Ruin Porn (13 page)

“He’s not stupid, Finn. He’s not going to say anything, he gets it. I also informed him that he’s not to ever let Miah know.”

That he’d ever touched a guy—didn’t matter whether it was Finn or Evin or any other guy—was a secret he’d keep from Miah to the grave. The thought of Miah looking at him in disgust or, worse, turning his back on him and never seeing him again, made Ritchie sick. Having Miah in his life, even if he had to hide a big part of himself, was still better than the alternative.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. We’re not doing anything wrong,” Finn murmured and slung his arm over Ritchie’s shoulder. “That Miah can’t handle it is his own issue. Let’s go have a drink.”

Ritchie was good at keeping his Miah angst in check, but Finn knew the truth and sometimes Ritchie let his guard slip. He trusted Finn to hold him up when that happened. He allowed Finn to lead him from the bathroom, and by the time they made it back to the table, the happy-go-lucky Ritchie mask was firmly in place. He doubted anyone could tell from looking at him the pain it caused when he searched for Miah and spotted him at the bar—chatting up yet another busty blonde.

F
INN
WAS
overwhelmed by the sheer scale of Frogner Park. The geometric flower gardens and greenery were framed by rotund trees, with hundreds of thousands of roses that would have stained the landscape red if it was summer. The chill of autumn hung in the air, and Finn blew his breath out, puffs dispersing in the lax breeze. Inside the park, granite and bronze sculptures depicted the journey of man from birth through death and the range of human emotions from love and devotion to hate and violence. The pudgy oversized entities were at once reassuring and unnerving.

Finn stood before one of the sculptures and plunged his hands into the pockets of his jeans to warm them. He’d put on a plain T-shirt this morning, not expecting it to be so fucking cold. Luckily he’d remembered to throw his dad’s old Carhartt into the car before they left the hotel. Michigan born and bred, he was always prepared for unexpected cold snaps. His identity was hidden behind a Pistons cap pulled low on his head and his eyes were covered by mirror shades. Although the disguise probably wasn’t needed. He and the other guys had arrived at the eerily quiet park just after dawn, when—Sid had informed them—the usually crowded place would be empty just for them. Still, Finn felt better hiding behind the getup as he continued to stare at the sculpture of a woman on her hands and knees with a rope in her mouth as if she were a horse. Two children sat upon her back, the frontmost—a male child—held on to the ends of the rope, as if driving the woman, with a wicked smile on his face. Finn couldn’t tell if the look in the woman’s eyes was watchful or sorrowful, nor could he distinguish whether the rope hid a smile or a grimace. Looking back on his own childhood and how awful he’d been to his mum at times, he supposed the artist was conveying a little of both emotions.

Miah, Ritchie, and Evin seemed to be just as in awe as Finn was. They’d gone in different directions once through the gate, and they all walked around silently, lost in their own thoughts. Being allowed inside before the park was open was an opportunity to study the space without interruption, a moment of peace before the crowds appeared. Out of all the supposed benefits that came with fame, private access to places and events was the one thing he enjoyed. Sharing the experience with Ritchie, Miah, and Evin made it better. That they didn’t have to be directly at each other’s side all the time in order for Finn to feel connected to them made shared experiences like this, and their friendship in general, that much better.

Finn walked along the path, cataloging the stoic statues. They were frozen in moments of great sadness, apprehension, anger, elation. At some point in his life, he’d experienced all of these same emotions. Hell, he’d probably experienced all of them
with
Miah and Ritchie. Like the Detroit 3, and now plus Evin, every single one of the individuals depicted in stone wasn’t alone. They were a collective, a family. Whether frowning or smiling, each sculpture was portrayed as being with someone as they progressed through their lives. Each was embracing another in eternal hugs. It was breathtaking.

“Hey, Finn, check this out,” Ritchie called, breaking the silence.

Finn turned and nearly choked on a snort. Ritchie was on his back, mouth wide open beneath a sculpture of a man on his knees carrying a woman on his back, his penis only an inch away from Ritchie’s mouth.

Evin walked up just in time to see what was happening and burst out laughing. The three of them were rolling with laughter, but the good-natured fun died the instant Miah strolled up and wrinkled his nose at Ritchie.

