Ruin Porn (21 page)

“End of the tour. Leaving Europe.”
Leaving all of you, but especially Finn.
“Take your pick.”

“You don’t give a shit about any of us?”

Fuck, he was doing this all wrong. “Don’t be an ass, Ritchie. Of course I’ll miss all of you. The most.”

Ritchie kicked the carry-on bag Evin had stuffed under the table. “Then fuck your flight to LA. Come home with us.”

Evin thought about the possibility again as he played with the hair on his chin. His beard growing in nicely changed him, hid him, an attestation of the new man he was becoming. Finn had said almost the same thing to Evin last night, and his answer was still the same. But this time, his answer carried a heaviness with it that it hadn’t last night. “It’s not where I belong, Ritchie.”

“It’s exactly where you belong.” Ritchie ran his fingers through his hair. “Your parents really did a fucking number on you, didn’t they?”

Evin couldn’t summon the energy to laugh. It was too true. “Don’t they all?”

“In some way or another,” Ritchie allowed.

Evin took a deep breath. Finn and his parents were two subjects he needed to stay away from right now. Both left him too vulnerable. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“The guy thing, you know, the hooking up.” Evin gave Ritchie a lopsided grin. “I don’t know how to phrase this. Gender doesn’t matter to you?”

“Not really, no. I can’t fuck without giving a fuck about the person. It’s more about the caring. Mushy, right?”

Evin’s stomach dropped as he realized what Ritchie was saying. “You love Finn.”

“Well, yeah, but not like that. I trust him, I love him, but I’m not in love with him. It’s the same way I feel about you. It’s just really hard to get laid when you’re not in one place long enough to form any kind of feelings beyond wanting to bone. I’m fucked-up, man, and not normal at all.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with giving a shit about someone first before you swap bodily fluids,” Evin reassured him. “What about Finn?”

“What about him?” Ritchie asked.

“He feels the same about you?”

Ritchie chuckled. “The way he looks at you, kid, is not the way he looks at me.”

Although they’d only known each other a handful of months, Finn was probably growing to love Evin like he did Ritchie and Miah, but just like Finn’s feelings for Ritchie, there was no way he was falling
in
love with Evin.
Was there?
Evin couldn’t process the complexity of it all, the memory of the way Finn had looked him at the Lennon wall slamming back—the admission that Finn was getting closer to being okay. And last night…. Evin shook it off and refocused on Ritchie.

“But you’re always out with Miah. How do you get away with not doing the one-night stand thing?”

“Miah knows me. He’s not gonna force something on me I’m not comfortable with.”

Evin crooked an eyebrow in question. Miah’s power play in Berlin had been all about steamrolling them when they weren’t comfortable.

Ritchie shrugged. “That’s the fucked-up part of being Miah’s friend. Just when you think he hates you, you find out he’s noticed something about you no one else in the world has.”

“I don’t get him.”

“We’ve known him our entire lives and still don’t get him. Nothing wrong with it.”

“Sir, your car is here,” the waiter interrupted.

Evin stood, and Ritchie put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Did you and Finn already—”

Evin shook his head. “I’ll text him. I didn’t want to wake him up. Give him and Miah a hug from me. And I’ll see you when Sid schedules studio time next.”

Ritchie grabbed him into a bear hug, then took Evin’s cheeks in his hands and leaned in, giving one kiss to each side of Evin’s face. He held on. “Go see him before you go.”

This was one thing Evin couldn’t give in on if he was going to make it onto that plane. “Travel safely, Ritchie. I’ll see you around.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Los Angeles

E
VIN
SAT
in the back of a cab surrounded by scents he’d rather not put name to and stared out at the crumbling building he called home. Had it only been four months since he’d packed a bag and locked the door on his piece-of-shit apartment?

It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet the blink of an eye. So much had changed since he’d agreed to follow Miah to Europe and became a member of Rez. On the outside he was the same person—or almost the same since his hair and beard were both a little longer—but he was still recognizable as Kevin Rene. On the inside, he was forever altered. It wasn’t just the name change of Kevin to Evin. This transformation was bigger, he was a part of something bigger. And yet, as he looked past the twisted, rusted gate that welcomed him home, he’d never felt more alone.

