Ruin Porn (24 page)

“Are… are you…?”

Evin looked up from his magazine.

“Oh. My. God. It
is
you. I’d know those dreamy hazel eyes anywhere.” A young girl dressed in sweats and sporting a dark messy bun piled high on her head held her phone up, obviously snapping pictures.

He tried to smile but was sure it came across as a wince. “Umm, yeah, thanks,” he replied. Dammit, where was Miah when he needed him.

“Can I get a picture with you? The girls at school are totally going to flip,” she begged.

His clothes were almost dry. He had just enough time to take the selfie, grab his clothes, and get the hell out of there before the picture was plastered all over social media. No fucking way did he want a repeat performance of Berlin. Without the other guys and no security, this could go from bad to fucked real quick.

“Sure,” he finally agreed.

He leaned down enough for the fan to press her lips against his cheek while she took the picture and then let out an
oomph
when she wrapped him in a bear hug. “Thank you so much. You’ve made my day.”

Just like with the fan in Amsterdam, Evin’s nerves lessened when he realized that all this fan wanted was to be acknowledged. He had to become better at this. Giving up a few minutes of his time for Rezors was the least he could do for the amount of support they gave the band. He smiled, this time genuinely.

“You’re welcome.”

He’d expected her to ask for an autograph, linger, but she did neither. Instead she rushed out of the Laundromat as she looked down at her phone, no doubt already uploading the pic before she even hit the sidewalk.

Evin shook his head. Fucking technology. He gathered up his clothes, pulled his beanie down farther on his head, and got the hell out of there.

Walking down the street with a basket full of damp clothes, Evin ran his hand through his beard as he chuckled. So much for staying incognito.

He got a
can’t wait to see you, kid
text from Ritchie that made him smile, but he didn’t hear from Finn. He barely slept that night, and there was no text from Finn by the morning. Other than the flight info from Sid, his e-mail inbox contained only spam, and his text threads with Finn were quiet. He briefly thought about reaching out to Finn to wish him a safe trip, but unlike him, all of the Detroit 3 would be busy saying good-bye to family and friends. When he checked his cell phone for the hundredth time that morning and found no notifications besides the usual Twitter mentions, he shut the damn thing off.

Fuck that. That Finn had a life and he didn’t, wasn’t his fault. It was stupid to be pissed at him for not contacting him. With a huff he turned the phone back on and set it on the counter.

Seven hours before he had to head to LAX, his bags were packed and his town car was scheduled. Evin tried to get a little shut-eye, but no matter how hard he tried to silence his brain it refused to cooperate. Strange, even after leaving his parents’ home, days, weeks spent without talking to another person other than in passing at the quick mart, he’d never felt as alone as he did then. What Miah, Ritchie, and Finn offered him was normalcy in the midst of chaos. And if that wasn’t crazy enough, they were people who, for the first time in his life, gave a fuck about him. After another hour of staring at the cracked and peeling paint on his ceiling, he did the only thing he hadn’t done since coming home. He cleaned.

Three hours later, his fingers stinking of bleach, he wiped the back of his forearm over his forehead, wiping away the sweat before it ran in his eyes. His apartment hadn’t been this clean since he’d first moved in. It still looked like shit with its dingy paint, scarred walls, and the cracked and peeling linoleum, but it smelled way fucking better than it had in months. He could see the floor for once, the bed was made up with clean sheets, and there weren’t any dishes in the sink. Hell, there wasn’t a single CD or book on the newly swept floor. It looked pretty damn good, and it had damn sure never been this clean. Momma Ritchie would be proud.

Evin had never been what one would call the cleanest guy. The day he’d signed the lease for this hole-in-the-wall, he’d taken the few things he’d brought with him and dumped them from his bag and let them lie where they fell. His personal hygiene was impeccable, but growing up with housekeepers and nannies, he’d always had someone else cleaning up after him. In his household, to the outside world his home was perfect, nothing out of place, he was the perfect son, not a hair out of place. Maybe that was why he’d been so attracted to the seedier side of LA. It was dirty, rough, lived-in. The streets full of real people with all their flaws visible. Malibu was so far removed from LA’s Van Nuys district, but that was the pull for Evin when he was younger, what had him jumping on buses at twelve and wandering the streets of LA, and for the first time in his young life, feeling at home, as odd as that sounded, even now. But no less true.

