Chapter 5

Chayce peered at his phone.

Fifty-four calls from Chris.

Sixteen from Mom.

Seven from his band manager.

Man, this sucked.

He started with Falin. "Yo, what's up?"

"Chris is having a stroke. I've blocked him. He's a shithead." Oh, Falin was pissed, and that woman could be snake-mean when she had to be.

"You had to block him? What the hell, lady? I mean, he's left me dozens of messages, but I was busy." Very busy. The only reason he wasn't still in bed with a very warm and happy Waylon was because he needed to work out. Twice a day, every day.

"You left with the bodyguard instead of going to the bar with him. He's like, ranting, man. Like, telling everyone he's gonna take that guy's head off, and that you're his Chayce. It's nuts. I mean, I knew he was a loony tune, but do you think he's been shooting at you?"

"No. Why would he do that? That doesn't make any sense." If they were right, he wanted Chayce, didn't want Chayce dead. "He's family, lady, not a?—"

Whatever.

"I know. It's just, he's unhinged." Falin wasn't fazed by much, and if she thought Chris was that bad, he needed to tell Waylon. He guessed he'd call Momma first, then listen to a few of Chris's messages for the whole picture.

"Just avoid him. I'll deal with things. You just stay safe, and I'll get the executives to deal with it."

"Are you sure, man?"

"Yeah, he's still family." He shuddered, because didn't that make it worse. "But yeah, I don't need him in the way, causing troubles."

"You got it, man." She was a stud. She would handle it, and if she couldn't, the tour manager Vicki would. Vick was a vicious harpy. A wonderful one.

"I'll talk to you in a few, lady. Take care."

"You too, babe." She hung up, and he shook his head. He might ignore Chris, but he really ought to call his momma.

"Hey, Momma. I'm fine."

"Uh-huh. You turned your phone off."

"Yes, ma'am." He wasn't going to lie.

"I was worried!" Her voice rose, and he heard her take a deep breath. She hated shouting in any situation. "Chris has been making an ass of himself."

"So I hear. What's up? Is he drunk?"

"I don't know. I think he might be on drugs, honey. He's so erratic. Should I have him taken to rehab?"

"I'll talk to him and figure it out. Later." Not today.

"Okay. Well, if he gets worse, I'll be forced to deal with it."

"Mom. I have this. Don't worry." It was his career. His family. His problem.

"Okay, love. How's the bodyguard?"

Hot as hell and imminently fuckable, thanks. "He's good at what he does."

"I was told he's one of the best. I'm glad." She sighed softly, and Chayce could see her smile in his head.

"Yeah, me too. Thanks, Mom. You did good."

"Wow." She laughed out loud. "Listen to you. Be careful, son."

"Always. I'll talk at you later. Love you."

"Love you, son."

He hung up, proud that they hadn't fussed. They progressed.

He turned the speaker on and then listened to Chris's voice mails while he went back to working out.

Jesus. They started out with, "Hey, man, that sucked about the club. What's with the new asshole?" Then they progressed to, "Why are you ignoring me, Chayce? We're better than that. Come on." Which led to shouting, "Don't you ignore me, you fucker! I'm not just some roadie or fan! You'd be jack shit without me!"

Creepy fucker. What the hell? What was Chris thinking? They had been tight once upon a time, sure, but he literally paid Chris to do not much and they had a beer, like, once a month.

Waylon poked his head around the door, checking in on him, then disappeared again.

"Hey, you—" Weirded out. "—okay?"

"Yep. Just making sure I knew where you were." Waylon hummed, and he could hear the guy moving around. The song was… King George? Yeah. George Strait, for sure.

"I'm getting emotionally assfucked while doing crunches," he muttered, knowing that Waylon couldn't hear him.

Honestly, what the hell was going on? One day, he'd just been singing his songs and touring with his band and now his assistant was losing his shit, people were shooting at him, and he was sleeping with his bodyguard.

It was like he'd slipped into an alternate dimension, topsy-turvy land. Some of it was good; some of it sucked.

All of it was weird as hell.

Waylon came wandering back in carrying a cup of McDonald's coffee and a bag that smelled like sin. "Kenny brought breakfast, then went back to the hotel. How many more crunches you reckon you have to do before you get to have some?" He waved the bag in the air.

"Stress burns a ton of calories. Gimme." He rolled up, wiping off his chest.

"Mmm. Come get it."

He grinned, liking a man who could play. He stalked over to sit on Waylon's lap, taking the coffee to set it aside. "Is it still romantic to feed each other if it's a sausage biscuit?"

"It is if you're from where we are."

"True that." He popped a bite of biscuity goodness into Waylon's mouth.

"Mmmm." Waylon chewed, then returned the favor, and oh, that awful American cheese was so good. Just the kind of comfort food the doctor ordered. "So what's on the agenda today?"

"I'm avoiding the phone again. We're resting. Possibly fucking."

"So it's a day off altogether?"

"Yep. Tomorrow, I need to rehearse, but today is all ours."

"Damn." Waylon's grin stretched wide. "No treadmill for me today. Just you."

"Perfect. I'm all over the whole just-me thing." And he wanted to distract himself from Chris.

"Good." Waylon tilted his head before feeding him another bite. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?" He tried for innocent, chewing slowly.

"You look pissed, and I know it can't be me. So what's up? Is it that Chris guy?"

"Maybe." He swallowed. "Definitely."

"Damn."

"And I've had to talk to my mom already."

"Which means I'll get a call from her too."

"And my band leader blocked him. It got ugly, you know? Some serious shit."

"Shit, man." Waylon looked right into his eyes. "I've got your back, okay?" He stroked Chayce's cheeks, leaving a few crumbs. "I promise."

"I know. It's your job."

"It's a sight more than that now, but I'll give you that one for free."

His heart thudded a little, even if he knew it was ridiculous. This was emergency-situation adrenaline sex. That was all. But it sure felt good. So he wasn't going to kill the mood by saying that.

"Well, I appreciate it. And breakfast." He stole the last bite.

"Hey!" Waylon's warm chuckle made him grin. "Good thing there's another bag."

"Mmhmm…" He swooped for it, laughing as it almost went crashing to the ground.

They did end up on the floor, sharing more food, hash browns and biscuits and laughing. And they didn't spill the damn coffee, which was a crime against nature.

"How do you drink this shit?"

"Do I have a choice?"

His eyes went wide and he grabbed his phone. "Dude. Starbucks. Someone will deliver us lattes."

"Oh. Now that I can get behind." Waylon reached up to pinch his nipple, returning the favor from last night.

He flexed for his lover. "Sex-ay."

"So it doesn't do it for you?"

"Not like playing with yours does." He had to admit, he loved how that simple touch excited Waylon. "Now, touch my cock where you did last night, and I'm zooming."

"I will do that anytime you want. But not on the floor. It's too damn hard."

Chayce felt those words, in the best of all possible ways. "True that. We need to explore my bed again."

"We really do. While we wait for Starbucks or after?"

"After. Let's shower while we wait."

Waylon nodded easily. "I do like the way you think, honey."

"I'm a brilliant bastard. Just ask me, I'll tell you." He stood and held one hand out.

Waylon took it, following him back to the bedroom, getting handsy with his clothes once they got there. Good thing he didn't have very many…

That made things way easier.

And God knew he could use some easy today.