That was me giving up. I haven’t felt something in so long. Not until you—” He stopped abruptly, and all Adam could hear was the beat of his own heart in his ears.
Then he moved, slowly, first cupping the back of Nik’s head, then dragging his hand down toward his neck. Nik’s hair curled around his fingertips, and he twirled them until the strands tightened. Nik let out a sharp breath, lips parted. He smelled like mint and something sour—like old coffee.
Adam wanted to say something—say anything—that would express how he felt, what he needed, the level of his desperation to have more than just the wobbly, careful friendship between them. And his own warning sounded in his head—to take his time, to protect it before it could shatter—but then Nik’s fingers closed around the front of his shirt.
He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, and Nik must have felt the motion, because he surged in—an almost kiss, lips barely brushing together. Adam’s pulse raced, blood pumping so hard his face was probably crimson. It was now or never—he thought, even if that wasn’t entirely true. Not now didn’t mean Nik was lost to him, but the fear was enough to grip him by the throat and god—god—he just needed to know.
His other hand came up, brushing against Nik’s cheek, turning his head up just slightly…
And then their lips met.
It was a soft thing, a gentle brush—enough to make Nik open his mouth and sigh—enough to make them both tremble. And want surged through Adam so fierce, he was almost knocked over by it.
He tensed, preparing to surge in and take, then Nik’s entire body went rigid. He pulled back fast enough to send Adam reeling, and he was on his feet before Adam could say a single word of protest.
Nik moved faster than Adam expected him to, and he didn’t speak again until he was in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just…I can’t. I’m sorry.”
And then he was gone, leaving Adam on the sofa feeling like everything had just ended before it had even a hope of beginning.
Chapter 10
Diminuendo
Nik knew he had taken the coward’s way out. He knew it, because there had been no innocent intentions when he asked Adam to meet him in the dressing room. The truth was, he knew the concert was going to bomb. He’d been telling himself it was good, that it didn’t matter if the music had no heart as long as it sounded nice and they played it well, but he knew better than that.
The moment his fingers touched the keys in rehearsal, it became obvious the night was going to end in disaster. In a last-ditch effort to make himself feel better for what he knew was coming, he’d sent the text—and he’d regretted it the moment he had, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it back, either.
He knew Adam was out there, sitting in a chair next to Jay and watching the entire thing. He also knew Adam wouldn’t think of him any differently than he had before he sat at the piano and made a mockery of himself and his profession. He deserved every coal they raked him over—he deserved every negative word printed about him. Every single whisper in the crowd—he had that coming.
What he didn’t deserve was Adam’s kindness, and Adam didn’t deserve Nik’s moment of weakness, letting himself take what he hadn’t earned. He panicked, and he ran, and he left Adam there without a word of explanation like the asshole he truly was inside.
He was selfish, and he was greedy. Adam was his friend, and he was willing to let that be enough to ensure he’d never have to risk losing him if their relationship fell apart—and he knew it would. The handful of boyfriends he had that lasted longer than a few dates had all fallen to pieces because Nik was a hard man to love.
He was independent to a fault, he was moody and destructive when things got bad. He kept strange hours, he composed and compartmentalized his feelings to the point even his brother accused him of being heartless. And he wasn’t, not really, but it was the only way he knew how to get through in life.
And now he’d hurt the one person he was trying to keep safe from the way he set things on fire. It was like a self-fulfilling prophecy, and he didn’t know how to make it better. So, he kept on