I Do With You (Maple Creek)

Chapter 29 BEN

Chapter 29

B EN

Chaos in a bottle

Going wild beneath the lights.

Prettiest train wreck I’ve ever seen

Covered in your glittery midnight.

Coming to life

Resurrected from the ash of mediocrity.

Bury me six feet under

I’ll feed your righteous femininity.

Hope, when I have none

Love, when I’m all alone.

You make me

Unexpectedly . . . home.

Use me, take me

Become what you can be.

All I am is for you

Because you are—

Hope, when I have none

Love, when I’m all alone.

You make me

Unexpectedly . . . home.

There’s a hitch in my voice as I finish the repeat of the chorus, but this time, it’s not a crack of fear. It’s of pain. The audience has gone silent, swaying right and left before me even without my trademark orchestration. They can feel the love in the lyrics, the specialness of the song that is so different than our usual, and they’re with us all the way.

I hope Sherwood and AMM got their reassurance. Not that it matters. I meant what I said—the song stays either way.

We wrap up the impromptu set with one of our biggest “anthem” hits to send the crowd home happy, and I scream into the microphone, giving it all I have to hold out the last note as long as possible. When my air nearly runs out, I lift my arms overhead, looking up to the lights above us, and collapse forward into a bow. The lights go out.

It’s over.

We hurry offstage, and I stride straight for the greenroom to get my bag. I’m out of here. AMM has what it needs, the track list for the album is done, and the next time I’ll be needed is to show up to the closed studio for recording.

Sean and I will have to talk at some point about the contract negotiations, but it won’t be tonight. Or anytime soon. I don’t think I could sit in the same room as him right now and not spit in his face. We both need time to let this shit sink in.

Our usual exit after a concert is pretty unique. Keeping our costumes on, we get rushed out the back door of the venue, straight into three unmarked panel vans, which drive off in different directions, randomly going all over the city, making sure so nobody can follow Sean, Trent, or me. We’ve all become pros at scrubbing off body paint, towel wipe-downs, and changing clothes while cruising down the highway at seventy miles per hour in the dimly lit, open space of what amounts to a cargo hold, where we’re the cargo. We get dropped off somewhere, and then a different vehicle takes three normal-looking guys to wherever we’re staying to shower, shit, and sleep.

I’m expecting tonight to be status quo.

Except when I rush out the back door, the open door of the panel van reveals someone already sitting inside on the floor of the vehicle. Hope.

She’s here . Wearing my Midnight Destruction T-shirt, black jeans, and a hesitant smile.

There’s a bump to my back, knocking me forward. “I hate you, fucker,” Sean growls, low enough that only I hear him as he passes by me to get to his own transport van. But he pauses at the entrance to the vehicle, looking back over his shoulder.

He did this for me. I don’t know when or how, but he’s fixing what he fucked up, and that goes a long way in soothing my anger toward him. It’s not an apology of words but of action.

We’ll have to deal with each other eventually, and it won’t be pretty, but this is a huge step in the right direction.

“Fucking hate you too,” I answer just as quietly. He doesn’t react, just faces forward and gets into his van, but he heard me. I know he did.

I turn back to Hope, who gives me a cute two-finger wave and a surer grin. “Hi. Could I interest you in some candy or a puppy?”

Yeah, the vans are a bit sketchy, but their blandness is what makes them work for our purposes.

I climb in, slam the door behind me, and sit on the floor beside her as the van starts to move. “You’re here. How’re you here?” I murmur. I feel like my world has been rocked off its axis. I want to believe that her appearance here means that she’s forgiven me, but I know it’s not that easy. Still, hope is growing wild in my heart.

She starts to answer, and I remember that we’re not alone. We can’t speak here, not safely, not confidentially. The drivers are vetted, and there’s a wall between him and us, but part of the top-secret deal is no talking so that there’s zero chance they’ll hear our real voices.

I hold up a hand and then gesture toward the driver. She follows my finger, nods, and then mimes locking her lips.

I want to hear what she has to say. I want to know everything she’s thought, done, and felt over the last couple of weeks. But also, I need to touch her to make sure she’s not a figment of my imagination. Because my mind has been a dangerous place lately, and I wouldn’t put it past my brain to fuck me over with a lucid hallucination of my fantasy come true.

