Beyond The Stix

Hoots and whistles sound off from my friends. Last year’s Rocktoberfest went off with a bang. Literally.

Raven—Danny to us, Warrior Black’s lead singer, had a stalker, and Ron had arranged bodyguards for all of us. When Danny’s stalker abducted him the day before the concert, she was shot by Tobias, Danny’s bodyguard. Add to that the involvement of our previous manager, Siles Barrett, who was also Danny’s ex.

I wasn’t sure if we’d make it on stage, but we did, and that awesome experience shot Warrior Black up to another stratosphere in the rock’n’ roll industry. I guess what they say about social media is true—it doesn’t matter what kind of news is out there, we’re fully exposed to the fans.

As we make our way to the dressing room, where we can clean up and change, my phone vibrates. “Be right back. It’s my dad,” I tell the guys and step away toward an alcove down the hall.

Ron and the higher-ups had decided that bodyguards were a good idea since our fame had increased since last year’s Rocktoberfest. Despite the chaos surrounding the abduction, Ron requested the same team to guard us. Tobias—Danny’s boyfriend, had split from Harper Security, along with John…

John—the bane of my existence and the one assigned to protect me—peels away from the wall and follows. I glare at him to step back. “Hey, Dad.”

John gets the hint and leaves me to my privacy.

“Son. You got a minute?”

“Yeah. We just finished playing—”

“Oh, sorry,” he stammers out. “Call me when—”

“No, we’re done. What’s up?”

“You know those tickets you offered your mom and me, for the Denver concert?”

Disappointment ekes out from his question. I’d had a feeling they were going to cancel on that trip. “Yeah?” I say in turn.

“That’s Aunt Donna’s wedding weekend, and your mother doesn’t want to miss it.”

“Jesus, Dad. That’s her fourth marriage,” I retort, chuckling. My mother’s sister can’t keep a husband to save her life. The wedding bliss of her last marriage had worn off quickly, and Aunt Donna had gotten an annulment within three months.

“I know. But you know your aunt,” he says with slight annoyance. “Anyway, about those tickets.”

“If you can’t come—”

“Your mother’s going solo to the wedding, but I would like to…”

“What are you trying to say, Dad?” Why do I have a feeling in my gut that I’m not going to like what he’s going to say next? Probably because I’ve never heard my father be so hesitant about anything.

“I don’t want to lie to you, son, but I would like those tickets for me and your Uncle Jessup. He would love to see—”

“No,” I say flat out. No hesitation. And a little too loudly, I suspect, since the people around me are looking at me strangely.

“Son.”

“No, Dad. Those tickets are for you and Mom, only. The last person I want to see in a crowd is that asshole.” It has been almost twenty years since I last saw my uncle. After that incident when I was ten years old, not once did he show up for any activities I had. My baseball games when I was in middle school, or any gigs with my band during high school. So why now? Why, after all this time, does my father want him back in our lives—my life?

“Connor.” The force of my name out of my father’s mouth has me snapping my spine straight. “I know he hurt you, but he apologized for slapping you across the face. I don’t understand why are you still holding a grudge against him after all this time. I forgave him. You should too. Besides, he’s my only brother, and it is my wish for him to see you in concert at least once. Your mother and I are so proud of what you have accomplished that we want to share the joy.”

The truth about what really happened between my uncle and me, when I was a kid, teeters on the edge of my lips, and my throat is tight with the strain in from holding back. I never told my folks the truth and I don’t plan to. It would hurt them as much as it’s hurting me now to keep this secret.

I swallow down my prickly pride and say, “If you want to use those tickets and go with him, then so be it. I can’t stop you. But if you want to keep that man in your life, then I won’t be.” I tap to end the call, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. My head begins to ache, and I rub at my temples as I stride toward the room where my friends are.

I gave my father an ultimatum, which I have never done before. But he never put me in a position where I needed to. As much as it hurts me that my dad asked about sharing those tickets, giving my father the ultimatum is so much worse.

I look around and find John absent. Good. I don’t need his shit tonight either.

The second I walk inside the dressing room, Danny opens his mouth to say something, but I glare at him. He clamps his lips shut, and without a word, I grab my shit and head out to the bus that’s been waiting for us behind the building. The band follows behind me with quiet murmurs, but I ignore them.

After dropping my duffle on the sofa, I grab my Dopp kit and rush into the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower,” I shout over my shoulder. No one stops me, or asks why I’m in such a pissy-ass mood. My friends know not to approach—especially when I’m acting like a dick.

Needing the space from Danny and the guys, and the security team, I close the door, but wait to start the shower. With the rumble of the engine and then the gentle jostling, I realize the bus is moving.

As much as I want to partake in the celebration of another successful concert on our tour, I can’t clear my head of the phone call I had with my dad.

I sit in the bathroom for a good long while. When the bus stops moving, Danny knocks on the bathroom door. “We’re heading out to get something to eat. Want to join us, Con?”

I get up and turn on the shower, not bothering to answer my friend. I’m in too much of a bad mood to be good company.

“Okay. But if you change your mind, we’ll be at Stewie’s.”

I lean my forehead against the door and bite my lip to keep from answering. Footsteps echo back to me, and moments later, I know I’m alone on the bus. I open the bathroom door all the way, and sneak a peek out. Sure enough, it seems everyone is gone.

I’m able to breathe a little easier. However, the aggression I feel toward Jessup is like an internal abscess that’s about to burst. Maybe if I call Dad back and apologize, this nasty mood will go away. But I drop that thought. I’m not the one that drew the line between us.

I get into the shower, grab the bodywash, and slather it all over my body.

Each stroke over my sudsy skin gets increasingly firmer and faster as my irritation rises higher to the point I’m about to blow. There’s only one way to defuse this frenzy.

I rinse off, then pour more of my body wash into my hand and rub it all over my dick. My mind pivots to the only person that can get my dick hard as granite. John.

His aloof but oddly magnetic personality has drawn me in from the moment I saw the bodyguard over a year ago. I know for damn sure we are attracted to each other. But the tug of war between our personalities means we are going nowhere. He won’t relent—even after several of my attempts. It’s not like I’m asking for a commitment of marriage.

However, I’ve decided I’m too damn horny to wait for him to make up his mind.