“That’s so fucking gay. Knock it off, dickweed.”

Evin’s face fell, but it was the slice of pain on Ritchie’s face as he scrambled away from the statue that both infuriated Finn and broke his heart. It only solidified his vow to never let Miah know his true nature. Not now anyway. He didn’t want to break up his family until he’d met someone that meant just as much to him as Ritchie and Miah did. No. The man who he’d come out for would have to mean more to him than Miah or Ritchie.

Finn felt the press of a hand to his shoulder as Evin slung his arm around Finn. “Let’s grab Ritchie and go explore.” The
fuck Miah
was unsaid by Evin, but Finn assumed it was there. He nodded and they set off down the stone path together. That Ritchie trusted Evin enough for him to be okay with them messing around together had to mean something. What exactly that was would come with time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Berlin

W
ALKING
DOWN
the hallway toward their hotel room, Evin listened to the Detroit 3’s easy exchange, hearing the years between them as an unspoken entity in every conversation. That they had chosen to let him into their world—into their protective and private circle—was more overwhelming than the fame of Rez.

As they rounded the corner a crowd of awed looks and excited faces met them. “Da sind sie!” screamed a blonde girl sporting a T-shirt that announced “If I can have an all-access pass, then later so can you.”

Evin wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t have long to contemplate the meaning before he was rushed. He and the other three members of Rez were surrounded by at least thirty screaming German fans, and Evin had no fucking clue what they were saying.

“Hey, watch those hands,” Finn shouted.

Evin’s ears rang with the sheer volume of the screeches, adding to the disoriented feeling as he was pushed and pulled, groped and kissed. A hand landed on his crotch, another on his ass, and still another fisted in his shirt, pulling hard enough that the light cotton material started to give way.

Holy fuck, he was being ripped apart.

“Not the hair, anything but the hair,” Miah shouted.

“Calm down, everyone calm the fuck down,” Ritchie roared, his words cut off when a dark-haired girl grabbed his face and kissed him, arms and legs wrapped around Ritchie in a death grip.

The fan who had their hand fisted in Evin’s shirt was suddenly shoved back, taking part of Evin’s shirt with her, and Finn stepped in between the crazed chick and Evin. “Grab on to my belt, we’re gonna play a little tackle football. Hut one, hut two, hike!” he called out with a laugh.

Evin grabbed Finn’s belt with one hand, Ritchie’s arm with the other. Keeping his head down, the four of them did their best to push through the crowd. It gave way and relief surged through Evin, but it was short lived. The crazies caught up quickly and swelled around them again. Evin’s hair was yanked back at the same time he was shoved by another person, and he lost the grip he had on Ritchie.

“Everyone back the fuck up,” an unfamiliar voice bellowed over the crowd, followed by another one barking out something in German.

Evin held on to Finn for dear life, pulse racing, clothes ripped, and missing what felt like a few handfuls of hair as hotel security arrived and held the crowds back enough to give them a chance to make it to the safety of their room.

The instant the door was shut behind them, Evin pried his fingers from Finn’s belt and quickly gave the guys a once-over, making sure everyone was okay. Ritchie was running his hands over his face, looking shell-shocked as his eyes scanned from Miah to Finn to Evin, obviously doing the same once-over as Evin and checking on the status of the others.

“That was a fucking rush,” Miah hooted and headed for the minibar.

“It wasn’t a rush, you moron. Look at this shit,” Ritchie grumbled, holding up the pieces of his tattered T-shirt.

“Don’t know what you’re bitching about,” Finn countered. “I think I’m missing my right nut.”

Evin stumbled to the couch and flopped back on it, trying to grasp what the fuck had just happened.

“You look like you could use this,” Finn said, holding out a bottle of vodka.

Evin didn’t hesitate. He snatched it from Finn, tipped it up, and took a big gulp. He handed it back and wiped his hand over his mouth.

Finn took the seat next to him, their shoulders touching as he tipped up the bottle and took a big pull. “You okay?”