My hands are a mess, literally covered in smeared paint and sweat, but I cup her face, running my thumb over her cheekbone. She leans into my touch, which leaves a smudge of black on her soft skin. I’m quite literally corrupting her with my filth, but I refuse to stop. She reaches up to remove my mask and I help, ripping it off. I swipe my mouth on my sleeve, thankful I don’t paint fully beneath the mask but knowing I’m still gross post-concert. She doesn’t seem to care, running her thumb over my bottom lip and staring at it as she flashes a naughty smile, making me wonder what she’s thinking.

I don’t have time to wonder for long, because she lifts her chin, kissing me confidently. Her lips are soft and warm, parting on a sigh like she’s finally getting what she wants. Me. But the truth is ... I’m the one possessing her. Claiming her. Marking her as I nip her lip. She gasps and I chase that breath with my tongue, wanting it too.

I want all of her. Forever. I will do whatever it takes to make that happen.

Leave the band? Done.

Move to Maple Creek? Absolutely.

Become a no-credit commercial-jingle writer? Ding-a-fucking-ling.

Spend the rest of my life apologizing between her thighs, on her heart, and with my soul? Yes, without hesitation.

I slide my fingers into her hair, holding her head still as I tease over the curve of her ear with my nose. “I love you,” I whisper, needing her to know that. There’s more to say, so much more, but that’s the crux of it all.

She melts into my caress, dipping her chin to turn into me. “I love you too.” The words are more air than sound, but I hear them all the same.

Somehow, in what is the weirdest mix of darkness and light, we kiss again, the sweetest, softest kiss of my life, which grows into something more. I war with my need to touch her and my need to get this costume off. I push the cloak off, undoing the clasp and letting it fall to the van floor, and rip my shirt over my head. Beneath it is another shirt that’s skintight and covers me from neck to wrists, an attempt to make sure nothing can be identified onstage. I fight to get the wet, clinging shirt off, and every inch higher I get it, I’m rewarded with Hope’s exploration of the new territory of my skin. When I’m finally shirtless, I go for hers, which is much easier to pull over her head. She wastes no time, undoing the hooks of her bra and letting it fall to the wayside too.

I cup her breasts in my hands, any care of the body paint gone as I mark her all over, branding her with my touch. I tease her nipple with my tongue, sucking it into my mouth as I look up at her. A little smile tilts her lips, and I lift a brow, questioning her.

She points to my eyes and I remember that I have on the blackout contacts. I can see through them without issue, but she can’t. I move to pull them out but she shakes her head, catching my attention. Quietly, she says, “You look like a monster, but I see you . It’s sexy.”

I know there’s an entire corner of the internet where people write fantasies of my onstage alter ego and them fucking. I avoid those like the plague. But this isn’t that ... not exactly. However, there’s a certain degree of freedom in being that character, me but also not.

I am no one’s fantasy. But I can be her reality.

I click into that part of myself, the one that commands the stage, the music, the audience. I push her back roughly, grabbing the waistband of her jeans and pulling her down until she’s lying on her back on the floor of the van. I undo the button, and she realizes what I’m doing and starts to help, reaching for her zipper and wiggling the jeans over her hips and down her thighs. Her panties are lacy and black, with nothing more than a string going over her hips. She wore these for me.

For Ben. But now for this version of me too.

I undo my own jeans, pushing them down and freeing my cock. I kneel over her, letting my knees slide out and lowering myself, finding the right angle until my crown brushes over her glossy pink lips. Her tongue darts out to lap at my head, savoring me. I reach back, dipping beneath her panties to cup her pussy and find her soaking wet. I gather a bit of her juices and stroke them over my length, mixing it with the pre-come dripping down my shaft. Then I feed her my dick again, letting her taste not me, not her, but us.

She opens her jaw wide, swallowing me eagerly, and I bump the back of her throat as the van hits a pothole. Damn LA roads are a hazard. Except tonight, they’re a blessing in disguise. “Good girl,” I growl, curling over her so only she can hear me. I work my way in and out of her mouth, gritting my teeth to keep from shouting out not only my pleasure but also my joy that Hope loves me.

Broken, worthless monster that I am, but also the man I’m becoming.

