“Doren.”
The word nipped at his consciousness from the depths of a sound sleep. August had been gone when he’d returned to the room, and he’d cursed himself over that for a long time afterwards. But even though their rapport had sweetened since the bus ride, the door between them had still been locked from August’s side, and he’d snapped his own closed in retribution. There’d been no sounds of life from beyond the door, the bottle of wine Doren had ordered with their room service still sat, unopened, on the cart, and his T-shirt lay on the end of the bed, folded neatly. Even August’s wet clothes had been gone. August had, most assuredly, made sure there were no excuses to come back.
So Doren had reread his new song, tweaking both lyric and chord before tucking it away for safekeeping. At
