Beyond the Stix (Warrior Black #2)

Chapter 7

SEVEN

Connor

I sigh, absorbing the solid warmth against me. I rub my face… What the… I blink, opening my eyes and see a wall of chest hair. Dark and thick.

I must be dreaming. Hmm.

I nuzzle my face in the crisp hairs and inhale. Earthy, sweat, and male.

“Stop moving. It’s too damn early.” The gruff voice of?—

“John?” I bolt upright, blinking rapidly and stare down at the bodyguard in my bed. Sometime during the night, he must have taken off his shirt. I look around as memories of last night crash into me. “What the fuck?”

John’s hazy but handsome blue eyes stare up at me with amusement. “Did you forget last night already?”

“I don’t…” Shit. “Whatever,” I admit, remembering.

I regret asking him to come to bed with me last night. If it wasn’t for the nightmare I had about Jessup hovering over me, I wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.

In the dream Jessup was talking to me, but I felt afraid and confused and needed to run. And I guess I did. Right to John.

Jesus. I can’t believe I practically threw myself at John, but his refusal to fuck me hurts far worse than him not talking to me for nearly seven months. And I don’t know why.

Granted, he sucked my dick to near completion, so maybe I just asked too much of John.

Ugh . I’m such a fucking loser.

I get out of bed, and John slowly sits up. He looks around the room until his gaze lands on the clock on the wall. He sighs and rubs at his eyes.

“What?” I ask, trying to let last night’s embarrassing actions slide off my shoulders.

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I’m going to take a piss and then shower.” I don’t give him time to respond and head to the bathroom down the hallway. As awkward as it was to be in bed with my bodyguard, I have to admit that it was the best damn sleep I’ve had in a very long time. No bad dreams either.

After washing up, I head back to my bedroom to dress. Relief, with a hitch of regret, settles in my gut when I find the room empty. Remembering John in my childhood space—in my bed, all sleep mussed, sends a shiver of desire throughout my body.

At times, the bodyguard can drive me up the fucking wall with his quiet, stoic demeanor. However, I admit I miss— Nope. I’m not going there.

Not after the asshole ordered me to get into bed with him like he has the right. I don’t know what pisses me off more. That he didn’t pile drive me into the mattress last night like I wanted him to, or that his firm demand turned me the fuck on to the point that I suffered stiff-dick syndrome all night.

I find a black jock with colorful mushrooms on it, a pair of dark blue jeans, and an old Metallica concert tee. I get dressed and make my way to the kitchen.

Rounding the corner, the heavenly aroma of breakfast wafts through the air. There’s pancakes, bacon, and sausage gravy and biscuits situated on the counter. But it isn’t my mother who’s standing in front of the griddle. It’s John.

He has my mother’s frilly, poppy-print apron on, and he’s flipping pancakes. My dick suddenly plumps in excitement at how my blushing bodyguard looks like a demented Mary Poppins.

Under the apron, John’s dressed in black jeans and a white and blue striped t-shirt that brings out his tantalizing eyes.

“Umm… Where’s my?—”

“She’s in the shower. I told her I’d finish making the food.” Then he flips another pancake onto the plate.

“Nice apron,” I chuckle.

He points the spatula at me. “I don’t want to hear it. It’s your mother’s idea that I wear it.” He swallows, and I can’t help track the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, and my brain instantly goes back to last night when my dick was down his throat.

I try not to laugh, but it’s wasted effort. “I’m sure she twisted your arm,” I chortle.

“She says the bacon splatters and she didn’t want me to ruin a good shirt.” John glances down at the apron and quickly takes it off.

Yet, I can’t ignore the easy glide of his eyes down my body. I’m not an idiot. I know we neither one of us wants to acknowledge the fact that we are attracted to each other. Hell, look what we did last night. But we won’t be doing that again.

“Is she… okay?” I ask, my eyes cast down to the plate full of bacon.

“Yeah, I think so,” he whispers low.

I nod, then glance toward the hallway before turning back to my bodyguard. “Thanks.”

“For what?” John eyes me with confusion.

“Thinking of her comfort. Being here when you don’t have to,” I reply, feeling a slight rush of heat in my cheeks. “Because I?—”

“Hey,” he clips out, which gets my full attention. He rounds the island and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t even go there, Connor. I’m here to help.”

I swallow a lump in the back my throat and nod.

“What’s going on?” Fig steps in and his eyes bounce between John and me.

“Nothing,” John steps back and utters, “Sit down and eat.” John hands me a plate, plopping down two pancakes and a fried, sunny side-up egg on top.

I narrow my eyes at the bodyguard. “How do you know I like my eggs this way?”

“I pay attention.” He shrugs, and goes back to flipping the last of the pancakes on the griddle.

“Hey, where’s mine?” Fig wiggles an empty plate in front of John.

“Cook your own,” John says, handing him the spatula.

“Oh, good, you’re eating,” my mother says, aiming a dim smile at me.

“You should, too.” John hands her an empty plate.

“I’m not hungry.” My mother pushes the offered dish away.

“Nope. If I have to eat, so do you,” I insist, eyeing my mother with an intense stare-down, attempting to mimic one of her famous glares.

She waves her hand. “Alright. Maybe something small.”

The doorbell rings then, and right away I know who’s behind the door. “Eat quick, the vultures are here,” I announce loudly.

The second I open the door, my Warrior Black brethren stride in, along with their bodyguards.

“I smell food,” Bobby chimes with glee, rubbing his hands together, a pixie stick protruding out from between his teeth.