“Hey, bud, the meter is running,” the cabbie pointed out dryly.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Evin pulled out a wad of bills and paid the fare and gave the grumpy driver a decent tip. Maybe it would cheer him up, but Evin doubted it as the man didn’t even say thank you when Evin stepped out of the cab.

He’d half expected a group of fans to be standing out waiting for him, but the drizzle and cool temperatures at three in the morning kept everyone indoors.

He scratched his fingers over his beard. “For fuck’s sake, listen to yourself. Fans waiting for you? You’re fucking Kevin Rene.” He laughed at his arrogance—
fans
. Even though he’d hoped for fame and was beginning to achieve a little, he was surprised to feel disappointed there was no one waiting for him. He was letting Miah’s bravado bleed into his life.

He pushed past the unlocked front door without having to use his key—it had been broken since he’d moved in. Yellow tape stretched across the elevator with a sign that read Out of Order greeting him. Another non-surprise. The elevator, like the front door, had been broken since he’d first arrived in this shit hole. It’d only taken the property owner six months to put up a fucking sign. God, he hated this place. He hated this town, this whole fucked-up situation. And yet….

He was blessed, wasn’t he? Asked to join one of the fastest upcoming indie rock bands as their fourth. The friendships he’d built over the last four months would last forever, and then there was the excitement, and, dear God, the sex. All of it was beyond his wildest dreams and fuck yeah he knew he was blessed. Only….

When he was dumped back into this place, the Detroit 3 with their families and friends at home, it made living his real life all the more miserable. This wasn’t who he was anymore, it wasn’t home, and he didn’t give two shits about this place, but he couldn’t force himself to take Finn or Ritchie up on the offer to be there because what he had here was more important. The lie that Evin was forcing himself to live was just that….

A lie.

Sleep hadn’t been an indulgence he’d enjoyed for what had to be thirty-six hours now. Exhaustion settling in made each step a chore. By the second floor his legs protested, by the third floor he seriously considered taking a nap right on the damn step. The only thing that kept him moving, putting one sluggish foot in front of the other, was the harsh scent of piss and something else he’d rather not identify emitting from the threadbare carpet.

Finally making it to his apartment, he pulled out his keys, unlocked the multitude of locks, and shoved the door open. He stood at the threshold blinking into the dark, the smell of the building having concentrated within the walls and space of his place since it’d had no air circulation for months. Stale, stifling heat, stench, and the mess he’d left behind were the only things there to welcome him back.

Flipping on the light, Evin closed the door and leaned heavily against it. Dirty clothes, CDs, and books were scattered around the dingy room, lying exactly where he’d dropped them. At least some things never changed. His duffel hit the floor with a thud, and he began stripping as he made his way to the window. He didn’t bother with the air conditioner; like everything else in this hellhole, it hadn’t worked in ages.

Everything had happened so fast, in the blink of an eye really, and he wasn’t sure now if it had happened at all or he had been dreaming. All he knew was his chest ached now that he was awake and back in his shithole of reality. Evin tried to rub the ache away, but it was no use. Sighing, he flung the window open, standing before it in nothing but his briefs, letting the chill settle into his bones, and looked up at the sliver of dark sky just barely visible above the building towering next to his.

It was nothing like the night sky he’d marveled at on a rooftop in Athens or the one with its blinding sunrise circled by fading stars as there had been in Madrid. There were no stars in LA. At least not the kind that could be seen from the window of a rundown tenement on the wrong side of the tracks.

Dearborn Heights

Suburb of Detroit

R
ITCHIE
COULD
barely contain his excitement as he rushed up the sidewalk leading to the small Tudor home. The familiar façade and the warm glow from within welcomed him home.

He shoved the door open, dropped his bag, and yelled, “Mouse, I’m home! Did you miss me?”

His mom came rushing from the living room in a pair of flannel pajamas, rainbow-striped socks, and a huge smile on her face. “Not even a smidge,” she teased and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

She was a tiny thing, barely past five foot and a hundred ten pounds soaking wet. Ritchie lifted her from the ground easily, wrapping her in a bear hug. She allowed him to hold her for a moment. Ms. Minnie Myer might have been small, but she was a fierce one. The only reason she allowed him to call her Mouse—and he was the only one that got away with it—was because she simply got tired of chasing him through the house, threatening to beat him in the head if he called her that again.

