Starting From Zero (Starting From Series Book 1)

by Lane Hayes

  We saw each other a few times a week, depending on his work and practice schedule. I allowed Zero to use my studio to practice, but I made sure to be away while they worked. I didn’t want to interfere with their vision or Charlie’s effort to prove himself. My time with Justin was special, and I didn’t want to share it with anyone.

  We were cognizant of separating our “working” time with our personal time too. We wordlessly agreed not to discuss the band or the song or any possible contracts unless we were in the studio or on a “research date.” It was easier than expected to lie with our feet entangled, playing video games in our boxer briefs. Or to go night swimming, or hang out on the roof, counting stars and playing guitar.

  It might have been late March, but it felt like summertime in Southern California. Seventy-five-degree days and maybe ten degrees cooler at night. We could comfortably play on the roof, wearing shorts and sweatshirts. It was something I’d done since I was a teenager. But usually alone. Until Justin.

  “What is that song?” he asked, resting his forearms on his guitar. He sat cross-legged in front of me the way he always did, with his back to the view, and watched my fingers on the fret.

  “ ‘Kumbaya.’ You don’t know it? We used to sing it at church when I was growing up and at campfires.” I sang the lyrics as I strummed along.

  “I was kidding. I know it.” He sang the chorus with me and chuckled when I jazzed up the arrangement. “You’re good at that. I bet you were popular at campfire sing-alongs.”

  I snickered. “As a matter of fact, I was. We camped a lot by the lake when I was a kid. I have great memories of canoeing, pitching tents, making s’mores…and huge fucking mosquitos. Big as softballs. Seriously. We had to spray that awful toxic-smelling stuff on us to avoid getting bitten. That smell still reminds me of summers at the lake.”

  “Even with mosquitos, that sounds kinda nice.”

  “It was. Have you ever been camping?” I asked.

  “Once with a friend from high school and his family. It wasn’t all that fun. We slept on the ground in a tent with a hole. There were bugs everywhere. And not just mosquitos. They had a cool dog, though. Freddy. I was stoked that he liked me so much. He sat next to me in the van on the way there and back. It was all good until he ate something weird and had a fart attack on the trip home. Four hours in a van with a gassy dog, listening to sports radio ’cause the fucking Dodgers were playing. Why are you laughing? It was hell,” he griped without heat. “I’ve never wanted to go camping again.”

  “But you still want a dog.”

  “Yeah, but my dog isn’t gonna stink,” he joked.

  “How will you take care of a dog if you’re on tour?”

  “I’d get a small dog and take him with me.” Justin’s dreamy expression in the moonlight made me smile. “I can’t imagine going on tour. Geez, I can’t even imagine playing outside of LA. Seems too wild to ever be true.”

  “Anything’s possible if you’re willing to work for it.”

  “Is this what you wanted when you were a kid in Minnesota?” he asked, spreading his arms open to the city lights flickering below. “A house on a hill in LaLa Land?”

  “No. I wanted a farm outside of St. Paul, and I wanted to raise chickens.”

  Justin let out a half chuckle. “Really?”

  “Yeah. The plan morphed throughout my childhood, but I always thought I’d live near my folks. I left home for college when I was seventeen, and I never went back. I went for visits, of course, but…not to live. They assumed I got a taste of city life and fell in love. But that wasn’t quite it. I figured some things out about myself in New York and then LA. Things I wasn’t willing or able to change for them.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It was better to keep my distance.”

  “You don’t think they would have accepted you?”

  “I know they wouldn’t have. And they’d already lost a kid. I couldn’t do it to them.”

  “Hmm. It’s the same for me and my mom. I told her I was bi when Rory came out, but I didn’t press her and make her believe me. She doesn’t talk to him, but I made the cut.”

  “ ’Cause you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Right. You’re the closest I’ve ever had to one. I’m not giving you a label you don’t want. I’m just being honest. I’ve never spent this much time with another guy and felt like it wasn’t enough. This is new for me and I love it. But the hypocrisy weighs on me. The thing is…if she cuts me off, she’ll be alone. Literally alone. She has no one but me and a few friends from work.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “The sad part is that my brother is a great guy and his boyfriend is too. She’s missing out. It’s easy to say, ‘Her loss,’ but if she disowned me, I think the guilt would crush me. Does that even make sense?”

