Page 43 of Imperfect Cadence
Words became superfluous as the silent language of our bodies conveyed everything far more eloquently than any spoken dialect could. Without breaking eye contact, I lifted and began to rock on his length as we made love in its truest sense.
All too soon, the telltale signs of orgasm started at the base of my spine and before I could stop the oncoming wave, I spilled between our bodies with a soft cry. Only a handful of thrusts later, I felt Gray’s cock pulse and spill inside me.
In the aftermath, we clung to each other, supporting one another as the weight of the moment washed over us, rendering us speechless. And then, in perfect synchronicity, we turned toward each other and uttered the only words that truly mattered.
“I love you.”
18. “Hold On”
Grayson
Unfortunately, college wasn’t shaping up to be the exhilarating experience I had envisioned. I was doing my best not to come across as ungrateful, truly. But, despite Colt’s unwavering support in helping me secure this opportunity, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d rather be anywhere else. Namely—Los Angeles. The demands of football season had left me feeling drained, my body bearing the weight of the physical pressures as if I’d aged a decade overnight. And while some of my classes piqued my interest, the dense academic jargon felt like a foreign language, despite my diligent efforts to seek assistance through the myriad of available support programs.
Even with the tutoring sessions and study aids, understanding the intricate peer-reviewed articles printed in painfully tiny fonts seemed like an insurmountable challenge. I had anticipated the transition to college life would be difficult and that there would be a period of adjustment. Now, nearly three months in, I found myself consumed by the struggle to keep up with my rigorous schedule. As a result, any hope of nurturing a social life had dissipated into thin air.
If you had asked me at the outset, the notion of not having a vibrant social circle would have been my worst nightmare. I thrived on small talk and brightening strangers’ days with a simple compliment. However, I had yet to forge a meaningful connection with anyone I could consider a friend, and the prospect of venturing out of my cramped dorm room after classes to attend a party and make acquaintances held little appeal. Instead, I sought solace in promptly completing my homework, and eagerly awaiting the moments when Colt would be free from his studio obligations to engage in conversation.
The only problem with that—we kept missing each other. The harsh reality of our physical distance hit us square in the chest as our schedules stubbornly clashed, leaving us like ships passing in the night. Despite our best intentions to uphold our daily phone calls and texts whenever time allowed, life seemed determined to pull us apart. Colt’s commitments to the record label he’d signed with often stretched well into the early morning hours, immersing himself in the whirlwind nightlife of renowned nightclubs and industry gatherings. By the time he returned home, often with the sun grazing the horizon, I had long succumbed to exhaustion, having collapsed into bed after another taxing day of classes and practice.
As days morphed into weeks, our communication dwindled to sporadic phone calls, and too many text messages that lingered unanswered for days on end. What was supposed to be a temporary situation began to weigh heavily on me. Colt’s absence from my daily routine left a gaping void in my chest, and I found myself struggling to navigate life without him by my side. In the late hours of the night, creeping doubts began to infiltrate my mind, questioning whether our decision to marry had been made too hastily, born out of a fear of losing each other without that binding connection. Did I dare hope that Colt would remain tethered to me amid the captivating allure of LA’s vibrant scene, seemingly too preoccupied to even send a simple text message when our plans fell through?
I knew I wasn’t being fair. Colt’s life had undergone even more drastic changes in recent months than mine. After signing a huge record deal in his first meeting with the producer he met at Intrigue, the label had him ensnared in an insane recording schedule, sandwiched between relentless company events. And the looming prospect of his life soon becoming fodder for public consumption and scrutiny must have been terrifying for him, especially since he didn’t know a soul in LA. While I may have found myself unexpectedly lonely here, I could take comfort in the fact that reuniting with Remy for the weekend only required a few hours of driving.
I needed to show Colt more patience, give him more grace. Fuck, I had literally just pledged my eternal love, vowing to stand by him through thick and thin, yet at the first hint of trouble, I questioned our decision? No, we would weather this storm together. Surely, it was normal to experience such turbulence when transitioning from spending every waking moment together to suddenly enduring months of limited contact with no end date in sight.
Colt and I were two perfect puzzle pieces. It didn’t matter if we couldn’t see the whole picture right now—our edges would always faultlessly align. That truth only became more evident in the instances when our schedules finally synched, and within moments of reconnecting over the phone, we effortlessly slipped back into our rhythm, banishing those unsettling thoughts for at least another week.
Still, it was no surprise that for Thanksgiving break, I decided to splurge on an airline ticket to LA, dipping into the last of my savings from the summer. My finances demanded that I secure a job sooner rather than later, but I’d hesitated to accept a position on campus somewhere, knowing full well that I intended to move as soon as possible.
I’d kept Colt in the dark and he had no inkling of my visit. I was well aware of his disdain for surprises, but the urgency to see him face-to-face, to delve into the intricacies of our strained situation, outweighed any concern of fueling his ire. I refused to admit that, deep down, I dreaded the possibility that if I had asked him outright if he wanted me to visit, he might have said no.
As soon as I’d swiped my duffel from the carousel, I ordered an Uber straight to the studio address Colt had provided, bypassing his townhouse altogether. Desperation demanded I reunite with him at the earliest opportunity, to revel in the familiarity of his scent and the comfort of his embrace.
Navigating through the infamous LA traffic turned out to be a total punish. I couldn’t fathom enduring this daily grind, although if it brought me closer to Colt, I’d find a way to cope. Thank God for audiobooks. Perhaps, someday, we’d be financially secure enough to reside in a more central location, where walking would be a viable mode of transport.
Finally, the Uber driver pulled up beside an unremarkable modern edifice, its harsh angles starkly reflecting the sun’s rays to the point of obscuring any discernible signage. Yet, I recognized it from the selfies Colt had sent me, his goofy grin serving as a beacon in front of the building—Quest Studios.
As I retrieved my duffel from the trunk, I scrolled through my contacts for Colt’s producer slash manager’s number. Since Colt remained unaware of my impromptu visit, I would need someone to facilitate my entry at reception.
“What do you want?” Carl’s gruff voice grated through the phone.
“Ah, hello? Is this Carl Smuthers?”
“If you don’t fucking know who you called, I’m hanging up,” he snapped,
“Wait, wait! Sorry, this is Grayson Scott. Colton’s husband.”
“And?” His tone dripped with boredom.
“Well, I’m outside Quest Studios, and I was hoping to surprise Colt while he’s working. Are you able to call the front desk and arrange for them to let me in?” I inquired.
“Are you now?” Carl’s lack of enthusiasm was palpable. “Well then, I suppose I’ll come down personally to meet Colton’s … hubby,” he added with a sneer.
Wow, what a charming guy. Perhaps it was time to broach with Colt the subject of hiring an agent. It seemed evident that he needed someone in his corner, especially if Carl was anything to go by—a total douchebag, if ever there was one. I could only imagine the number of vultures that would soon be circling, trying to use Colt’s status to their own advantage.
Carl’s appearance matched his demeanor. The man who approached me was decked out in a designer suit, sporting a Rolex worth more than everything I owned combined. Despite his flashy attire, with his greasy hair slicked back and a smile revealing veneers whiter than should be humanly possible, he exuded the aura of a slimy used car salesman.
Yep, definitely time to have a chat with Colt about enlisting someone else to deal with this snake on his behalf. Carl looked like the type who'd sell his own mother for a dollar.
