Starting From Zero (Starting From Series Book 1)

by Lane Hayes

  How could I know him so well and yet still be completely in the dark?

  Gray glanced up and caught my reflection in the window. He grinned as he twisted sideways on the bench to face me. “Hi, there. You’re back early. I was going to greet you with champagne at the door.”

  “No need for that,” I said, moving into the room.

  “Did you sign the contract?”

  “No.”

  Gray frowned, then shifted to make room for me on the bench. When I didn’t join him, he cocked his head and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  I shrugged and let out a bewildered half laugh. I’d been running on a dangerous mixture of indignation, outrage, and heightened adrenaline for the past thirty minutes. I’d planned my self-righteous speech on the ride over, thinking I had every right to be pissed off. But the tension seeped out of me like air from a tire. I wasn’t angry. Not really. I was sad. So fucking sad. And so overwhelmed, I could barely hold my head above water.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and walked to the window. I glanced over at the pool house and the view of the city beyond before turning to Gray.

  “The contract was for a Gypsy Coma song. Not one of ours. It’s still a vehicle for Xena and hey, good for her. But that’s not going to work for Zero…or me.”

  Gray jumped to his feet. “What the fuck is Seb thinking? I’ll call him. He can’t—”

  “No. I don’t want you to,” I said softly. “He can do anything he wants. I don’t want his handouts. And I don’t want him to do you a favor on my account.”

  “But he likes your voice and your sound. He wanted you and Zero. Why would he sabotage this at the last second?”

  “He didn’t want me, Gray,” I huffed derisively. “He wanted my story. He can’t have it. I’m not selling my past. It’s mine. I’m plenty good at beating myself up. I’m not interested in whoring myself out and giving someone else the right to retell a slice of my personal history to line their pockets. The contract was for Zero to sing backup for Xena on a Gypsy Coma song, by the way.”

  Gray shook his head. “I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Sure, it does. He loves you, Gray. He doesn’t want me around. Get it?”

  “No. That’s not like him. We’re friends. Best friends. Not lovers.”

  “But you were,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

  Gray regarded me for a moment, then nodded. “It was a long time ago, Jus.”

  “Yeah. Charlie told me.” I paced to the other side of the window and crossed my arms. “He wasn’t telling secrets or anything. I just happened to see the wall of photos in Seb’s office and…I didn’t know they were your family. Like close family. Your husband, your son. You made it sound so…removed. But it’s not like that, is it?”

  “Seb isn’t and never was my husband. We were lovers, partners, and—”

  “Parents too.” I massaged the back of my neck. “Your parents knew. I saw that picture from Charlie’s graduation and—”

  “We didn’t talk about it,” he repeated stubbornly. “It wasn’t…valid to them. Seb and I are both from strict religious backgrounds. We knew we had to keep quiet. Give them what they expected. Anything but the truth.”

  “So you both married women.”

  “We broke up after some big shakedown at the studio. Someone did a piece on the secret gay lives of actors and Hollywood elite. Seb was Assistant Producer on a big military biopic at the time. He was afraid to lose his job and his reputation. At the time, it seemed like the only solution. Unfortunately, it killed us as a couple. I moved out of the house when Char was eight. I met Mandy soon after, and we helped each other through a rough time. When she met her future wife, Seb and I tried again. But it was too late for us. We were better friends than lovers. We’d figured out how to co-parent along the way. Geez, Seb got married and had another kid. But ‘we,’ the me and him part…we haven’t been a couple in years.”

  “He loves you.”

  “I love him too, but as a friend only.” Gray grabbed my elbow and held my chin, as though I could look into his eyes and see that he was telling the truth.

  I sucked in a deep breath and looked down. He was too close, and he had a way of consuming me that made me forget myself. No one had ever done that to me before. “That sounds heavy and complicated.”

