Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

was sex and Sundays, Devon. I'm over it and you should be too. I cannot even imagine living the life of a rockstar, or more precisely, being the one waiting at home."
    "Because it's only logical to believe all musicians whore around?" Devon's jaw was twitching again and Scott had to look away from the tense gaze in his eyes.
    "If the shoe fits."
    Devon slammed his fist on the edge of the table. "Then fuck you, Scott!"
    "Keep your voice down. Eddie might hear."
    "You think I'm rude, crude, and lewd anyhow so why would you expect me to give a crap about what some kid hears? Here's the truth, Scott… maybe you wanna make a list or something so you don't forget." Dirty pool, Devon. That really hurt. "I'm a twenty-seven-year-old, gay, and out singer in a band that I love. I'm in the spotlight, I've sold a few records, and I stomp around the stage screaming my fucking heart out, but that does not make me a slut. I have… had real feelings for you, but this is exactly what I was afraid would happen."
    "Feelings? You're going to talk to me about feelings—now?" Scott did not want to talk about feelings with Devon. Not now, not ever. Have to close the door to my heart. It's all too much.
    "Oh fuck me. You're right. Whores don't have feelings for other people, just hard-ons and orgasms."
    "Now you're just being crass. You know that's not what I meant."
    "You know what? I'm starting to think you didn't mean a lot of things you said to me, Scott. Maybe you're not as honest as you make yourself out to be either. I apologized and told you I cared for you but that's obviously not enough." Devon's eyes were wild, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. If Scott didn't know better he might have been afraid. But I don't know him.
    "Dev—"
    "I have a fan meet-and-greet to go to. Tell Eddie it was cool to meet him and since you're such a logical guy, I'm sure you can find your way out. Goodbye, Scott."
    ****
    The next couple of weeks dragged for Scott; his time was still consumed by work, but his thoughts were strictly on Devon. Being left alone in the dressing room had been a revelation for him, one that came too late and one that would never see fruition. Devon had said goodbye to him and it had sounded more like an honest-to-goodness goodbye than a see you around or catch ya later .
    Scott had fucked up—bad. The way he'd treated Devon was shameful and he was embarrassed for not listening to what Devon had had to say. He hadn't given Devon a chance to explain his deception, just stepped right into wallowing over his own pain and heartbreak. His heart still ached like something physical had been removed from inside him, something critical he needed to function in life. To put it bluntly—and more than a little needy—he missed Devon with every cell in his body.
    Devon's scent still haunted Scott's bedroom, his kitchen, his living room. The jeans and t-shirt he'd last worn to Scott's house were folded and waiting for some unknown messenger to pick them up. But the most obvious ghost to remain was the one who huddled lazily and contentedly on the settee on the sun porch. The apparition never seemed to leave, and it was the hardest one for Scott to give up. He didn't want to give it up because it represented the most important part of Devon that Scott had lost; the part Scott looked forward to spending Sundays with, the relaxed, grinning, quick-to-cuddle part that made Scott's whole week bearable.
    Scott had debated his part in the whole deceptive situation and he'd concluded in his own logical way that his hands weren't clean by any means. He'd had many opportunities to push Devon's obvious issue with leaving Scott's house a little further, but instead chose to stay contentedly blind. Hell, he'd never considered going to Devon's place, didn't know where Devon lived, had never even asked Devon what he did for work since that would have opened the conversation up for Devon to scoff at Scott's mundane career. He'd also concluded it was time to fess up to his part of the misunderstanding and to the feelings threatening to strangle him with sadness. Devon had become more than a lover; he'd become the best friend Scott had ever had, so the loss was twofold for him.
    He needed to tell Devon he wanted him back, even if it was only a small part of him. Friend. Lover. Whatever Devon would agree on. He wondered if it was possible to swallow one's pride and admit what an asshole they'd been in a situation that was already