  “All too well. I kept quiet for my parents’ sake, but it didn’t make me happy. If the timing was different, and my parents were from a more progressive era and hadn’t lost a kid, I might still live in Minnesota. I loved growing up there.” I pointed toward the heavens. “You could see the stars behind the stars at night. But I couldn’t be myself there. Not really. I stayed in LA because it was the path of least resistance. It was easier to pretend I was exactly who they thought instead of letting them know I was different.”

  “Were you ever tempted to say, ‘Mom, Dad, I’m bisexual’?” He waved his hands over his head like a kid on a sugar high.

  “No,” I deadpanned. “Bisexual has the word ‘sex’ in it. We didn’t talk about sex in our house. Ever.”

  “Oh.” Justin raised his eyebrows. “When was the last time you visited?”

  “Five years ago. I haven’t been home since they passed away. And I don’t know that I ever will.”

  “You can go back when Zero’s tour hits St. Paul,” he said, kissing my cheek.

  “Deal.” I put my arm around him and nuzzled his neck. “Come on. Let’s go inside. It’s getting cold and—”

  “Hang on. You said your parents passed away within weeks of each other. What happened?”

  “My dad was eighty-five. He died of old age. Mom died twenty days later of a broken heart.”

  “Are you just saying that, or do you know or—”

  “It’s not on her death certificate, but that’s what happened. She couldn’t breathe knowing he wasn’t there anymore. She couldn’t talk knowing he wasn’t in the room to hear her. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t feel, and for twenty days she didn’t eat. She had no reason to be if he wasn’t.”

  Justin sucked in a breath. “That’s beautiful. That’s what we have to write.”

  I held his face in my hands and kissed his lips. “We will.”

  WE MADE LOVE THAT NIGHT. Slow, sweet, and tender. I watched him closely as I moved inside him, noting the way his long lashes fluttered and how he bit his bottom lip when he sighed. He wrapped his legs around my waist and dug his heels into my ass cheeks, silently requesting more. But not too hard this time. Not too fast. We weren’t in a hurry tonight. The gentle give and take felt like a conversation or a song. We moved in perfect harmony until our rhythm faltered and we fell apart in each other’s arms.

  The sheer beauty of being so completely in tune with a lover was a first for me. And the look of wonder in Justin’s eyes made me think it was the same for him. We weren’t ready to put the feeling into words yet. It might make this too real. And it was already a little scary. Like finding yourself at the edge of a cliff where the view was incredible…and so was the fall.

  JUSTIN HAD a way of making everything feel like an adventure. We’d meet at the coffee shop, the park, or the mall and hang out on a bench or a table for two and talk for hours. But he was constantly in motion. He couldn’t sit for long stretches without hopping up to pace or run around. If we were at Aromatique, he’d jump up and make a latte out of the blue. If we were at the park, he’d insist on bringing along some form of entertainment—guitars, a Frisbee, or skateboards. He’d apologize sometimes for what he called
his “spacey brain,” but I thought it was pretty genius that he knew himself so well. And if his quest for activity got me on a skateboard for the first time in a decade, it couldn’t be a bad thing.

  He freaked out when he found my old skateboard collection in a closet in the pool house…once he got over the shock that I actually knew how to ride one pretty well.

  “When did you learn how to ride a skateboard?”

  “Sixteen, maybe? I don’t remember. It looked fun and mildly rebellious. My parents didn’t approve, so I wanted it more.” I flipped my board upright, then spun it before hopping on and taking a quick ride around the pool area.

  “What did they have against skateboards? It’s better than getting high every day. Or did you do that too?”

