Ruin Porn (31 page)

Finn grunted and fell to the mattress, prodding at Evin’s ribs. “Ow! Get off!”

Evin scrambled back, sliding from Finn’s body. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Finn rolled onto his side and looked back at his hip, frowning. “You didn’t, but that fucking tattoo dude sure did.”

“Seriously? I just plowed your ass and you’re complaining about a little ink?”

“Guess you’ll just have to do it harder next time,” Finn sniffed and then jumped from the bed before Evin could swat him.

Evin put his hands on his hips and waved his still semihard dick at Finn. “I’m ready for harder. Come on back here.”

The condom slipped from Evin’s dick and landed on the floor just as Ritchie stepped out of the bathroom while drying his hands. “Eww, dude, that’s nasty.” He threw the towel at Evin, who caught it easily. “Clean up your funk.”

Evin carefully ran the towel over his cock and, wrinkling his nose, cleaned up the mess. “Probably not the worst that’s been on this floor.”

“I don’t even want to think about it,” Ritchie grumbled and slipped into his jeans, scanned the area, and then stepped out on the balcony. “Hey, you seen my shirt?”

“Yeah, I was way more focused on where your clothes landed than on your nekkidness,” Evin shot back and headed for the bathroom, winking at Finn as he stepped out.

Finn’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. “Ritchie was nekkid and I missed it?”

Evin tossed the condom and washed up, shaking his head at the silly grin on his face. It felt good, damn good to be back to having fun with Finn and Ritchie. He turned slightly, catching sight of the new ink between his shoulder blades. They were crazy fuckers, his Detroit 3, and they’d made a place for him, the D3+E tattooed on his body the only evidence he needed.

Slipping on his jeans, Evin snatched Ritchie’s shirt from where it was hanging on the curtain rod and joined Ritchie and Finn on the balcony. Both men were leaning on the railing looking down.

“What are you looking at?”

“Looking for Ritchie’s shirt and my Pistons hat. I set it on the table next to my chair and now it’s gone,” Finn explained.

Evin held up Ritchie’s T-shirt. “One mystery solved.”

“Hey, cool,” Ritchie responded and slid it on.

“Did you happen to see my cap?” Finn asked.

Evin flopped down in the chair and grabbed another beer from the cooler. “Nope, but I’d suggest checking the ceiling fan.”

“Is that where you found my T-shirt?”

“Nope, curtain rod,” Evin responded and tipped back his beer, taking a long pull. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”

Finn frowned, running his fingers through his hair as he scanned the balcony. “I could have sworn I set it there,” he mumbled, and then snatched the beer from Evin before taking the chair next to him.

“Help yourself,” Evin grumbled.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Finn chuckled. “Gotta get a buzz on before I have to go back to that hotel room with Alessandra.”

Evin didn’t even bitch about any of it, he simply sat back and watched Finn’s throat as he gulped down the beer, wondering silently if they would have enough time for a round two.

S
OMEWHERE
IT
was written that for every good there had to be a bad. A way to maintain cosmic balance or some other ordained bullshit. At least that’s what Miah had been chanting that morning before they headed out to do more promo. Evin was beginning to wonder if Miah maybe was tapped into some higher authority because the good-for-bad exchange had been happening on a regular basis since Evin became Rez’s fourth. He’d thought Australia was going to be their turning point with the stress they’d all been under finally waning and their friendship growing.

What a fucking joke.

He couldn’t stop glancing over at Finn, who was kicked back, looking as relaxed as if he were spending the day at the beach. Which was a hell of a feat for someone who claimed to hate PR. The laid-back demeanor wasn’t the only reason Evin couldn’t stop checking Finn out, though. It wasn’t even the way Alessandra was curled into Finn’s side that was bugging the fuck out of Evin, as they happily answered questions about their relationship while she stroked Finn’s thigh. No, it was the way Finn touched Alessandra
back
with the same affection. The way the supposed lies about their relationship rolled off his tongue with such ease—as if they were truths. No matter how hard Evin tried, he couldn’t find any deception in Finn’s eyes, in his demeanor, no indication that he was lying at all.