  “Justin. Baby, look at me.” He waited for me to comply before continuing. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but honestly…I’m not used to sharing anything about myself. You’re the first person I’ve let inside in a while. Maybe Seb saw that and felt threatened by it somehow. It doesn’t sound like him, but I’ll talk to him about the contract and—”

  “No. I told you…I don’t want that. I don’t want his help or your help. I have to do this myself. No shortcuts. No special treatment.” I gave him a weak smile and stepped away. “Thank you.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “Stay. Sit down, baby, and—”

  “Gray, I can’t.” I swiped at my eyes angrily and moved out of his reach. “I don’t belong here.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I don’t. I never did.” I cradled my head and closed my eyes when my mind starting whirling. “My head is just spinning right now. Like a fucking merry-go-round that won’t stop. It makes me feel shifty sometimes. I can’t sit still. I can’t concentrate. And when things go sideways, I go sideways too.”

  “What do you mean?” Gray reached for my elbow and tried to pull me into his arms.

  I batted him away and paced to the window like a caged lion. “I am overwhelmed by the things I don’t say. I thought music was my way of telling my truth. But I’ve lost myself. I’ve lost my truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “Not just one truth. It’s lots of little truths that add up. I’m bi, I’m ADHD, I’m a lousy communicator guilty of making bad decisions, I’m a—”

  “Stop it.”

  I swallowed hard and widened my eyes against the sheen of tears. “I’m messed up, Gray. Sure, I’m bummed about the contract. I barrel into everything without thinking twice. I had no right to act on behalf of my band like I knew what was best for Zero, when in fact, I don’t know shit. I’m angry with myself for not listening to my friends. This is my fault. Not Seb’s. Not Charlie’s. I was blinded by what I wanted. But the worst part is…I’ve been lying about what I really wanted.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Something I can’t have.” I shook my head and glanced out the window again. “I saw those photos in Seb’s office, and I was fucking jealous of a life I have no right to know anything about.” I gave a humorless half laugh. “Because it didn’t include me. So I raced over here, telling myself I was pissed at you for lying to me and having a friend who still loves you who’s not giving me what I want and wow…how fucking awful is that?”

  “It’s not awful. It’s—”

  “It’s wrong. I have no right to that anger, Gray. You deserve better. I can’t ask for what you can’t give. I can’t expect you to validate me or read my mind. It’s petty and mean-spirited. It’s unkind…and dishonest. And I just realized I have to let it all go. I gotta peel it back, start over, and be one hundred percent honest.”

  He waited patiently for me to continue, but I couldn’t speak. I was tongue-tied and scared. So fucking scared.

  “What is it?” he asked softly.

  “I love you. I don’t love you a little. I love you so much, my heart hurts and my head…my head is somewhere over Mars right now.”

  Gray opened his mouth and closed it. “Mars? Okay. That’s good.”

  “No, it’s fucking nuts. I’m nuts.” I shoved a hand in my hair and tugged at it in frustration. “We’re light years apart. You’re smart and accomplished. You’re well respected and wealthy and—I’ve got a ways to go.”

  “There’s no rush. You’re perfect the way you are.”

  “I’m not. I’m a jealous asshole who has some growing up
to do. I hope you get your love song. You deserve it.” I managed a ghost of a smile, then kissed his cheek before turning away.

  “Wait. Justin!”

  I passed through the sunlit rooms one last time and headed for the entry. I didn’t pause to take in the view or admire the beauty around me. I couldn’t see or hear well now. I couldn’t speak and the thought of food made me ill. I felt myself shut down and begin to fade until I wondered if I could be partially invisible. Here, but no longer present.

  10

  JUSTIN

  “Christ! Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you, asshole,” Tegan yelled.

  I sank into a corner of the sofa and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  He waited for an explanation but didn’t press when I remained quiet. “It was very uncomfortable after you left. Charlie was pissed at his dad. Rourke was pissed at you. We couldn’t wait to get outta there.”

  “No, I meant I’m sorry I walked out on the deal. Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but I’d give you a heads-up first,” I clarified.

