3. Declan

THREE

DECLAN

"Hey, Dec. You're zoning out again."

The band, minus Lennon, is chilling at Lars's place—otherwise known as LA's unofficial stoner hub. Not that I partake. Never have. For the rest of them, it's a way to unwind. Me? I prefer keeping my head clear.

I shift in my seat, glancing out toward the city. From Lars's balcony, the sun glistens over the skyline, and in the distance, I can just make out the museum we visited the other day. The place where I met Savion. After dragging Lars away from Hank at the party, I went looking for him. But he'd disappeared, and we never got to finish our conversation.

"Declan!" Lars calls out, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Come on, man. Stop staring at the skyline like you've never seen it before."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." I push off the railing and make my way back to where the others are lounging poolside. It's the usual crowd—bandmates and hangers-on.

Crystelle, our manager, is standing there with her arms crossed, looking like she's ready to drop some kind of bomb on us.

"Alright," she starts, cutting straight to the point. "Hank's got an idea he wants us to consider."

"Hank always has ideas," our bassist Jasper mutters, rolling his eyes. "None of them good."

"Yeah, no surprise there," Lars adds with a grimace. "What does the jackass want this time?"

Crystelle sighs. "He wants to license our music for a beer commercial."

I immediately shake my head. "No."

"Yeah, I figured that'd be your reaction," Crystelle says, eyeing me. "But Hank's pushing it hard. Apparently, it's a huge payday, and he thinks it's worth considering."

"I don't care how much money it is," I say. "You know I don't do alcohol ads. It's non-negotiable."

Lars nods in agreement. "Not really our style anyway. And like I said, Hank's a jackass."

Silently, I second Lars's sentiment. After the way he acted at the party? Treating Savion like he didn't even exist. That was terrible. Plus why would we let him try to bully us into taking our music in a direction we don't want?

"I know Hank can be... abrasive," Crystelle concedes. "But he's a major investor, and he's just trying to keep the band in the black. This deal could do that."

"Nah. Some things aren't worth selling out for," I say firmly.

The blonde lounging on Jasper's lap raises an eyebrow. "Not even for a million bucks?"

"Not even for a billion," I retort. "No amount of money is worth selling your soul for."

"Well, I sold my soul to the devil a long time ago," Jasper says with a wicked grin before pulling the blonde in for a kiss. "But luckily he gave me a good price, so I don't need to do ads anymore."

Crystelle shakes her head. "Okay, okay. Message received. I'll let Hank know it's a no."

As the conversation continues, I find myself staring back out over the skyline toward the museum. I don't know why, but ever since I met Savion, I haven't been able to shake him from my thoughts. It's not like I'm attracted to the guy or anything, but there's something about him that pulls at me. Maybe it's how different he is from the people I usually meet. He's clearly passionate about what he does, and that kind of intelligence and enthusiasm is… refreshing. Not something I see often in our world. It's rare to find someone who can talk about more than just music, weed, or the next tour.

When Lars invited me to the museum event, I wasn't exactly jumping for joy. I'd been in my studio, failing fantastically—yet again—at getting anything down on canvas. Artist's block has been fucking me up for months. I figured getting out might help, so I went, but my expectations weren't high.

And then there was Savion. Not that I was looking for him, but he just… stood out. There was something striking about him, but it wasn't the typical things that catch someone's eye at a fundraiser. His shirt had this geometric print in a rich plum color—not my style, but it worked for him—and he had this quiet confidence as he stood there, totally absorbed by the massive dinosaur skeleton above him. I couldn't help but notice how focused he was.

Lars, being Lars, noticed me watching and gave me a nudge. "Guy looks like the type who could keep up with your brain after spending all day with us dumbasses," he teased, flashing me a grin.

I laughed it off, though he wasn't entirely wrong. Not that I'm saying any of the members of Orion Skye are dumb. Even though we all have our quirks, I can categorically say every member is as smart as they come. I've always gravitated towards intellectuals when I'm outside the band setting, not that I can't appreciate talking trash. But the mood that I've been in recently has caused me to yearn for a sabbatical from trivial stuff, even if it's for a short time.

"I'm not that bad, man," I'd said, still keeping my eyes on Savion. "Just… curious."

"Uh-huh. Curious," Lars had snickered, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward Savion. "Come on, ask him all your nerdy questions."

I let him drag me over, chuckling at the idea. Lars always plays the clown, but he gets it—sometimes, I just need a break from the usual.