  “No. I didn’t rock the boat much. I topped out at skateboards and cigarettes. They disapproved of both. The skateboard was understandable. I could fall off a board, break my wrist, and end my budding music career. Smoking was just me being an asshole. My dad quit when I was a kid. I thought it was hypocritical of him to preach about health concerns when he’d done it his whole life. But my teenage perspective was limited. When Charlie was growing up, I made it a point to be more honest and open. I hated the “Do as I say, not as I do” rhetoric from my childhood.”

  Justin froze and then lowered his Ray Bans. Sunlight glistened on his smooth torso and accentuated his toned abs. He wore a pair of navy-striped board shorts and nothing else. Except a “What the fuck?” look. “When Charlie was growing up? You make it sound like you raised him.”

  “I was around a lot. Charlie’s mom wasn’t in the picture, and Seb’s my best friend. I helped out. Took him to preschool, taught him how to ride a bike…that kind of stuff,” I said with a shrug.

  “Dad stuff.”

  “Godfather stuff,” I corrected. “That’s who I am.”

  He fixed me with a thoughtful stare. “He’s lucky.”

  Justin switched topics and didn’t bring up Charlie again until he mentioned a gig he’d landed for them downtown in late April. I thought about clarifying my relationship with Seb and Charlie, but then what? If he asked me, I’d tell him. But it seemed pointless to dig up old skeletons and frankly, I didn’t feel like talking about the past. Not when the present was infinitely more exciting.

  AFTER HE FOUND MY SKATEBOARDS, we started bringing them with us on daily jaunts to the park after his shift at Aromatique and before Zero practiced. We rode from the car to our favorite bench with to-go cups in hand one afternoon. Spring had been fickle so far—chilly and overcast one day and seventy degrees and sunny the next. Today was flat-out cold. No doubt we’d do more skateboarding than people-watching after we finished our coffees.

  We sat a little closer than usual for body warmth, cradling warm drinks as we people-watched. This particular park had become one of our go-to spots because it was within walking distance of the coffee shop and a short drive to my house. We’d sit on a bench under a huge oak tree in the middle of a grassy knoll equidistant between a playground and a basketball court. It was a good spot to observe humans in the wild. As much as I looked forward to getting naked and horizontal with him, I came to love our “research dates” and my writing partner’s random topics of conversation.

  I’d learned to read him fairly well over the past couple of months. He was a deep thinker with frenetic energy. When he sat quietly for a long stretch, I could practically see the wheels turning in his brain as he gathered data. But he tended to process everything aloud. And while music might be his favorite subject, the guy could talk about anything. We had serious discussions about topics I wouldn’t have thought were debate-worthy, like where to find the best sushi in LA or the merits of kombucha.

  “That stuff is fucking disgusting,” he huffed, sipping his coffee.

  “What’s wrong with kombucha?”

  “It tastes nasty and that glob of gunk on the bottom of the bottle looks like phlegm,” he replied.

  “Gross.”

  “Right? My b-brother was talking about making his own. R-Rory is a good cook, and he’s a mathematician. The combo leads to interesting experiments. Good thing Christian doesn’t mind. They’re looking for a house in Long Beach to move in together after Christian’s lease is up on his apartment. He keeps saying he needs a big window with lots of sunshine for his tea experiment. F-fuckin’ weirdo,” he said affectionately.

  “Are you cold?”

  “I’m f-fine.”

  I glanced up at the gathering clouds in the gray sky, then set my arm over the bench and motioned for him to slide over. “No, you aren’t. You’re always cold. That jacket isn’t warm enough. Come closer.”

  “You sound like a parent,” he huffed before obeying.

  Well, sort of obeying. I tugged him against me and wrapped my arm around him.

  “You sound like a brat,” I retorted. “Better?”

  “Yeah. Do you think you’ll ever want to be a dad?”

  I scoffed. “Where’d that come from?”

  “This place.” He gestured toward the father and son throwing a baseball on the opposite end of the playground. “I think our timing is off today. I see more families than couples.”

  “Hmm. Do you?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want to be a parent someday?” I asked.

  “No. I don’t think so. Never say never, but it’s a big job and I wouldn’t want to do it on my own.”