  Tegan inclined his head. “We’re all behind you. It was the right thing to do. A less volatile exit would have been cool, but hey…that’s how you roll.”

  “Yeah. I ’spose so. I guess we start over again from scratch,” I said, rubbing my jaw.

  “Well, sort of. We still have that gig next week at The Fix. Charlie’s trying to nail another one down for the following weekend.”

  “He still wants to work with us?” I asked.

  “Of course he still wants us. We’re gonna make him a gazillionaire someday. Carmine will be begging us to play his club next month and we’ll have to say, ‘Sorry, man. We’ll be at the Troubador.’ C’mon, Jus. Shake it off. It’s a bump in the road. We’ll get over it together and move on.”

  I didn’t think it would be quite that easy for me, but I nodded in silent agreement. “Hey, any chance we can switch cars tonight? My engine light is on, but it’ll get you to Vibes and back.”

  “Sure. Where you goin’?” Tegan asked, looking slightly worried again.

  “Home.”

  I SHOWED up on my brother’s doorstep an hour later. He welcomed me with a fist bump and a bro hug and put me to work chopping vegetables. We sat on the sofa, eating stir fry when Christian arrived, and watched some weird documentary about haunted houses. During commercials, I filled them in on my craptastic day. When Christian went into the kitchen to feed their cat, Rory leaned in and spoke softly.

  “You love him, don’t you?”

  “Who, Christian?” I asked in mock confusion.

  Rory smacked my arm. “No, idiot. Christian’s mine. I’m talking about the music man.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You hardly ate, and you’ve got a mopey, sad look on your face.”

  “I’m not sad,” I lied, staring at my worn Converse. “I just wish it was simpler.”

  “Don’t we all? But the real thing is worth working for.” Rory patted my knee and shifted on the sofa. “I’ll grab you an extra blanket and a pillow.”

  The steady creak of bedsprings woke me in the middle of the night. I put the pillow over my head and tried to go back to sleep, but my brain immediately revved into fifth gear. I replayed the day over and over. And all the associating emotions came along for the ride. The excitement and nerves of actually signing a real-life contract with a band I founded followed by the slow, sinking sensation that something wasn’t right. I’d been angry and disappointed too, but the only feeling that stuck with me was a bone-deep sadness. The longer I lay there, the more agitated and unhappy I became. I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t erase his past or reshape it to make room for myself. But I couldn’t be an opening act in my own life. I had to be the main event.

  I had to be honest.

  I rolled off the sofa, folded the blanket, and set the pillow on top with a short thank-you note. Then I snuck out of the apartment and headed home.

  THE COMBINATION of excessive sunlight and humming from the next room woke me up the following morning. My eyes felt gritty from sleep. I rubbed them as I stretched before slowly sitting up and looking around the childhood bedroom I’d shared with Rory. It was like a time warp from the late nineties peppered with teenage mementos from the next decade. Power Rangers figurines and old board games were stuffed into bookshelves and posters from our favorite rock bands adorned the walls. Green Day, Foo Fighters, The Strokes, Arctic Monkeys.

  The chambray comforters on the twin beds matched, though Rory’s had faded more from sun exposure. His bed was under the window, mine against the wall opposite. I remember talking all night when Mom turned the lights off and made her way to her own room next door. Stupid stuff that seemed important at the time…kids we liked and loathed at school, our chances of getting Nintendo for Christmas, Cartoon Network’s lineup. The conversations changed as we got older. We talked about sports and cute girls. But one night, I told him I’d kissed a guy. I wasn’t going to say anything ever to anyone, but my secret had been eating me alive for months. I’d braced myself for the worst before blurting it out, then waiting for my little brother’s disgust or concern or a sign he no longer thought I was the coolest guy he knew.

  He went quiet in the dark and, after what felt like five minutes, whispered, “Did you like it?”

  “Yeah. I did. But don’t be weird about it. I’m not queer or anything. And whatever you do, don’t tell Mom.”

