The bartender was quick to leave it, and Dylan snatched it with a scowl before storming off. Alex watched him go, and I took a step to follow after him, but Brooks hooked his thumb through one of my belt loops and dragged me to a stop.

“He’s fine,” Brooks said.

“He’s not.” I narrowed my eyes at Alex, who definitely looked like he didn’t care about me or my opinions.

“He’s not supposed to be drinking tonight,” Alex said simply.

I scoffed, letting my attention drift from Dylan’s quickly shrinking back to Alex’s arrogant face. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him, but it was the first time I had enough concern to actually look at him. He was taller than me, close to six feet if not over, with tanned skin and hair as dark as the frames on his glasses. He looked younger than Brooks, and I wouldn’t have put him past thirty.

“Do you trust me?” Brooks whispered in my ear, sliding his arm around my waist and hauling me against his side.

“Of course.”

“And you trusted me with Dylan on Sunday?”

“Obviously.”

“Then trust him.” Brooks jerked his chin toward Alex, who was ordering another bottle of water from the bar.

The lights over the crowd dimmed and the stage spotlight flashed to life, highlighting my best friend sitting on that black stool, guitar in hand. The three of us tried to get closer to the stage, but Alex came to a stop a few people back. We had a clear line of sight to Dylan, but he probably would have had to scan the crowd a few times to find us. He gave a test strum of his guitar, and I rested my head against Brooks, trying to decide if Alex was deserving of the same trust I so freely gave to Brooks .

There weren’t a lot of facts to be seen, except that Alex had sexual tastes as curious as Brooks because their entire friend group had memberships to The Black Door. I didn’t know if they liked the same things, but whatever it was, it wasn’t vanilla. I also knew that, for whatever reason, Alex was the one who’d gotten Dylan this set, and that was a decent thing. Right? I didn’t know what his intentions were…didn’t understand what he was getting out of the relationship with Dylan. It was hard to not worry about Dylan being taken advantage of, considering the state of things up until four days ago. Who was to say that Alex wasn’t also taking advantage of Dylan, just in a different way.

“You’re thinking so loud they’re going to have to pay you instead of Dylan,” Brooks said into my ear, smiling. “I trust Alex with my life, and I would trust him with yours.”

That sort of blind faith wasn’t given freely, and I tried to relax, knowing that just because I didn’t understand what was happening, didn’t mean it was wrong. There had to be plenty of people who would question the things Brooks and I did together, but it made sense for us. I didn’t want to turn around and be one of those people to Alex…or to Dylan.

“He’s safe?”

“They both are.” Brooks pulled me in front of him, lifting onto his toes so he could rest his chin against my shoulder. “Now be quiet. I’m trying to watch the show.”

I huffed, feigning offense, but it was impossible to not listen and watch when Dylan was on the stage. He was one of the most musically talented people I’d ever met, and I couldn’t imagine how hard it had been for him after his parents cut him off. He’d explained why he hadn’t told me about it, but I hated it just the same. Dylan always put his heart and soul into his music. I remembered the night he wrote the song he was currently singing. He’d scratched out some lyrics on the back of a takeout bag while I’d laid on the couch beside him tapping my fingers against the edge of our coffee table to give him a beat.

The song ended and before anyone could offer him applause, Dylan launched into another one. With my best friend doing what he loved the most, I relaxed into the solid press of Brooks’ body against mine and tried to enjoy the show. In the middle of the third song, I let my stare wander to Alex, and I watched him sing along under his breath and wondered how he already knew the words.

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