Now it was simply a term of endearment shared only between the two of them. Only one other man had been bestowed that honor and Grandpa passed a couple years ago, so the right was now his exclusively.

“Okay, okay, I missed you like crazy,” she admitted and pecked him on the cheek. “Are you hungry? I’ve got a pot of chili simmering on the stove.”

Ritchie set her down on her feet and kissed the top of her head, arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Oh God, I haven’t had a decent bowl of chili in… well, forever,” he said sheepishly as the night in the pub snuck into his thoughts. Missing out on that meal had been so worth it.

“Shh, will you keep it down. Grandma hasn’t been sleeping well.”

“Oh, sorry,” he whispered. Keeping his tongue held until he was sitting at the kitchen table and Mouse was dishing him up a bowl of chili, he asked, “How’s she doing?”

“Eh, she has her good days and her bad days,” Mouse commented as she set the bowl in front of Ritchie, then went to the fridge and pulled out a gallon of milk. She brought it and a large glass to the table and set them in front of him. “She called me Richard again this morning.”

“Again?” Ritchie asked in alarm, spoon halfway to his mouth.

“Yeah, I really thought we’d have more time,” Mouse commented, a sad smile on her face as she took a seat in the chair across from him. “She’s really gotten worse in the last few months. Either calls me Richard or calls out for him. She can tell you what she had for breakfast on her good days, but for the most part, she lives in a time long past.”

“You look tired,” he said quietly.

“Had to work over last night, short staffed.”

Knowing her, she’d probably picked up someone else’s shift just to help them out. “You should get some sleep. I can take care of the dishes.”

“Nonsense. I’m fine. It’s my day off, so I can catch up on sleep later. I want to hear about your trip.”

Ritchie knew that wasn’t true, not while caring for Grandma, who was battling the ugliness that was Alzheimer’s. That was a full-time job in and of itself. However, he didn’t comment on her little fib. He’d make sure she got some rest later, maybe take Grandma out for a few hours this afternoon.

“The trip was good. Long, but good.”

“I’ve been following the news on Rez. You’ve got quite the interesting fans. One girl on Twitter, a Rezorgirl89, said, and I quote, ‘Ritchie Don’t-Call-Me-Dick Myer can dick me anytime.’”

“Oh. My. God. Mom. You’re following me on Twitter? Stop that!”

“What? Don’t all your fans follow you? Well, I was your first fan, I should be allowed to follow you too.”

“No. No, you can’t follow me on Twitter.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus, I don’t want you reading that stuff about me. You are now officially banned from my account.” He suddenly remembered some of the other vulgar tweets the rest of Rez had gotten. “No, you are officially banned from following
any
of the band on Twitter. That’s just…. It’s….” He shook his head. “Just, no.”

“Like you can stop me. Besides, I get a kick out of it.” Mouse laughed. “I just hope you’re not actually taking any of those floozies up on their offers. Well, at least not without wrapping it first. STDs are—”

Ritchie covered his ears “La la la. Not having this conversation. La la la.”
Christ.
It was bad enough having a nurse for a mom when he was younger. He still had nightmares of the topics of conversation over the dinner table—usually with Finn and Miah present—as she spewed off the statistics on teen pregnancy and the infections she’d seen from unprotected sex. Not something one wanted to hear while munching on pot roast.

“Oh good lord, Ritchie. You act like it’s a big thing. It’s only a big thing if you don’t follow my advice. I know what rockers do when they’re on tour. I’m not telling you not to have fun, I’m simply telling you to be smart about it.”

“I always am,” he assured her. He grabbed the jug of milk and poured a glass without meeting her gaze. He was pretty sure she did
not
know what he’d been doing on tour—thank goodness. Having your mom know you were engaging in hot man-love with your best friend and a new member of the band wasn’t something he even wanted to think about with her in the room. Hell, he didn’t want to be having this conversation at all. It wasn’t that his choice of partner would be an issue with her, but some things just didn’t need to be discussed with his mom. Time for a subject change before this got even more uncomfortable. “This is really good,” he commented around a big bite of chili. “You shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble for me, but I’m damn sure glad you did. You’re not going to have any?”