  I wished I could take those words back. Not for myself, but because I had a feeling my desire for anonymity had been mistaken as advice. Rory and I eventually came out to each other a few years later when he was in college. Even then, our conversation was laced with anxiety and a desire not to share our news with our mother. She hadn’t navigated our teen years well. She fought her own demons and I wasn’t so sure she’d won when she put the bottle down and joined a conservative church. But when Rory said he was done keeping secrets, I told him I was too. We came out to her together and it was a mega disaster. She hadn’t spoken to Rory in almost two years now.

  And yet this room hadn’t changed. She hadn’t erased him from her life. She’d preserved him. Kept him small and knowable.

  “Justin, honey, do you want pancakes? I have to leave for work in half an hour. I whipped up a batch. Oh, and the coffee is fresh. Come get some!”

  “I’ll be right out,” I called through the closed door.

  I got my ass out of bed and used the bathroom before meeting my mom in the kitchen.

  “Good morning.”

  “ ’Mornin’. Smells good,” I mumbled, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

  “Bacon always does,” she chirped happily. “I always keep some on hand in case you or Ror—you stop by. And here you are. Patience pays off. Take a seat. This will be ready in a minute. You can tell me what’s going on with you while you wait. You scared the heck out of me last night!”

  I studied my mom over the rim of my Harry Potter mug. Another remnant of my youth, I mused, noting the new lines at the corners of her mouth. They made her look older than fifty. Melanie Germaine was still pretty, but at one time, she’d been beautiful. She was tall and thin with long blonde hair and a killer smile. Time and alcohol had taken a toll. She was too skinny, too pale, and her once lustrous, long hair had a strawlike texture that seemed to suck the life from her face. The nondescript brown uniform she wore for her job as a checkout girl at the local grocery market didn’t help. Somewhere in the last ten years, my mom had given up. Maybe she forgot who she was, or maybe she didn’t care anymore.

  She set a plate piled high with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon in front of me, then patted my shoulder before taking the chair beside me.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you all right?” She squinted as though it might help her see without having to ask twenty questions.

  “I’m fine. I started a new band,” I said as I picked up my fork.

  “Oh.”
She sipped her coffee, cradling the mug in both hands. “Don’t take this the wrong way, honey, but aren’t you getting little old for this band business? Maybe you should go back to school and get a college degree, eh?”

  “Hmph. Yeah, maybe. But I’m doing this instead. And this is where you’re supposed to wish me luck or tell me to break a leg or something,” I said around a mouthful of eggs.

  She smiled. “Break a leg. Did you really drive from LA in the middle of the night to tell me about a band?”

  “No. I had a bad day and I wanted to come home.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Just…life. I had dinner at Rory’s last night. He’s doing really well, by the way. He still works at the Y.”

  She glanced out the window and sighed. “I know.”

  I decided her wistful tone was a green light to keep going, so I did. “He tutors too. That’s actually how he met his boyfriend. Christian’s a great guy. You’d like him. He’s a quarterback at Chilton.”

  “I heard about that mess. His poor parents.”

  The pancakes in my mouth turned to sawdust. I gulped my coffee to wash it down as I pushed my chair noisily across the linoleum floor. I set the plate and cup on the counter and warned myself not to lose my shit in one go.

  “His ‘poor parents’ are missing out. Kinda like you are. But hey…” I put my hands up like a traffic cop. “We don’t talk about that stuff, do we?”

  She shot an angry parental look at me. The kind I associated with getting my butt swatted or being grounded when I was a kid. She pushed her mug aside and stood slowly.

  “No, we don’t. I don’t appreciate you stirring up trouble for no reason. If you came to borrow money, tell me what you need. I’ll leave a check for you, but you can’t cash it until tomorrow.”

  I raked my hand through my hair and let out a frustrated growl. “Jesus, I don’t need your money, Ma.”

  “Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. If you have something to say, be quick about it. I have to go to work. I’m not in a band. I have a real job and I have to be there on time,” she huffed, folding her arms over her chest.