Free Outsider by Olivia Cunning

But Ethan
had no way of explaining away his feelings for Trey. And Trey wasn’t very good
at hiding their mutual attraction. Hell, he seemed to enjoy playing with fire.
    “Do
you really love me?” Trey whispered.
    “Of
course I do,” Ethan said. “Why would you ask me that?”
    “You
keep turning away from me.”
    “Just
in public. Out of necessity.”
    Trey
dropped his head forward and stared at his clasped hands resting in his lap.
After a moment, he shook his head. “I don’t feel it only when we’re in public.”
He lifted his chin, raw pain in his eyes. “I feel it when we’re alone together
too. The only time I don’t feel like you’re erecting walls between us is when
we’re fucking.”
    “It
isn’t you, Trey,” Reagan said, her voice slightly slurred. “It’s him. He’s
always been like that.”
    “Yeah,”
Ethan said, adding several layers of bricks to his so-called wall. “I’m a cold-hearted
son of a bitch. If you don’t like it, file a complaint.”
    He
shoved his chair back and shot to his feet.
    “Where
are you going?” Reagan asked, reaching for his hand, but missing when he stepped
backward.
    “What
does it matter?” he said as he turned and strode away.
    “Ethan,”
Trey called after him, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t want to discuss his closed
emotional state here. Not anywhere for that matter.
    Ethan
met Dare’s gaze as he slammed both palms into the exit door and sent it flying
open. Dare pressed his lips together and shook his head. Ethan glared at him.
He didn’t need outside opinions. Apparently he didn’t need inside opinions either.
    No
one seemed to care that he’d left. He was acutely aware that neither Trey nor
Reagan hurried after him when he stormed off hurt and confused. And they
thought he was callous.

Five
    Trey
knocked on the bathroom door of the dressing room in Albuquerque. Another
night. Another city. Another chance to give Brian a hard time. “Are you done
puking? We have to get onstage.”
    “I’m
not puking,” Brian called. “Just working on my breathing.”
    The
world-renowned guitarist had played before millions of people in his lifetime
and he still got stage fright. Once Master Sinclair was onstage, he was fine.
It was the hour or so before each show that he struggled to keep his head
together. Trey shrugged at Sed, who was the one who’d insisted he harass Brian
in the first place.
    “You
can breathe later,” Sed called. “Get a move on.”
    The
door opened, and a pale, waxy-skinned version of their lead guitarist emerged.
    “You’d
probably feel better if you just puked,” Trey said.
    “I’m
fine,” Brian assured them.
    “Get
a guitar in his hands,” Eric said from where he waited near their shared dressing
room’s door. “He’ll forget all about the twenty thousand people here to witness
his every mistake.”
    “You
aren’t helping,” Brian grumbled at him as he passed.
    “I
wasn’t trying to help.” Still chattering away, Eric fell into step behind them
as they exited into a cool corridor. “You know, even if you fucked up every
note you played, broke forty guitar strings, fell flat on your ass and on
your face, they’d still cheer for you. You’re fucking Master Sinclair.”
    “Still
not helping.” Brian tugged at the wrist of one fingerless glove as he flexed
his hand repeatedly.
    “Eric’s
right,” Trey said with a chuckle. “You can do no wrong.”
    Several
paces ahead of them, Sed reached into his pocket to silence his ringing phone.
“Forgot to turn it off,” he said.
    “Why
don’t you just leave it on the bus?” Eric asked. “I’m sure Jessica can live
without hearing your voice for more than five minutes.”
    Sed
scowled down at his phone’s screen. “I need to take this,” he said. “Kylie?” he
said into his phone. “Is something wrong?”
    Sed’s
face went white, and he swayed, stumbling as his feet stopped before the rest
of his body decided to join them. If Eric hadn’t grabbed