As we got closer, the man's features came into sharper focus, and I couldn't help but think of my art. Among my supplies, I have a tube of coral pink paint. It's the exact color I'd use to describe his complexion—like the soft, golden glow of sand dunes in the fading light of a sunset.

Beautiful.

Holy shit. Where the hell did that come from? Not once in my forty-two years have I ever thought about a guy this way. Sure, I can admit when a man's good-looking, no problem. But beautiful? That's not something I usually notice—especially not like this.

"Hey, Dec!" Lars snaps his fingers in front of me, jolting me out of my thoughts and saving me from any more ruminations. "You're gone again. What's up with you today?"

"You remember Savion, who we met at the museum the other day?" I ask.

"The dinosaur guy? Yeah, I remember him. Why?"

"I think I'm going to go and see him." I eyeball Lars, hoping he won't think that what I just said sounds weird. After all, it sounds weird to me because it's like I'm announcing to Lars and to anyone else who heard me that I can't get Savion, a man , out of my head. I'm straight, so it would be normal for me to be thinking about a woman, but a guy? Uh-uh!

Crystelle gives me a suspicious look. "Dare I ask what a dinosaur guy is?"

Fuck.

"He's a paleontologist," I explain. "His name's Savion, and he's pretty cool."

Lars puts his arm around my shoulder. "Then go and see him, man. I don't think anyone would mind being disturbed at work by a bona fide rockstar."

I laugh. "That's the thing, though. I don't think he cares about or even knows who I am. He didn't even mention it once. Even the guy in the corner store by my house says something about the band every time I see him. But when I was with Savion, I forgot who I was… in a good way."

"Well, go and see him then," Lars urges. "We all know this is a bad time of year for you; maybe you need a little distraction."

My heart skips a beat. "Come again?"

Lars huffs out a breath. "I meant that you probably need to talk about dinosaurs and shit to get your mind off of things for a while." His eyes impale me on the spot. "What the hell did you think I meant?"

Slowly releasing the breath I didn't even know I was holding, I say, "Nothing," and playfully punch him on his shoulder.

Lars is right. I do need a distraction, although I can't help hoping that Savion will end up being more than that, a friend. I grab my jacket and head out to my car.

The museum is busy when I arrive, busier than I expected. As I approach the ticket desk, I wonder whether I should be disturbing Savion at work after all. But then I suppose the worst he can do is tell me to get lost if he's busy. I can handle that.

I think.

Nah. Savion is too polite to tell me to get lost, but it doesn't mean he wouldn't think it. At least I won't be able to read his thoughts since I don't know much about him—except for the fact that I like his vibe, and I'd like to get to know him better… if he'll let me.

When I ask for a ticket, the assistant behind the desk starts peering at me in an all-too-familiar way. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't think so." I force a smile.

"Yeah, I do… Hey." She swivels her chair to face a tall, lanky guy that's standing behind her. She points her thumb at me and addresses him as if I weren't even there. "Emmett, don't you recognize this guy?"

The man looks over at me with a bored expression on his face. "It's the rhythm guitarist from Orion Skye."

"Oh my God, you're right." She turns and faces me again. "Hey, can I get a selfie?"

"Dina!" Emmett hisses at her. "You're not supposed to ask people for selfies while you're at work." He looks at me apologetically. "Sorry, man. She's new to LA, and she's not used to it."

I smile. As old and jaded as I might be now, I can imagine how I'd have felt seeing some of my idols in the flesh when I was a teenager. Outside of performing on stage, I'm generally uncomfortable with being famous, but I do my best not to take it out on the fans.

"It's alright," I say, then lean in a little closer to Dina. I try to toss a genuine smile at the phone camera. When Dina's done, I ask her, "Do you know if Savion's around?"

"Savion?" the young woman says, sounding slightly confused. "I don't recognize the name…"

"He's backroom staff," Emmett tells her. "Savion Hayes. Look him up in the system."

Dina types on her desktop computer, and scans the results. "Savion, Savion… Let's see."

And then I see him. In a blue polo shirt, beige khakis, and a pair of comfortable-looking shoes, with thick-rimmed black glasses, Savion is walking with his head down toward the museum entrance.

"Never mind," I tell Dina. "That's him there. Thanks for your help."

I quickly cross the large hall to catch up with the object of my… heck, I don't even know at this point… who's walking like a man on a mission. "Hey, Savion!" I call out just before he reaches the doors. He turns around and looks at me with confusion written all over his face.

"Dec?" he says. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd come by and say hello. I tried to find you again at the party the other day but it was like you'd disappeared."

He grimaces and looks down at the ground. "Yeah, I… I had to take a call."