  “You don’t know that you’d be alone. You might meet someone and fall in love and—”

  Justin rolled his eyes. “Hmph. You know how I feel about that. Beside, I didn’t exactly have a great role model. I wouldn’t want to be anything like my father. What was yours like?”

  I regarded him thoughtfully before replying. “He was a good guy. A little distant and hard to know but I think some of that was the parenting style my folks grew up with. Hover without getting too close. They were protective and sometimes overly invested in my achievements. When I was a kid, they checked every homework assignment. If I got a math problem wrong, they’d point it out and tell me to fix it. Maybe that’s not a great example, but it was a theme. There’s a right way and a wrong way. Do the right thing.”

  “What about your music? Did they make you learn piano when you were a toddler?” he joked.

  “No, that was something I found on my own. Neither of my parents played an instrument but they wanted to expose me to the arts early, so they took me to museums and to the theater all the time. And concerts too.”

  “Rock concerts?”

  I chuckled. “No. Glorified local talent shows at Town Hall. We had a few of them every winter. It was a good way to get the community together and keep spirits high when there was literally nothing to do besides play in the snow. The kids sat in the front on the floor, and I always made sure to get a spot by the piano. I’d watch Mrs. Murphy’s fingers when she played. I started to memorize the notes and the corresponding keys of the songs in her repertoire. It was mostly simple stuff, ranging from easy classical music to “Over the Rainbow.” At the end of one show, when everyone started mingling and feasting on cookies and punch, I hopped onstage and started to play. That was officially day one of my music career,” I said with a self-deprecating half laugh.

  “Wow. So you were a prodigy.”

  “I don’t know about that. But I was drawn to it. Like the instrument called to me. Weird, isn’t it?”

  Justin shook his head. “No. It’s cool. What song did you play?”

  “ ‘Ave Maria.’ ”

  “What? That’s crazy!”

  I snickered at his dumbfounded stare. “Don’t be too impressed. It’s the same chord progression over and over. Fairly simple.”

  “Yeah, right! You might as well be from Mars. I cannot relate. My mom didn’t have time to hover. If Rory and I had homework issues, we helped each other. He was a math whiz, and I was always good at English…y español también,” he said with a wink. “I never even touched a piano until I was a t
eenager. I’m a poor kid from a beach town. I lived in apartments all my life. And not nice ones in the sky with views of Catalina and Palos Verdes. Our building had gang tag graffiti on the sides.

  “Rory and I were latchkey kids who went to the YMCA after school to avoid the drug dealer who lived two doors down and was always asking if we wanted to work for him. When the neighbors fought or had parties or hell, had sex…you could hear through the paper-thin walls. We’d turn on our mom’s old records and turn up the sound to drown out the noise. Fun fact…I joined my first band when I was fifteen so I could go to my friend Cam’s house to practice. He had an actual house and a dog. He also had a pretty younger sister and a hot older brother. They asked me what I played, and I said guitar. Total fucking lie. I’d never even held a real one before then.”

  “So you found the guitar and your bisexuality on the same day. Nice.”

  Justin scratched his chin. “I guess that’s true. I lied about both for a long time too.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I only half-assed play guitar and I only recently came out as bi. That makes me sound like a jerk, doesn’t it?”

  I frowned. “No. Why would it?”

  Justin sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I have all these big ideals when it comes to social justice and honesty, but I worry about my credibility and authenticity. You’re the real thing. I’m a pretender.”

  “The best part about getting older is not giving a fuck what other people think. You fit in where you feel most comfortable, not where others say you should.” I kissed his temple impulsively. “It’s taken me every single one of my forty-four years on the planet to accept who I am and go for what I want. When I was younger, I played piano because I loved it and later because my parents loved it for me. They didn’t like guitar. They associated it with a lifestyle they didn’t approve of…drugs, sex, and rock and roll. They were very against me moving to California, but they approved of the commercial jingles. I was a pleaser. I kept my guitar playing and hell, even skateboarding mostly to myself. I might have pushed it once in a while, but I wanted to make them happy, so I showed them one side of myself and kept the rest secret.”