If he didn’t know better….

Evin’s heart fell to his feet and he nearly choked on the truth as it hit him like a lightning strike to his soul. He’d told himself over and over that he, Finn, and Ritchie were just having fun. So why would Evin possibly think either of them wouldn’t be fucking
other
people? He felt things for Finn he’d never felt for anyone. Wanted things, hoped for something he’d never even dared to dream for. But that didn’t mean Finn did.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Sitting next to Finn in front of the numerous reporters shoving mics in their faces and volleying question after question was eating away at Evin. All of it began to sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher—
wha wha wha
—as embarrassment took hold and Evin’s hearing fuzzed out from light-headedness.

He could never really know Finn—not the real Finn—with the easy way Finn could lie and not even bat an eye. Ritchie had told him Finn was a great liar. Evin had seen Finn lie to Sid’s and Miah’s faces and wouldn’t have known the real story if he hadn’t witnessed it himself.

Something jabbed into his side, and he snapped his head to the right.

“Dude, you okay? You don’t look so good,” Ritchie commented with a frown. “Jesus, you’re shaking and sweating.”

Of course I am, you fucking moron
, he wanted to scream. Didn’t Ritchie understand how fucking hard it was to hold on to reality when it was being ripped away from him?

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he mumbled and hung his head, no longer able to meet Ritchie’s concerned gaze.

“I told you not to eat those kangaroo snags, kid,” Ritchie whispered. He hooked his arm in Evin’s and pulled him to his feet. “Excuse us, apparently Evin can’t handle the local fare.”

As soon as the door to Evin’s hotel room was closed, the outside world held at bay, Evin flopped down on his bed and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Do I need to call a doctor?” Ritchie asked and laid the back of his hand on Evin’s forehead.

“Nah, I’m good,” Evin lied. “Between the food, the show, lack of sleep”—
heartbreak
,
lies, so many lies
—“I’m fucking done.”

Ritchie sat on the edge of the bed, staring at him. He didn’t look convinced, but dammit, if Finn could lie like a pro and get away with it, then surely Ritchie could believe this one little fib from Evin.

“You sure that’s all it is?” Ritchie pushed.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Evin patted Ritchie’s leg before rolling away and covering his head with his pillow. “Do you mind shutting off the light on your way out? I’m just going to try to sleep it off.”

Evin waited until Ritchie slipped from the room and the door clicked shut before rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what the hell had just happened and why it had hit him so hard. They’d
all
been required to do their fair share of lying and more would be expected of them in the future.

Maybe
that
was it—knowing the lies would never stop. It was possible he’d never truly know the real Finn, Ritchie, or Miah. Not under the circumstances of relentless promotion and a level of fame that was only getting bigger and bigger by the day.

Lies were his new truth.

He no longer recognized the Evin he’d become.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Philippines

E
VIN
WAS
sure that Miah was going to kill them. They’d been on the stage in Manila for less than ten minutes and already their timing was off, Finn had started playing “Chene” when everyone else dropped into the first bars of “Assisted Blankicide,” and Ritchie was spending so much time watching Evin and Finn ignore each other that he was playing as if his sticks were made of handblown glass. Miah’s face was red—a literal shade of red—and Evin couldn’t find the energy to care. Which was exactly the problem.

This problem grew even more serious with the presence of KMA Music bigwigs backstage. They had made a side trip to Manila for the sole purpose of meeting up with Miah and Sid to talk about the second album.

Yet Evin still couldn’t find the inclination to care. Miah was supposedly their fearless dictatorial leader, not Evin. If this fucking mess was going to be pulled back together, it was Miah’s job to do it. So Evin rocked back on his heels, plucked out the chords he was required to, avoided Finn’s questioning glances from the other side of the stage, and focused as much as he had to just to make it through this one show. They had three days off between Manila and their last concerts in Brazil. All he had to do was make it through one more hour and he could get away for at least a day.