“Coffee,” Callum mutters as he rubs his temples with both hands.

“Hangover?” I ask, studying my friend who never gets drunk. He’s usually our DD, whenever we go out.

“You can say that again,” Danny growls, as he eyeballs our bass player with annoyance. “You’d think we’d get this from Bobby. But no.” He blows out a resolved breath, walks to my mom and hugs her. “Good morning.”

“Someone’s grumpy because they didn’t get eight plus hours of sleep,” Raef razzes, poking my best friend’s ribs.

“Shut up.” Danny points at Raef. “You’d be mad too, if you stayed up all night listening to moaning in the next room,” Danny shoots back, wrinkling his nose up at our lead guitarist.

“But, babe, you did the same—” Tobias starts before Danny smacks a hand over his boyfriend’s mouth.

“We’re not talking about me, are we?” Danny huffs at Tobias.

“Thank you,” Raef says with a chortle, raising his hand up to Tobias, but he doesn’t clap back.

“Here, have a seat, Callum.” My mother offers him a cup of coffee while nudging him into the seat. “You really should not drink so much. It’s not good for your liver.”

“I know, Mrs. Wild,” Callum rumbles out, but his eyes shift to Dom, and then to Pen, who looks sheepish. Both bodyguards drop their attention to the floor, but they can’t hide the pink that blooms across each man’s cheeks.

Hmm. I’m not touching that with a ten-foot mic.

“So, what are you guys doing here this early in the morning?” I ask, but turn to Danny for the answer.

Tobias’s hand is on my friend’s waist, while Danny munches on a piece of bacon. “We heard about your uncle coming here last night, and the guys decided that it’s better we remain together than apart. If that’s okay with you, Mrs. Wild.”

My mom waves her hand around. “Most definitely. I don’t mind company. More the merrier Markus…” Her bloodshot eyes fill with tears. “Excuse me.” Mom sniffles and rushes away.

“I didn’t mean to make her cry.” Danny has tears of his own, and walks into his boyfriend’s open arms. “I know it’s going to be tough, especially since you have to meet with the funeral director today. If you want, I can come with you.”

I shake my head. “That’s alright.”

“Are you sure? We can all go for moral support,” Bobby offers, with a pancake sticking out of his mouth.

“Thanks, but I think I need to do this myself,” I admit with trepidation. My friends have never seen me cry. I’m not about to start now.

“You’re not going alone. I’ll be with you,” John says adamantly.

Danny squeezes my hand before dropping it. “I can come too.” I can tell he wants to argue by the way he’s slathering his lips with cherry flavored lip balm.

“Yes,” I reply with a false smile. “Now I have to talk to my mother.”

“You do that,” Danny says. “I need to call Ron, who seems to be avoiding my calls this morning.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, before eyeing every band member for an answer, but they shake their heads.

I’m surprised to hear Ron is not taking Danny’s calls. Our band manager can be prickly as a cactus at times, especially if we don’t keep him up to date on everything. So, it’s weird to hear he’s not answering his phone. He lives on the damn thing.

“I don’t know,” Danny says before walking away with his cell to his ear, and his boyfriend right behind him.

Focusing on what I need to do, I head to my mother’s room and knock.

“Come in,” Mom calls in a meek voice.

Stepping inside the room, I close the door and call out, “Are you alright?” Seeing my mom sitting on the bed, I sit next to her and pull her in for a hug.

“I will be. Promise.” She sniffles. “Are you coming with me to the funeral home?” she asks, looking up at me.

“I was thinking that you can stay here and rest, and I’ll go,” I suggest, but by the frown set on her tired face, she isn’t having it.

She pulls out of my arms and straightens her spine. “If you think for one second that I will let you go there alone, well—well you’re not thinking straight.” Then her eyes widen. She covers her lips with her fingers, before she erupts into laughing. “I’m so sorry.”

“Mom.” I hug her again. “The last time I thought straight was when I was in third grade, before Mr. Samuel walked in the gym with his short-shorts on and I can?—”

She slaps a hand over my mouth. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Connor Bradford Wild.” She drops her hand and lets loose another round of laughter. “Samuel was a young handsome man. And gay.”

`My mouth drops open at my mother’s words. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m telling the truth.”

“How do you know that?” I can’t believe my own mother kept that secret. The man was my crush for the longest time.

“Don’t you worry about that. It’s a shame though. Samuel kept it a secret about a year, before that jerk principle let him go for some ridiculous reason,” she explains, while wiping the wetness from her cheek. “That man was the biggest homophobic jerk.”

“Mom!”

“What? I’m human.”

I shake my head and chuckle. “So, you mean all of my wet dreams…”

“Connor,” she scolds, squeezing my arm.

“Just kidding, Mom. I barely knew what jacking off meant back then.”

“Oh, my goodness.” She snorts. “Well, now I feel a little better. Let’s head to the funeral home. Can you please grab your father’s good black suit from the closet?”

“Doesn’t he only have one good suit?” Opening the bi-fold door, I smell Old Spice mixed with my mother’s perfume. Scanning the space, I spot the only suit in the closet.

“He does,” she said with a bit of solemnity.

I reach for the suit that’s hanging in a plastic dry-cleaning bag. Just by chance, I glance up and catch sight of a brown shoe box covered in stickers. On the side is my name, written in my chicken-scratch, childish printing. I’d forgotten all about it, but all this time, my parents had kept it.

“Did you find it?” She sticks her head inside the closet.

“Yeah.” I snag the suit and walk out, mentally penning a reminder to ask my mother later why she has my treasure box.