Evin thought on that for a moment. He looked toward Miah, who was standing in front of the mirror checking his hair and face, then to Ritchie who was pulling on a new T-shirt. He turned his head toward Finn. No one had been seriously maimed, which was a miracle considering the intensity of the mob. He let out a long relieved breath that he hadn’t even known he was holding. His racing heart slowed, and he took another calming breath.

Evin grabbed the vodka back from Finn. He was beginning to get a taste for this stuff—the vodka and the recognition. “Miah was right, that was a fucking rush.”

M
IAH
GLOWERED
in the mirror at Ritchie’s legs draped over Evin’s lap, his drumsticks tapping against the wall. Finn was on the other side of the couch, his arm slung around Evin’s shoulders, one guitar between the two of them with Evin holding the chords and Finn strumming.

The fan encounter at the hotel had freaked them all, but as soon as it was just the four of them again—with security planted at every entrance and exit to make sure no one snuck through—all of them had relaxed and gone into their usual comfortable preshow rituals.

They were all getting
too
comfortable. Something he planned on rectifying right fucking now.

Miah smoothed his hair into a band, twisting it up and out of his eyes, and went for the door. “We’re playing one of Evin’s songs tonight.” Miah lobbed that verbal grenade over his shoulder and didn’t wait to see what the fallout would be.

“What the hell, Miah?” Finn shouted as the green room door slammed shut behind Miah. It crashed open a second later with Finn barreling after him. “It’s two hours to lights up and we’ve played his stuff half a dozen times at most. What the fuck are you thinking?”

He loved to rankle Finn, to leave him scrambling in his wake, and Evin was proving to be just as fun to fuck with. Ritchie wasn’t as easy as those two to get going, but this announcement would probably do it. Too bad for all of them, he wasn’t joking—they were going to play something new tonight and it was going to be one of Evin’s songs.

“I’m thinking, Finn”—Miah drew out his name as if it was an insult—“it’s time for us to debut new material. This is the longest we’ve gone without something new ever.” Sid started to pipe up, and Miah silenced him with a pointer finger jabbed in his direction. “Don’t tell me the label won’t allow it. I saw the marketing intelligence reports this morning.” The label execs and their manager wanted to believe Miah didn’t read, let alone pay attention, and that he was too busy putting his dick in warm places to care about the micro details. They thought he would let someone else dictate Rez’s image because he was too wrapped up in being a rock star. Fuck that. He could multitask. “We’re KMA’s only band that’s on an upward trend with market penetration in their target age range. Which means I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want.”

“Ego much?” Finn sneered.

He ignored Finn’s attempt at a jab. “We’re not playing ‘Born into Chaos,’” he clarified. “It’s too distinctive for us to fuck up the first time out. We’re going with ‘Flywheel.’”

Finn sputtered. He was without a blistering retort at the ready, ejecting from his lips without thought. That should have been the biggest surprise of the moment for Miah, and then Ritchie was coming through the green room door and getting between Miah and Finn.

“Miah’s right,” Ritchie said. “It’s time for new material. We need some shine.”

Evin stood in the doorway of the green room, silent.

Finn surveyed all their faces and rounded back to Ritchie, going for the person who was the most sensible in the vicinity despite him agreeing with Miah. “New material we played together for the first time two days ago. I don’t think so. I won’t.”

A flat-out fucking refusal.
Miah crossed his arms. “If you can’t handle it, maybe Ev should take lead tonight.”

Behind Finn, Evin went pale.

“You fucking asshole!” Finn screamed at him.

Miah held his ground. “Keep up or drop out. We’re not in Detroit anymore.”

Finn balled up his fists and started for the wall, but Miah wasn’t worried. Finn would never do anything to harm his hands. Sure enough, Finn yelled a litany of swear words and took off for the back door of the theater instead.

“Ev?” Miah asked to gauge his reaction.

Evin nodded, all glassy calm. “‘Flywheel.’ Got it.” His features sharpened as he ground his teeth. “But I’m not taking lead.”

Miah had to give the man credit. Two months into the Made in Americana tour, and the newbie’s balls had steeled. Which made Miah want to poke at him more just to see how far he could push.

“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to outshine your idol.”

“Jesus, Miah,” Ritchie said. “He agreed with you. Lay off.”

“Practice room in five.”