Beyond the Stix (Warrior Black #2)

Chapter 9

NINE

John

I sit beside Connor, pull him into my arms and hold him tight. For a moment, I look around for Amanda, but she’s nowhere in sight and so I assume she’s in her room.

Right now, Connor is my only concern. I don’t know why the man’s crying, but I can guess and it’s about fucking time. He’s been keeping his emotions so tight to the vest that he has me seriously worried for his mental health. And from the way he’s gripping a piece of paper tightly in his hand, and the open shoe box on the coffee table, I believe that it has something to do with those items.

Instead of asking him to explain, I sit there holding Connor until he pulls himself together. Eventually, he leans away from me, and wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“Sorry,” he says quietly.

“Don’t say sorry.” I point to the box. “What’s this?”

He takes a shuddering breath. “Something I gave my father a long time ago, and he kept it to give back to me.” He then raises his hand, the one still holding onto the paper. “He wrote me two letters, but I have only read this one so far.”

“I’m assuming it’s good news,” I say, as he smiles at me, and the tension in my chest loosens.

Connor nods. “He wrote that he loved me and that I’m the best drummer he knows, but he encouraged me to be even better and go beyond the stix , and he spells ‘sticks’ with an x.” Connor chuckles, carefully folding the letter like it’s precious.

“Beyond the stix?” I ask, not understanding the meaning.

“He used to tell me that it takes more than banging the drum to make life happen, and that I have to be a good person, too.” Connor shakes his head and chuckles again. “Beyond the stix.”

“Ah, I get it now,” I say. “It’s kind of poetic, really.”

“That’s my father for ya. But…” he begins to say, then stalls as he glances between the letter in his hand and the other one sitting on the coffee table. His brows furrow and then his mouth clamps tight, like he’s wanting to say something but jails the words away behind his lips.

“What is it?” I encourage, and follow his gaze to the other envelope.

“I’m afraid to read what’s inside the other one,” he admits as he places the first letter back in the envelope and then in the box.

“You won’t know unless you open it.”

“It’s dated three months after our fight,” he says, picking up the sealed envelope and slowly peeling back the flap.

Connor takes out the letter and begins reading it in silence. The hitch in his breathing has me on immediate alert. “What does it say?”

It can’t be good like the first letter since he’s crushing the paper between his fingers.

With wide, watery eyes, like he can’t believe what he read, he explains, “It’s a confession. He wrote that it was his fault for keeping my Uncle Jessup away. Dad thought since Jessup was gay, and I loved hanging out with my uncle all the time, that I’d turn gay, too.” Connor begins to chuckle. “After I came out in the seventh grade, my father realized that being gay wasn’t some disease of the mind. Or that it was a choice I made. The man knew the hard struggle I went through that year, finally admitting that I liked boys instead of girls.”

“Jesus,” I utter. “What did they do when you told them?”

“I blurted it out during Sunday breakfast, before we went to church. Danny was there. He knew I was going to tell them, so he slept over to lend his support.”

“And?”

Connor smiles wide. “They both looked at each other for a long moment. Then they got up, came around the table, and hugged me for a long time. Neither one of them said one negative word.” Then his smile drops. “Seven months ago, we argued about the Denver concert tickets I gave to my parents. Dad wanted to bring my uncle instead of my mom. He was insistent and wouldn’t take no for an answer. So I told him I didn’t want to be a part of his life if he chose my uncle instead of me, and then I hung up. What kind of an asshole son am I to tell my dad I didn’t want anything to do with him?” He shakes his head, staring back down at the crumpled letter.

“You can’t blame yourself for feeling like that,” I say, trying to ease the torture I see in his green eyes. I reach over and grip his hand. “I’m telling you, your father loved you. The proof is in those letters and on the wall.” I point to the envelopes and the pictures on the wall around me.

“Yeah, I know. But can I forgive myself for being a petulant fuck?” He swallows hard, and a lone tear slips past the ridge of his lower lashes before Connor swipes it away like it was never there.

I eye the paper. “Tell me what really happened between you and your uncle,” I ask, shifting my gaze to Connor’s face.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispers, slicing a wary look toward the hallway, where his mother’s room is located.

“Eventually you’ll need to, Connor.” I get up, moving to relinquish my hand from his, but he keeps a tight grip on mine.

“Not if I can help it,” he mumbles, but I hear every word.