Miah screamed the lyrics of “Chainlink” with more force than he usually would but with just as much skill and attention to tone and melody as usual. Which only made Evin feel guilty. Finn and Ritchie seemed unaffected still, but that emotion was apparently all Evin needed to spur him into giving a shit for the first time in days.

He had to get his head together. The one with the brain, to be more exact.

He was worn down watching Finn with Alessandra, wondering what was really going on there. He had a job to do here. Miah had faith in him to do it well to the best of his ability. And he owed that more than he owed Finn or Ritchie anything, because what they were doing was just fucking around. But Evin had always taken his job seriously. So Evin took a deep breath and made sure he was fully there for the last half of their concert.

Miah didn’t even acknowledge Evin when he started stepping up his effort.

Great. Now he was pissed, ignored,
and
bitter. His memories of the Philippines weren’t getting much better than when he’d been there the first time with his family.

Somehow they made it through the set with the fans just as enthusiastic when they left the stage as they had been when Rez took to it. None of them deserved the raucous applause that followed their encore, and yet that’s exactly what the four of them got.

Just when he thought the night couldn’t get any worse, his stomach sloshed with bitter guilt. Fucking fantastic.

“I’ll do the postshow PR,” Finn snapped and broke away from them when they stomped offstage.

Evin felt sick. Alessandra was waiting backstage—ready take care of him—so of course that’s where he was headed.

“Someone else besides me should work tonight,” Miah tossed out, watching Finn stalk off to do the promo he hated with a passion. Miah flipped the bird at his turned back.

Evin stood in shock at Miah’s asshole remark. He’d actually tried for Miah, for the band, and for the fans, and Miah refused to acknowledge anyone giving a fuck tonight except for him. Next to him, Ritchie threw his sticks against the wall and disappeared.

Evin made for the green room, grabbed a bottle of water, chugging it down and trying to breathe. How had everything fallen apart so fast since the tat night in Australia? He closed his eyes and waited for the rest of Rez to join him or for someone to tell him it was time to leave.

One by one they ended up in the back room, all of them silent and sullen and avoiding eye contact.

Miah broke the silence first. “I talked to KMA’s VP. The second album is set—they’re going to okay the release.”

Finn gave a dark laugh. “We should go out and celebrate.”

It sounded like the worst idea any of them had had in a long time, but none of them argued.

R
ITCHIE
KEPT
his head down and plowed forward through the crowds, trying not to be skeeved out every time someone yanked on another piece of his clothing or touched him without him saying it was okay. He hated being touched by people he didn’t know, hated it. Mark had picked up additional security when the location of the hotel they were staying in was leaked, but none of them had expected the fan free-for-all that greeted them when they went past the gates of their hotel in Makati. It was only a short walk across the street to get to the restaurant, and they were going to be mauled before they could make it the twenty feet.

He glanced over his shoulder, seeking the other three out, but the sight of Miah wide-eyed and tucking into himself, and relying on the bodyguards for once, sent his anxiety soaring. No one in the crowd was frightening in and of themselves, but the crush of the crowd was ruthless, and with each second the energy amped up a degree, growing exponentially until Ritchie’s ears were ringing, he felt like he was being crushed—no he really was being crushed in the sea of heat, humidity, sweat…. Then some security guard was pushing him forward with a shove to his shoulders, into a doorway, and Ritchie was met with silence.

Miah and Evin were popped into the quiet, safe space of a mall storage room, followed on their heels by Finn with Alessandra in tow, her hand gripped in his. Ritchie’s skin prickled under the onslaught of frigid air-conditioning streaming from the vents above his head, and he had the urge to wrap all of his boys into a hug—into one inclusive, tight embrace because they’d all made it out okay—but he stopped himself as soon as the thought hit.

He didn’t know anymore if a gesture like that would only make things worse.

Finn let go of Alessandra’s hand and adjusted the beanie on his head. “Even the fame whore was bothered by that one.”

“What did you say?” Miah growled.

Finn narrowed his eyes and glared at Miah. “You want to be famous, you gotta do the work.”

Those were Miah’s words that Finn was throwing back at him. Ritchie groaned. This was going to get bad really fucking fast with how on edge they all were.