Too close to the edge, I jerk myself back and flip her over to her stomach. Fuck me, the string of her panties disappears between the cheeks of her ass. I grip them in my hands, a devilish grin stealing my lips as I leave handprints marking her.

I lie over her, forcing her legs as wide as they’ll go with the restraint of her jeans, and line up with her entrance as I hold the G-string out of my way. I don’t go slow, I don’t let her adjust to me. She’s wet and ready, and I thrust in balls-deep in one forceful stroke. She grunts but takes it, even lifting her ass to give me deeper access.

I lean forward, catching my weight with one hand pressed to the van floor and wrapping my other arm over her shoulder and down to grip her breast. She presses up, throwing her head back and placing her cheek to mine. I catch her mouth in a kiss as I slide in and out of her, feeling her pussy clench as I give her everything I can.

She can’t move with the way I have her pinned, but she starts to quiver beneath me as her walls spasm. I swallow her cries to silence them, keeping them for myself. But her pleasure sends me over, and she reaches up, gripping my head to keep my mouth on hers to quiet me as I spill jet after jet of hot come into her.

Panting, I stroke into her a few more times, wanting the come to stay deep inside her, marking her as mine the way my hands have claimed her flesh and my love has filled her heart. “Fuuck,” I finally groan under my breath.

The van stops.

Shiiiit!

I pull out of Hope, feeling cold instantly when I lose her warmth. Scrambling, I grab her shirt and, grinning deliriously, she takes it and pulls it on.

I dive into my bag, trying to find my street clothes. I pull a solid black shirt over my head, too, and keep my jeans on, just rebuttoning them. I grab the towel pre-coated with heavy-duty makeup remover and scrub it over my face. Then, seeing Hope’s face, I grimace and scrub at hers instead.

She shakes her head and mouths, It’s okay. She takes the towel from me, wipes the areas that must be more covered in the paint, and then she leans back, perusing my face. She points to her eyes, and I dive into the bag again. I pop the contacts off, put them in their case, jerk a beanie over my head to cover any paint along my hairline we missed, then look at her.

Her smile when she sees me, as myself, is one I’ll never forget. She looks at me like she’s happy to see me, like I am enough, just as me, Benjamin Taylor, a poor kid from the wrong side of life who still struggles with his demons just to make it through the day sometimes.

She nods this time, letting me know I’m good. I shove my costume and all the other shit back in the bag, throw it over my shoulder, and take her hand.

I slide the door open, help her out, and slam the door once again. The van pulls off, no one but us any the wiser to the switcheroo or the sex that just happened.

I’m never sure exactly where I’ll be, but I’ve done this enough to know the drill. Especially on my home turf of LA.

Except Hope jerks on my hand, and when I glance back, she’s looking around like she knows where she is. “Come on,” she teases, pulling me along as she leads me through the side of the lobby and to the bank of elevators.

Upstairs, she guides me to a door, where she unlocks it with a key card. Once the door is shut behind us, she leans her back against it. “We made it!” she exclaims with a bright smile.

We did. In so many ways.

I move into her, pressing a kiss to her lips once more. “I love you,” I say at a normal volume now. I want to make sure she hears me.

“I love you too,” she answers easily.

But this wasn’t an easy place for us to get to. I lay my forehead to hers and smile. “How did you get here?”

She laughs and pushes me back, but only to make her way to the bed. She kicks her boots off and curls up, crisscrossing her legs and patting the bed beside her, inviting me to sit too. I leave my feet on the floor, not wanting to dirty the bed where I’m about to make love to Hope.

After we finally talk.

“Sean texted me that you weren’t okay, sent me a plane ticket, and then ghosted me. I was worried but also wanted to see you.”

“I’m still gonna kill that fucker,” I say, but I don’t mean it anymore. Sean is not without his issues, but I’m no walk in the park to deal with either. And he’s trying to fix things—with me and Hope, and with us and AMM. Trying is enough for now.

Hope pushes at my shoulder. “Get in line. Me first. Stabby-stab.”

She makes a stabbing motion, and I’m reminded of Joy casually mentioning Shepherd doing the same thing to me. It’s amazing how much and how quickly things can change. We’ve gone from meeting each other, to falling in love, to fighting and breaking up, to being back together. I want it to stay like this.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about the band. I wanted to, was going to. That’s why Sean did it first. In a backhanded way, he was protecting me.”