When I came into the room, I had every intention of telling Connor about the conversation I had with his asshole uncle earlier today in the restroom. And also what Lee had found in Jessup’s past—which was nothing, except for a single misdemeanor at age twenty-nine, when he was in a bar fight with another guy over a woman. Otherwise, the man lives a boring life as a computer programmer.

I would have accepted Jessup’s humdrum life, but after learning that Jessup is gay, the bar fight over a woman has warning bells go off in my head. I need to tell Lee to keep digging.

Jessup might be a pretentious dick, and he probably thinks there’s nothing I can do to stop him from seeing his nephew again. But now, watching Connor break down, I vow to make sure Jessup doesn’t get near him.

Still, I need to tell Connor what I did, and insist that he tells me what he’s hiding about his uncle, but that conversation is delayed when his phone chimes with a call.

He quickly picks up the cell and pastes on a fake smile. “It’s Danny.” He taps on the screen and the lead singer’s voice is loud enough that I can hear it.

“Is John there?” Danny asks, then he continues. “Put me on speaker.” The anger in his tone has my spine straightening.

“I’m here,” I respond.

“What’s going on—why are you mad?” Connor darts a worried look to me.

“Ron called.” That’s Tobias. “He needs the band back to San Fran.”

“Why?” Connor challenges. “Don’t I get a few more days?” He rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“The execs are giving us only a week to finish the album,” Danny grates out. “I can’t fucking believe those bastards. Have they ever lost a loved one?”

Apparently not. I want to protest on the drummer’s behalf. It’s bullshit, that Connor has to cut short his time with his mother. Especially when they just laid his father to rest today. But I keep my mouth shut.

Instead, I look to Connor, who’s frowning, and ask him, “Are you okay with that?”

He shrugs. “I’m assuming I don’t have a choice.”

“Not really,” Danny replies, as groans from their bandmates echo in the background.

“Then we go tomorrow,” Connor says with finality.

“We’re coming to pick you up at nine, so be ready,” Tobias conveys before Danny ends the call.

“I guess I should break the news to my mother.” Connor folds his father’s second letter and slides it back in the envelope. He drops it in the box, then closes the lid. “I hope my mother is okay with this.” He picks up the box and without a glance, leaves me alone in the living room.

“What about dinner?” I ask, before glancing down at my watch. It’s almost six in the evening.

“I’m not hungry.” Connor disappears around the corner.

“Me either,” I whisper back, my mind too focused on the drummer.

After a good two hours of doing nothing but standing outside and keeping an eye out for Jessup or any paparazzi, I lock up the house, draw the curtains closed, and head into the spare room.

After stripping down to my boxers, I lie on the queen bed in the guest room, with the light still on, as sleep eludes me. Everything that happened today rumbles through my head. The funeral, the paparazzi outside the gates, and the confrontation in the bathroom with Jessup.

Connor finally broke down, which eases some of my worry for him. Though having Jessup back in his life creates a gnarled ball of anxiety in my gut and I can’t focus on anything but that.

I stare up at the ceiling, like it holds all the answers, but it isn’t working. “This is ridiculous.” I reach over, ready to turn off the lamp, when a creak from the hallway catches my attention. Before the door cracks open, I know it’s Connor.

He’s standing in the threshold, eyes red and watery, and shaking. It’s déjà vu—except for the tears.

“Can I come in?” he asks unsteadily. “I had a nightmare.”

I hesitate, not sure this is a good idea. As much as I want to wrap him up and protect him, I have to keep what we have professional. It’s the only way, or I’ll lose my sanity around Connor.

“John,” Connor pleads my name in a whisper, and all my stoic plans are shoved out the window.

Even though he didn’t verbally ask to join me in the queen size bed, I move over, my back and ass edging the side of the mattress.

Connor glances at the empty space for all of two seconds before climbing in.

With a good foot of space between us, he doesn’t cover his trembling body with the comforter I offer him.

His bloodshot eyes are red and a bit swollen. There are remnants of wetness across his long, thick dark brown lashes. I want to kiss each lid, but refrain from touching him altogether, keeping my right hand tucked under the pillow and my left at my side.

My protective need to shelter him rises to new heights. I can’t hide him away from the world, but I can make sure to be the barrier he needs me to be.

“I’m here. Talk to me,” I say, keeping my attention on his expressive green eyes, but the way his lips thin, shows that Connor’s hesitant to talk to me.

Give him something .

“You’re lucky to have grown up with a father and mother, who loves you without restraints. My father threw me out when I was sixteen.”

