The Prince of Punk Rock (19 page)

They weren’t home for more than 15
minutes before Angel was at the door.

Tommy slung a booted ankle over his
knee without making any attempt to rise from the couch.
 
He tried to act indifferent as Angel stood on
the other side of the door, but the forlorn look on Angel’s face made the corners
of his mouth droop down.

“I brought your equipment.”
 
Tommy’s Les Paul was safely cradled in
Angel’s hands, securely tucked away in its case.
 
His Fender and amp sat at Angel’s feet.

Tommy’s arms remained folded across
his chest as he nodded.
 
“Thank
you.”
 
He felt like an insensitive ass.
Angel packed up his gear and delivered it safely.
 
He was grateful to have his guitars back and
all he could do was sit on the couch and utter two callous words.

He didn’t notice that Angel was
stationed in the doorway, hesitant about entering the house, until Jessi pulled
him inside.
 
He should have helped her
bring in his equipment, but he couldn’t break the emotional trance he shared
with Angel.

“I would never do anything to hurt
you, Tommy.
 
I want to explain.”

“There’s no need to explain.” Tommy
held his hand up.
 
He couldn’t bear to
hear about Angel’s new lover.
 
The wound
was still fresh and raw, and it would be a long time before it healed.

“But I need to tell you—”

“No.
 
I don’t want to hear about it.”
 
Tommy rose to his feet and headed for the
stairs.
 
“Thanks for taking care of my
Les Paul.
 
I’ll see you at practice.
 
I won’t miss it anymore.”

“Practice? That’s three days
away!
 
What about tomorrow?
 
Can I come by so we can talk?”

Tommy paused on the steps.
 
“Maybe, one day, we can be friends again, but
for now, I think we should keep our relationship professional.”

Chapter Nineteen

Practice was awkward and shows were
arduous.
 
Angel’s damaged heart hindered
his performance.
 
His execution was
lackluster and sloppy.
 
The stage no
longer provided an adrenaline rush and songs no longer inspired freedom and
recklessness.
 
It only provided a vessel
to be near Tommy.
 
The chemistry between
the two was gone.
 
Tommy ignored him on
stage and rarely looked up from his guitar, but his execution was spotless and
on target.
 
While Angel’s voice suffered
from their strained relationship, Tommy poured his pain into intricate guitar
solos.
 
Musically, the band excelled, but
Angel’s vocals deteriorated.
 
The undying
loyalty of his fans never diminished, and they expressed their concern.
 
It wasn’t a lie when he explained that he’d
been sick for the last few weeks, but there was no medication to provide relief
from his broken heart.

Angel watched Tommy at the bar
after tonight’s show, talking with Jessi.
 
He ached for the smile that lit up Tommy’s face.
 
He yearned for the glint in Tommy’s eyes that
revealed desire and flirtation.
 
He would
settle for friendship, if only it were offered or accepted.

Angel inched his way next to Tommy
and hoped it didn’t send him scampering in the opposite direction, which it
seemed to do lately.
 
Jessi looked at him
with compassion and empathy.
 
She was
caught in the middle, but her allegiance to Tommy was steadfast.
 
He chatted quietly with her while Tommy’s
uncomfortable silence indicated he had no interest in joining the
conversation.
 
“Come over for dinner
tomorrow night.”
 
Angel looked directly
at Tommy.
 
“I’ll make my Lechon Asado.”
He hoped to smooth things over, and, hopefully, Tommy would let him explain, or
at least listen to his side.

Jessi accepted, practically before
he finished the invitation, but Tommy cut her off.

“No.
 
It’s not a good idea.
 
Thanks, anyway.
 
But, no.”

“I can’t stand this friction
between us.
 
Can’t we be friends again,
my prince?”

Tommy shook his head.
 
“You’re my boss.
 
I think it’s better if we keep it that
way.
 
For now, anyway.
 
And I’m not your prince.”

A dull ache in the center of his
chest made Angel feel like his heart split in half.
 
“You
are
my prince, whether you want
the title or not, it’s yours.” Angel scrunched up his face.
 
“And whatever gave you the idea that I’m your
boss?”

“It’s
your
band.
 
You sign my paycheck.”

“I may do all the leg work and
handle the finances, but it’s your band too.
 
And Damien and Jimmy’s.
 
It’s
our
band.
 
We make decisions about music
together.
 
You know that.
 
Don’t try to alienate me.
 
Don’t push me away.
 
Please,
mi amor, I miss you.
 
Te necesito en mi
vida.
 
Necesito que me
perdones.
 
Mi corazón está roto.”

Tommy winced and held his hand
up.
 
“Stop.
 
Don’t.
 
Please don’t speak to me in Spanish anymore.
 
I can’t . . . just don’t. Please, Angel.”

“Then I’ll say it in English.
 
I need you in my life.
 
I need you to forgive me.
 
My heart is broken.”

Tommy’s chest heaved with deep
breaths and he pressed his lips together.

“I’m nothing without you, my
prince.
 
Please, love me again.”

Tears moistened Tommy’s ocean blue
eyes.
 
“Don’t do this, A.
 
Please.”

Even though it was a rejection, it
was the first time Angel heard Tommy speak his name since their
misunderstanding.
 
Not just his name, but
the affectionate “A” that was Tommy’s loving nickname for him.
 
It was the first time he heard the pain of
heartache in Tommy’s voice and saw the longing in his eyes.
 
It meant Tommy still cared, and a glimmer of
life beat back into Angel’s pulverized heart.

Chapter Twenty

Tommy needed a five minute break
from practice.
 
A break from standing
only a few feet from Angel.
 
It was
draining trying to resist the need to reach out and touch him and exhausting
trying to fight the urge to lean his shoulder into Angel’s while he played.
 
There would be no more physical contact
between the two of them.
 
He needed to
deny his heart and sever the connection. He stepped outside hoping the fresh
air would sweep away his wistful thoughts and yearnings.

Damien followed him.
 
“You look like you could use a friend
sometimes, Tommy.
 
Someone to talk to.”

Tommy remained silent.

“Nothing you say is gonna shock
me.
 
I’m sure stories about my past are a
lot more outrageous.
 
Whatever’s going
on, it isn’t as bad as you think.”

He wondered if he looked as
pathetic as Damien made him feel.
 
He
studied Damien’s wrinkled forehead and worried frown.
 
Despite Damien’s hard exterior, he was kind
and sensitive.
 
The blood and guts
tattooed over his body, the wire piercings and over-the-top mohawk were all a
mask. It was a costume.
 
Damien was
probably just as afraid to let his guard down as Tommy was – afraid the world
would ridicule the real person that hid under the exterior presented to the
rest of the word.

It would be easy to confide in
Damien.
 
Tommy opened his mouth, fully
prepared to tell Damien that he was in love with Angel, and about their stupid
argument, but his voice refused to leave the back of his throat. Disappointed,
his shoulders slumped and he leaned his back against the cold hard concrete of
the building.

“Look, I know it’s about
Angel.
 
Whatever’s going on with you two,
you need to straighten it out.
 
Pronto.
We got a band here.
 
A damn good
one.
 
And it’s shit without either one of
you.
 
Plus, you’re making each other
sick.
 
Kiss and make the fuck up
already.”