She nods, thinking about that. “I can understand why you didn’t lead with ‘I’m possessed by a demon that I let out to feed on my cult following every few days. Consensually, of course.’”

I snort out a laugh because, well ... she’s not exactly wrong. “ Consensually being the key word there.”

“Yeah, I probably wouldn’t have gone back to your cottage if you’d gone with that instead of the bird thing,” she teases. More seriously, she says, “I know you were telling the truth about the rest. The lie about the one thing just made me question everything, especially when things were moving so fast and felt so big. It seemed like I was giving you the best and worst of me, but you’d left out this major part of who you are because, watching those videos Sean showed me”—she turns her head and cups her mouth, talking over her shoulder in a rough, low voice—“ and the ones I’ve obsessively watched since ”—she grins and continues normally—“I could tell how important that onstage side of you is. You’re magnificent up there, Ben.”

Her praise means more to me than selling a million albums ever could.

“I still have to hype myself up to actually go out there,” I admit, telling the truth to someone besides Sean and Trent for the first time in forever. “I get nervous my voice will crack, my costume will fail, or that people will decide I’m a poser and boo me off the stage.”

She wraps her arms around my waist and lays her head on my shoulder. “That would never happen. Your voice and your presence are what magic is made of, and everyone in the audience feels that they’re part of that magic because of you.” She pauses, rolls her eyes, and adds, “Fine, Sean and Trent help too. But mostly it’s you.”

“I couldn’t do it without Sean,” I confess. “More importantly, I wouldn’t want to. And nobody else would put up with us besides Trent. Sean and I can be yelling and cussing each other out—like we’ve been doing the last couple of weeks—and Trent will sit there and drink a venti matcha tea, waiting for us to be done so we can get back to work. As long as we don’t fuck with his family, he’s chill.”

She’s hanging on every word, and I realize I like involving her in this side of me. I want her to be a part of it all. If she wants to be.

“I’m sorry you two have been fighting,” she says. “I feel like that’s my fault for knee-jerk reacting too fast and too harshly. I’m sorry for that.”

Her apology is simple but heartfelt. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “There’s a lot of water that existed prior to us meeting that still needs to go under the proverbial bridge. And in your case, I’m sure all of this was a shock.”

I forgive her easily, but she’s not done. “It’s not okay. I know we joked about me being a train wreck, but I really have been. I’ve been working on it, though. Dealing with all the things I could’ve and should’ve done with Roy but was too chickenshit to follow through on because I had this image in my head. And then I turned around and did the same thing with you,” she admits, shaking her head. “We had this dreamy adventure happening, and at the first sign of trouble, I bolted. I want you to know that despite recent, recurrent events, that’s not how I usually handle things. And not how I will in the future. I’ll talk to you, tell you what I’m afraid of, and listen to what you’re feeling, too, so we can be better for each other and to each other. I want that with you ... if you still do?”

I’m so proud of her. She’s telling me, blunt and bold, exactly what she wants. Seeing her standing strong in her power after she allowed herself to be weak is a potent thing. It’s stunning to witness her transformation. I can understand why Sean thought she was like my mother, especially given her recent breakup and the state of her spirit when they met. But the truth is ... she’s nothing like Mom. Hope is a mix of steady and wild, a blend of beauty and filth, and I want to spend the rest of my days showing her how to live while she shows me how to love. Because I’ve never done that before. Not like this.

So she’s asking me if I want her. Is she fucking serious? Of course I do.

“I want forever with you, Hope. You can be my adventure, and I can be yours.”

She smiles a soft, happy smile that I want to put on her face every day for the rest of our lives. “I’m kind of a roller coaster,” she admits. “Just with fewer loops. And no safety harness.”

“I fucking love roller coasters. And train wrecks. And hot messes with glitter that attack me at every opportunity.”

Hope grins and bites her lip. “And I love demon-possessed monsters who are a little shy, hate people other than me, and let their chaos live right out in the open instead of shoving it down till it explodes like fireworks.”

“Why wait for fireworks? Just go ahead and get ’em out there,” I tease. But I lean forward, pressing my lips to hers. “I love you , Hope Barlowe.”

I think she says it back, but I’m too lost in our kiss to be sure. But I feel it either way.