His eyes widen and his mouth parts in surprise. “Why?”

“He found out that I was gay. He doesn’t a faggot for a son —his words.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you had to go through that,” he says with sincerity.

“Well, it was his loss.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“No. He died when I was twenty-one. I never got to say goodbye, or tell my old man to go fuck off,” I chuckle, even though it isn’t funny, but I get a small smile out of Connor.

Though, the smile drops from his face and he turns his gaze away, as if he’s ashamed of what he’s about to tell me. “I was ten at the time. Sicker than shit. Flu—I think my mother said. I was throwing up. I couldn’t keep anything down. Anyway. I vaguely remember my parents had to go to my Aunt Dorothy’s wedding, which they couldn’t miss. And me being sick, I couldn’t go, so they called Jessup to watch me.”

Connor scoots a bit closer, a hint—I hope, of him needing my touch. I take a risk, and using my thumb, I skim the pad over his wet cheek and gently wipe a tear. “Go on.”

He takes a shaky breath and continues. “I seriously don’t remember much. I’d been in and out of sleep that night, drugged up by medicine my mom gave me before she left and I think another dose from Jessup. Mom also slathered some nasty stuff on my chest, too. I just remember the god-awful smell. But she told me that the minty stuff would help me to breathe.”

“Did it?” I ask.

A small smile curves up onto Connor’s face, but the whimsy doesn’t reach his eyes. “I think it did. I don’t know.” Then he sobers. “I remember one second my parents had kissed me goodbye, and then I was cold. I opened my eyes and saw my uncle wiping me down with a wet washcloth. The strangest thing, I had no pajama pants or underwear on—I don’t know.” He tucks his head down and shivers, like he’s trying to clear away the memory.

Jesus fucking Christ. I wish I had known this before, because I would have ripped Jessup apart for touching Connor that way. He was a kid. Innocent of the world.

“Honestly, I could have made a mistake, like Jessup said. I could have peed myself and he was cleaning me up.”

“But you don’t believe him?” I growl, unable to control my indignation.

He hesitates before saying, “The thing is I could have wet the bed since I was so sick. But I don’t know.”

“You have to follow your gut, Connor. What do you believe?” I asked. For his sake, I don’t visibly react, but my insides are even more gnarled up now from his admission. I am now absolutely sure Jessup will never get near Connor again.

“I don’t know what to believe any more,” he confesses.

“What did you do next?” I need to know how Connor reacted.

“I freaked out, kicked him in the nuts. He slapped me then. I remember being so angry that I grabbed my pajama pants and then ran.”

“You went to the tree house, didn’t you?” I remember Danny joking around about when Connor disappeared for over fourteen hours, and everyone in the neighborhood was looking for him. But Danny was the one who found him sleeping in the tree house.

Connor nods, biting his lower lip, a nervous gesture he’s been doing a lot lately. “Yeah. Danny found me the next day. By then the flu had turned into full blown pneumonia and my parents took me to the hospital.”

“Did you tell your parents what happened?”

He shakes his head. “I only told them that he slapped me for accidently kicking him in the balls.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because they wouldn’t have believed me. My dad—my mom, too, loved Jessup… I did too—that’s why they wouldn’t have believed what actually happened.” He sighs. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s the past, and I just want to move on with my life.”

I tip his chin, needing to see his eyes—see the truth to his words. “You sure?”

“Yes.” There’s so much honesty to that word.

For a long silent moment, it is just us. Our eyes are riveted on each other. My hand is touching his chin. I lean in to kiss him—tender at first. Simple and innocent enough to convey that I’m here for him. However, Connor slides his fingers through my hair, then firmly grips the back of my neck and deepens the kiss. He molds his body to mine, and I go from burning to combustible as his tongue fights for dominance with mine.

His taste is heady. Potent. Like I’m overdosing on his drug, and I’ll die happy.

Connor slides his hand from my neck, down my chest, to my boxer-clad crotch. “Make me forget, John.” He then squeezes my rock-hard cock. “Don’t deny me.”

I pull back from his lips, and look him in the eyes. In the back of my head, I know I should get out of this bed and walk away. I’m his security, damn it, not his boyfriend. We’re not like Danny and Tobias…

But you could be.

I shut down those thoughts. But what if?

I’m not about to stop him to ask. He’s been through the emotional wringer in the last several days. If my body gives him solace, then I can do as he wishes. The earnestness in his green depths and my own hungry need to be inside him overrides the morality battling within me.

