TRAVIS
In the middle of scooping an armful of bottles off the coffee table in the living room, Travis rolled his eyes as his phone began to buzz. Jake had just left, was the guy calling him already? He seemed to be the only one interested in talking to Travis lately.
But when Travis sat the bottles down on the counter, the name lighting up his screen wasn’t Jake’s. His fingers hovered over the device for a second before he bit the bullet and brought the cell to his ear.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Travis! I thought I was gonna get your voicemail again. How are you doin’, honey?”
“I’m doing good, how’s everything back home?”
“You won’t believe what Susan said the other day at book club. I thought I was gonna have to beat her silly with the pan of soggy cornbread she’d brought.”
Travis winced at her words and bent over the counter to put his head in his hand. That was the reason he didn’t want to go home, like Jake had suggested. Everyone in the town of Clearpond had a damned opinion, and Travis was too tired to hear them all.
“Mom, please don’t tell me you got in a fight with Susan.”
She was quiet for a moment before she huffed. “Well, is it even a fight if she just walks off in a tizzy?”
“Mom!” Travis scolded her, but he was almost certain she could hear the smile in his voice. “You can’t change the mind of every homophobe in southern Tennessee.”
“Well, she was talking bad about my boy,” she retorted. The woman was shameless.
“Thank you for defending my honor,” he teased. “But it’s fine. Don’t alienate yourself from your friends for me.”
The small town was hardly bearable even with a solid group of friends. He remembered that well from high school. It was the loners who’d had it the hardest, and there was nothing more petty than a southern housewife. If his mom wasn’t careful, she’d end up on the wrong side of her book club friends.
“If they can’t accept my baby the way I did, they’re no friends of mine. Fuck ‘em,” she declared, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Fierce as she was, there would be no changing her mind.
“I love you, Mom,” he said suddenly.
He’d never forget the way she’d called once news of the sandal had broken. And after, she’d called again and spoken so softly, which was such a rare occurrence, and told him, “It’s about time everyone else knew what I have since you were singin’ and dancin’ in diapers.”
“Honey, is everything okay?” she interrupted his thoughts in that same quiet voice. His sinuses burned for a few seconds and he glanced up at the light and willed the tears away. Willed it all away.
“Yeah, I’m just figuring things out,” Travis answered. He didn’t want to get into everything just then. It was too much. His gaze darted to the half empty bottle of whiskey left on the counter before skittering away.
“Do you wanna come home for a bit?” she offered.
“I don’t know, Momma,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. He wavered for a second as he brushed a hand over the back of his neck before finally confessing, “Coming home sounds like an awful lot right now.”
“That’s okay,” she murmured without missing a beat. “I knew you were always meant for something bigger than little ole Clearpond anyhow. You do what you need to, and just know I’m here with a hot plate and room for you if you need it.”
“Thanks, M—”
“Oh, honey, look at that! Susan’s callin’ me. She better be wantin’ to apologize instead of runnin’ her mouth about something she knows nothin’ about! Gotta go, call you soon!”
Travis couldn’t help but chuckle as he hung up the phone. He stood with his head hung between his shoulders for a moment, then took a deep breath and soaked in the silence of his apartment that he paid an ungodly amount for in L.A.
When he’d been signed, he’d uprooted his entire life and moved to the city. He remembered when it had all been so strange and new, terrifying and daunting, but so thrilling and… promising. Through the complications that came with learning the new area, meeting new people, and keeping his head on straight, he’d focused on his music. It had been the one constant, the thing he could come back to over and over again and lose himself in, and then always know right where he was supposed to be.
Now he didn’t even have that.
Now he had an empty apartment, emptier bottles, and a ruined reputation.
Travis grabbed the half empty bottle and went back to the couch.
When he rose from the dead the next morning, he groaned at the light streaming in through the bedroom window. The sun poured in like a soft glowing fog, the golden hue to the room polite and romantic.
What wasn’t romantic was the headache throwing a rave right behind his eye sockets. Groaning, he rolled over and face-planted into the pillow, planning to pull the covers over his head and feel pitiful for a few more hours. Instead, when he tugged on the sheets, he met resistance.
Carefully, he peeked out from under the pillow and frowned at the strange man in his bed.
Ah, shit.
Just how much more had he drank last night, and where the fuck had this guy come from?
The man in question moaned sleepily before smacking his lips together and Travis winced. He hated that sound.
Brows furrowed, he tried to keep the confusion at bay and rifled through his very blurry memories, only to come up blank.
Not a good fucking sign.
His hard stare must have invaded the peaceful sleep of the stranger, because his brows twitched before he blinked them open. Murky brown orbs sought him out before a wicked grin curled his lips.
“Well, good morning, Travis Cherry.”
His stomach flipped queasily. He didn’t remember this guy, but he knew exactly who he was. Travis had met and slept with too many men like him to count in recent months. All it took was his name and an offer before they jumped at the chance to get a piece of him.
He hated it.
So what the fuck had possessed him to bring this one home?
There was only one answer—alcohol.
“You don’t remember?” he guessed with a quickly hidden smirk.
Travis didn’t answer and almost wanted to knock the smirk off the asshole’s face. How long would it take to suffocate someone with a pillow?
“Figures.” He rolled his eyes. “We met at the liquor store and hit it off. You were already pretty buzzed and the Uber left you, so I offered you a ride and we came back here.”
The vaguest recollection fizzled in the back of his mind, flashes of the shelves of alcohol and all their pretty labels, the inside of the guy’s car, stumbling up the steps, hot lips and busy hands.
But his name—what was his fucking name?
Clearing his throat, Travis slid from the bed and mumbled something about coffee before tugging a shirt on with his boxers. He left the room like it was on fire and made his way to the kitchen. The white pack of cigarettes on the end of the bar seemed to call his name, but he glanced away quickly as the guy joined him on the cold tile. Travis pushed aside the empty beer bottles, all new, and sat them in the sink before he started the coffee maker.
“Thanks for the ride last night,” Travis murmured, hoping the guy would pick up on his vibes. His ‘get the fuck out’ vibes.