I'm pretty certain he's not telling the truth, but I'm also certain he doesn't want me to pry any further, so I quickly change the subject. "Anyway, I enjoyed talking to you at the party, so I wondered whether…" I'm fucking up here. I need to pull it together. Calm. The. Fuck. Down. "Are you headed out for lunch?"

"Yeah, I get forty-five minutes and the line for my favorite sandwich place is usually a half-hour long, so…"

"Mind if I come with you? You're more than welcome to tell me to fuck off if you want." Yet, I'm internally crossing my fingers and hoping he'll not refuse my request, denying me the pleasure of his company.

Savion smiles, a radiant smile that makes me feel things, things I'm not sure how to articulate. "I won't tell you to fuck off. Of course you can join me."

The sandwich place is just a few doors up, and just as Savion said, the line is out the door. Now, I know that Jasper would tell me to impress Savion by using my name to jump the line, but something tells me that sort of behavior would be a turn-off for this kind of man. Instead, I keep my sunglasses on and tug my cap lower down my head, so there's no danger of getting any unwanted attention. We join the back of the line, and we wait.

"So, how did the fundraiser go? Did you make enough money to go to South Africa?"

"You remembered that?" I hear the catch in his breath as we move up the line.

"It's not often I meet someone who's saving to dig up fossils on another continent," I say with a smile. "Normally it's a designer bag or a fancy car."

Savion laughs; the sound is a sweet melody in my ear. "I'll keep riding on trains for the rest of my life if it means I can go on digs. Yeah, the fundraiser went well. We're having an auction soon, which should bring us up to our target. It's one of those celebrity memorabilia auctions. We'll probably be selling Brad Pitt's hairbrush, Bono's sunglasses… that kind of thing." He clamps his lips together, but then a snort bursts through them.

"Those are some real up-to-date references." I give him a wide-eyed look, which causes him to dissolve into laughter. I'm glad he took my comment in the spirit in which it was given.

I definitely get the impression this man doesn't care who Tom Holland or Billie Eilish are, and I'm becoming increasingly convinced he doesn't have a clue who I am… and that suits me fine. "Anyway, what do you recommend from this place?"

We're getting closer to the front of the line now. Savion's voice picks up a little as he describes the menu. "Everything they do is great, but the brisket is just the best thing on Earth. They pile it so high, you can barely fit it into your mouth, and they use this super-hot mustard." He closes his eyes and whispers on an exhale, "Heaven."

Watching him, the way his face lights up for something as simple as a sandwich, makes me smile. But I'm also hyper-aware of how easy it is to enjoy this moment, maybe a little too much.

He opens his eyes and chuckles, oblivious to my thoughts. "And I don't care if it's the messiest thing to eat."

"I don't care about that either." Without thinking it through, I step up to the counter. "Hey, can I get two brisket sandwiches, please?"

Savion glances at me, his smile faltering for just a second. I feel the shift, and a flicker of doubt worms its way in. Maybe I should've asked if we were splitting the check. Is it weird that I just ordered for him? It's only a sandwich, I tell myself, but then again, why does it suddenly feel like more?

The sandwiches are prepared quickly, and I take out my wallet, paying before he can even question it.

I turn to Savion, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. "If you've got time, do you want to eat these together somewhere?"

He hesitates, the warmth from earlier slipping just a little. "Sure," he replies, but I catch the uncertainty in his voice.

"If you don't want to, that's fine, you know. I can take a hint." I hand him the wrapped sandwich, and there's a brief, fleeting moment where our fingers brush.

Fuck, why is this so awkward?

Savion clears his throat, glancing down at the sandwich in his hands. "No, it's not that. It's just... I really need to get back to work. I've got to give some school kids a tour this afternoon, and I always get nervous, so I need to prepare."

"Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense." I try to laugh it off, but something about the moment feels unfinished, like there's more hanging in the air between us. Or maybe that's just me.

We walk back toward the museum in silence, and I feel like I might've misread something. He's polite and friendly, but maybe that's all it is. Maybe I'm just being weird.

As we reach the entrance, I try one last time. "Hey, how about we swap numbers? Maybe we can grab lunch another day, when you're not so busy."

There's a pause. Savion tilts his head, as if he's weighing the idea, and for a second, I think he's going to say no. Why wouldn't he? We barely know each other.

Then, he nods slowly. "Sure, that'd be nice."

We exchange numbers, but as he disappears into the museum, I can't shake the feeling that something's off. Maybe I'm imagining it, or maybe there's more to Savion than I realized. Either way, I've got a hell of a lot to think about.