Whatever, he didn’t have time for the ache that was beginning to settle in his chest as he thought about the guys again. He had a future to think about—with them—and in four hours he’d be on his way.

LAX
WAS
mass confusion of rushing bodies as usual. Evin was pretty sure some bigwig from the airlines was sitting up in his cushy office, fucking with plane schedules while he sipped on hundred-year-old scotch and laughing at all the craziness taking place within the airport. Evin could picture it, the exec looking at the camera feeds being piped in to a wall of monitors and spotting a bit of calm and with a push of a button, delaying a flight or speeding one up so the fools before him had to run their asses off to catch it. Because seriously, no matter how many times Evin had been in this airport, it was pandemonium.

But this time he arrived at LAX in a black Caddy, shades covering his eyes, a baseball cap on his head, and a KMA-hired security guard named Mark traveling with him. The guy was massive and threatening, and Evin, as much as he was weirded out about the reality of needing someone there to watch his back just in case, got along with him just fine.

Turned out Mark was from Van Nuys—Evin’s stomping grounds when he’d first moved out of his parents’ too-posh Malibu home. The two of them got through the madness that was security with a cursory pat-down and wove through the terminal toward their gate. They’d almost made it there when Evin heard
Holy shit
yelled from somewhere and his shirt was being yanked from the back.

Mark stepped in, pushing Evin away and telling the person to step back. Evin peeked around Mark’s bulging bicep—that suit had to be protesting how tightly stuffed it was—and caught sight of the two teenagers who’d tried to stop him. He definitely didn’t need any saving from them.

Evin laid his hand on Mark’s arm and stepped around him. “It’s cool, man.” He took off his glasses and both of the kids went pale, like they were about to hit the floor.

“Hey, can I help you?” Evin asked.

“Holy shit,” the girl in the front said again and went red.

Her friend or brother punched her in the arm but kept partially hidden behind her.

“You’re…. You are…. Shit. You’re Evin from Rez, right?” the girl finally mumbled in an almost perfect mimicry of the girl from earlier in the day.

Evin held out his hand. “Yep. Nice to meet you.”

The girl’s knees started to give out when she took his hand and Evin pulled her in for a hug to help keep her up.

“I didn’t know if it was you, with the beard, and…,” she rambled against him. “I’m cool. Breathe, Sarah. Breathe.”

Evin chuckled and let her go. “You’re totally cool, Sarah.”

“Can I, I mean, we”—she hitched her thumb over her shoulder—“can we get a pic with you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Evin obliged.

She took out her phone with shaking fingers, and Evin held out his hand to take it. “Mark, can you help us out?”

Evin didn’t know if impromptu photo ops were part of Mark’s job description, but he didn’t hesitate to take the phone. Evin gestured for the other kid, who still hadn’t said a word, to join them.

“What’s your name, my man?”

His face flamed the same color as Sarah’s, and Evin could see the resemblance between the two. “Shawn,” he offered, shoulders hunched forward, playing with a multicolored bracelet that circled his left wrist.

“Nice to meet you, Shawn. You know I legit fainted when I met Dave Grohl in a nightclub downtown once?”

Sarah giggled and Shawn snorted, clapping his hands over his mouth.

“It was so embarrassing. You guys are way cooler than I ever was.” He put his arms around their shoulders. “Take a few, Mark, so they can pick which one they like best.”

Mark nodded and held up the cell, clicking off shots.

Evin squeezed both their shoulders when Mark handed the phone back to Sarah.

“You think you could sign something for us too? I mean, like, if you have time. No pressure if you’re catching a flight. Shit. Well yeah you’re catching a flight if you’re here,” Sarah rambled. “But I mean if you have time. For signing something.”

“Of course. I don’t have a pen. Do you?”

Sarah’s mouth went into a perfect O, and then she did a little hop and started back to a line of seats by another gate. “I’ve got one. Hang on.”

As she dug through her bag, Evin turned to Shawn. The kid was staring intently at his hands, twisting the fabric bracelet in circles.

A rainbow bracelet.

Evin took a deep breath and pointed at it. “Cool bracelet. You make it?”

Shawn glanced up at him. “It’s nothing.”