“I won’t,” I finally say, then yank him closer and devour his mouth like I have every right to.

Connor groans low, shifts away from me, and takes off his underwear. He quickly straddles my hips, and his beautiful cock, long and hard, is jutting up from a patch of dark brown hair.

Precum is leaking at the tip, and my mouth waters for a taste. With the pad of my thumb, I swipe the pearly drop and pop it into my mouth. I moan at the flavor.

“Keep doing that and I’ll come before we fuck.” He waggles his brows. “I want to be on top, John.”

It takes me all of two seconds to settle on the notion that he’s going to fuck me. It’s been a long while since I bottomed, but this is Connor. I trust him enough that he won’t hurt me.

Connor cups my face, “I can see you thinking too hard.” He chuckles. “Don’t worry, big guy, I want you inside me… this time.”

Tension eases out of my body, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “It’s just…”

“You don’t have to explain.” Connor kisses me, then slides down my body, yanks down my boxers, and engulfs my cock in one fluid motion.

His talented mouth is hot, wet, and utterly divine, as he chokes me down. I grit my teeth to keep from making any noise. The last thing I want is for his mother to hear us and walk in.

As I begin to reach the pinnacle and need to come, he pulls off and then reaches over to the night stand. He pulls open the drawer and retrieves a condom and a…

“Lube?” I stare at the small bottle, wondering who last slept in this bed. Then remember Fig was in here last.

“Don’t ask.” Connor pops the lid open. “Now, relax, and let me do this.”

He drizzles the liquid all over my dick, then does the same on himself, before he begins working his fingers into his ass. I wish there was a mirror behind him, so I can see him opening his hole.

He then takes both our cocks in his slippery hands and strokes them with eagerness.

“Fuck, that feels good,” I whisper, still not wanting to make any noise. But I can’t prevent a few soft moans.

“Just you wait,” he says, smiles wickedly and releases our cocks.

He proceeds to grind against me in a slippery slide. I cup his fine ass with both hands and thrust my pelvis upward, trying to get better friction.

“Yes,” he says, then tips back while ripping open the condom packet and quickly rolling it on my shaft. “I’m ready.”

Connor leans up on his knees, and guides the tip of my dick to his entrance. A low moan slips past his swollen lips as he ever so slowly seats himself on me, until his ass nestles against my groin. “Give me a second,” Connor whimpers as he adjusts himself.

“Take all the time you need,” I admit, reaching up and caressing his cheek. His tight ass is squeezing my shaft, making me want to come right then.

Connor grins and leans into my touch, pulling me from my need. My sole attention is on this man on top of me and nothing else. And before we go any further, I utter, “I’m sorry for leaving you that night. I didn’t want to, but…” I don’t know quite how to explain myself.

He captures my hand with his. “I get it. It hurt, but I do get it. And, I think,” he shifts and we both groan, “this isn’t the time to talk.”

He then proceeds to move. Slow at first, in a lazy rhythmic glide of his hips. Clamping my hands on his hips, I watch him in utter fascination as he pulls pleasure out of my body.

But it isn’t enough. I need to move. As Connor sinks down, I thrust upward, eliciting a moan out of him that reverberates down to my balls. He shudders, gyrating faster, which has me tightening my hold on his hips and pumping harder into him like I’m chasing a carnal high, just out of reach.

“John,” he hisses in desire. “I’m going to come.”

“Yes, baby. Paint my chest.” I take over, pumping upwards in rapid succession, as towering electricity builds in my balls. Connor’s ass tightens around my cock. He throws his head back, and croons out my name before he comes all over my stomach.

One, two—three more thrusts, and I’m there with him, cresting the apex, and exploding inside the latex.

Connor collapses on top of me, and I wrap my arms around this beautiful man.

All the energy is drained out of my body. And from the way Connor doesn’t move, he is in the same condition. We lay there in absolute bliss for a good long while, before he finally slides off me. Using my arm as a pillow, he falls asleep.

I glance down at Connor, in wonderment as to why this gorgeous man is in this bed with me. I should leave, and sleep on the couch. I’ve never stayed long enough with any of my hookups to fall asleep. However, Connor is different. He’s no hookup. And he feels too good to let go.

The following morning, I find myself alone in bed, and my right arm is cramped. Heavy disappointment courses through me, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I only promised to be there for him to chase away his nightmares. And I did.