Evin rocked back on his heels. “Rainbows mean different things to different people.”

Shawn lifted his eyes, a hesitant smile spreading across his face. “I did make it.”

Evin nodded. It hadn’t been that many years since he was this kid’s age and trying to figure his own shit out. “It’s not nothing, then. It means something important.”
You’re important
, Evin wanted to say to him but didn’t want to step over any boundaries.

“Thanks,” Shawn replied, drawing himself out of his hunched position.

Sarah came running back over and handed Evin a hot pink Sharpie that he used to sign both of their T-shirts and a notebook she put in front of him.

“Safe flight, guys,” he said. “It was great to meet you.”

As he turned to face the direction of his gate, out of the corner of his eye he caught Sarah and Shawn jumping up and down.

“Shades back on, Mr. Popular,” Mark deadpanned. “We’ve got a flight to catch.”

E
VIN
SAT
at a small table with Mark at the back of a bar across from their gate and propped his feet up on an empty chair. He sipped at his beer, taking in the scurrying travelers. They had thirty minutes until boarding time, and Mark was watching ESPN on the bar TVs, so Evin took out his phone. He still hadn’t heard from Finn, but he wasn’t going to let that put a damper on his pleasant mood. In a few short hours, he’d be back with them all, playing music, laughing, and hopefully able to find a few stolen moments for Finn to keep his promise.

Evin tipped up his beer and took a long pull, shifting in his seat as his dick started to harden. He was pretty damn sure Mark didn’t want to see that. Evin couldn’t help it, though; he’d always been a horny bastard. It always brought a smile to his face when he thought of his rebellious period after he’d moved out of Malibu. He had wallowed in his new messy surroundings—happy as pig in shit—also thought his newfound freedom would give him an opportunity to spread his wings—or in this case, his legs—and bed every hot guy he could get his hands on.

Evin spent the first few months of his time on his own cruising the gay clubs of LA. He was young, relatively good-looking and a virgin—a hot commodity. However, the whole song and dance, random hookup, anonymity, left a bad taste in his mouth, and he learned quickly it wasn’t for him. That wasn’t to say he was virginal or a prude, far from it. But he’d always thought…. Hell he had no idea what his young mind had been thinking at the time, but he knew the back alley, get my nut and run didn’t appeal to him then or now. Perhaps it was his fucked-up issues Mommy and Daddy had bestowed upon him where he needed to mean something to someone. Wow. Maybe he really was more like Ritchie than he first thought.

Now he was part of a popular band where he could have his pick of chicks and dudes—hell it was expected of him—and yet, those old feelings came rushing to the forefront, and now, like then, he wanted nothing to do with the scene. What did appeal to him was the idea of waking up with Finn’s warm body wrapped around his. Ritchie snuggled up on the other side had been an added bonus, but he’d see where that all went when they were back together.

“Flight 1494, now boarding at gate D8,” announced a mechanical-sounding female voice.

Evin got up, downed the last of his beer, and pulled his ball cap lower over his eyes, Mark following behind him. The buzz from his beer and his excitement to get to Nashville caused him to walk with a giddy pep in his step.
Nashville, here I come.

Yards from the gate, Evin stopped dead in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat when he noticed the photo gracing the cover of a tabloid: a way too familiar profile with his lips pressed against an unfamiliar dark-haired woman’s lips. But if that wasn’t bad enough, it was the headline that had Evin forgetting how to breathe and his legs starting to shake.

Finn Reese cozies up to sexy pop star as band takes a break from busy tour schedule

Resonator’s Finn Reese was spotted with a stunning brunette at a popular Detroit dance club where, according to party-goers, the two couldn’t keep their hands or lips off each other. The latest lady who appears to have been dazzled by Finn is 22-year-old Brazilian pop star Alessandra….

Evin grabbed the newspaper, anger surging through him. Who the fuck was Alessandra, and why in the hell hadn’t Finn mentioned her? They’d talked plenty of times on the phone, in text, and on Skype. For fuck’s sake, he’d spent a half hour listening to the son of a bitch jerk off, and not once in all that time had Finn mentioned this chick. Nor had Finn mentioned her in the four months they’d been touring. And what the fuck did it mean “latest lady”? How many were there, and why didn’t he know any of this?