by Anna Zabo
His friend started, hands poised on the keyboard. “Yeah? What’s up?” His eyes were a little wider than normal, and there was a darker spot just under his collar—a bruise that hadn’t been there this morning.
“You, uh, have a good lunch?”
A smile broke out that Adrian hadn’t ever seen on Jackson before—at least not as wide and as sappy as this one. “Yeah. I did.”
“Anyone special?”
Jackson laughed. “You know, I finally checked out that place you and everyone’s been bugging me to try a couple of weeks ago. You were right.”
“Good jazz?”
“Great jazz. And a very fine gentleman who is tired of the club scene, as well. And yes, same man from earlier, and yes, it’s serious.” Jackson’s grin was brilliant.
“How about that.” So, his best friend had finally found a guy worth seeing more than once. About time. Adrian chuckled, but it mixed with the jolt of pain in his stomach over the man he’d found. “I’m glad for you.”
“You didn’t just stop by to ask me about my hickey, Adi. What’s up?”
“I wanted to ask you about a band—I figure you know music better than I do.” He gestured to Jackson’s phone. It wasn’t on now, but half the time Jackson would be nodding along to some song or another. And his tastes went all across the board. Classical. R&B. Pop. Swing. Country. Rap. You named it, he’d probably listened to it—and had an opinion, one based on knowledge and taste.
Jackson swiveled in his chair. “Hit me up. Which band?”
“Twisted Wishes.”
“Oh, them. Fuck, they’re good. A little strange in places, like they can never decide if they want to be alternative or heavy metal or pop or punk, but man, really doesn’t matter.” Jackson scratched his chin, exposing more of his love bite. “They were in the news a ton recently. Sued their label to get out of their contract—and there was a whole police thing, too. Apparently their manager put the lead singer in the hospital with anaphylaxis by drugging him.”
“Holy shit.” Adrian gripped the side of the cube wall. This was in Dominic’s past?
“Anyway, they signed with a new label and are supposed to be working on a new album right here in New York. There’s been photos of them out on the town and everyone’s trying to get into the studio where they’re at.”
Adrian nodded. A new album jived with Dominic talking about practices with his band. But why the subterfuge? Why not tell Adrian about this?
“What’s your interest? I mean, they’re an extraordinarily queer band, but you don’t do rock, at least not anything from the last decade or two. You’re not gonna be hearing Twisted Wishes at the clubs.”
“Wait, what? Queer?”
Jackson stared at him, eyes a little wider. “You don’t know anything about them, do you?” Adrian might as well have asked Jackson to program in Cobalt or something—complete shock and disbelief were all over his face. Though, knowing Jack, give him a fifteen-minute primer on Cobalt, and he’d be able to program in the language. Still.
Adrian knew he was blushing. Felt the heat of it. “No. I might have heard some songs in passing if they’re that popular, but...” He leaned against the cube frame. “Do you mean queer as in...” He waved his hand between the two of them. That would also jive with Dominic.
“Yes, exactly. Their lead singer has been openly gay since day one, and he up and married their drummer. That dude’s pansexual, according to the interviews. Everyone thinks the bass player is bi, since she’s been seen with men and women. No one really knows anything about Domino, but I’m betting he’s gay, too.”
Felt like spiders were walking up his spine. “Who’s Domino?” The words were out of his mouth even as he knew the answer.
“The guitarist. He’s wicked talented—I mean, they all are, Adi—but Domino plays like he could rule the world. Dresses like he wants to give everyone the finger.”
Dominic. His lovely bookish man. Not at all the image in his mind. Though...there’d always been that spark, that steel behind the shyness and blushing. And that meshed with the cover of the magazine.
“Why’re you asking, anyway? Though, to be honest, you might like them.”
Adrian’s mind whirled, trying to slot in what he was learning with his reality. His limbs felt like lead. “I saw them on the cover of a magazine and they caught my eye.” He shook his head. “I was looking for poetry.” For Dominic. Only to find the man he knew was not the man he knew at all.
“Well, they are all beautiful people, yeah. But you ought to listen to their lyrics, given your interests. Ray Van Zeller writes some stunning words. And the music.” Jackson let out a satisfied sigh. “I like ’em.” He glanced as his smartphone. “Give ’em a shot.”
“Yeah, I might.” Adrian patted the cube wall. “Thanks.”
“Hey, no problem.”
He headed back to his own cube, dropped the bag of magazines on his desk, and sat down. Dominic had planned to come over tonight. A late dinner out, which also meant passionate sex and sleeping in with Dominic next to him—one of his very favorite things. But now? He rubbed his face as his stomach knotted. How was he going to do this?
Yes, secrets. But this—he looked at where the magazines lay in their plastic shopping bag—wasn’t a secret. Dominic was a fucking well-known, gossiped-about rock star.
The rest of the day was pretty much a wash. He struggled to get his damn code to compile until he realized William had been mucking around in his lines again. Every time that man tried to “fix” a bug, he introduced six more. And now he was creeping around in two of Adrian’s projects, one of which Adrian didn’t even want.
It was fucking hell.
All the time, that cover photo of Twisted Wishes—and of Dominic—sat in the bag on his desk, taunting him, daring him to look to see what he didn’t know and everyone else did. Finally, after yet another attempt to fix his damn code, he fired off an email to William, copied their boss, and sat back hard against his chair, rocking it in frustration. Any other day, he could probably untangle the mess William had made, but his own head was tattered and shredded.
He reached over and slid out the rock magazine, and there was his Dominic again, except not his Dominic at all. Leather and makeup and a freaking studded collar.
And he’d been so amazed when Adrian had wrapped leather around his wrists. Tied him down. Had that been a lie? Acting innocent to get what he wanted? Moisture pricked at Adrian’s eyes again, along with a fury that stoked up a headache.
None of this made any sense!
He took a breath, then another, and pushed his emotions aside—as much as he could—and studied the other band members. Jackson had been right. They were all beautiful in their own way.
Their names were inscribed under their photos. Ray Van Zeller, dark blond hair with wide golden eyes, ripped blue jeans and a tank top that could easily be stripped off. He looked like he might walk right through the page into the room. Behind him must have been Ray’s drummer husband, given the sticks in his hands. He, like Dominic, was covered in ink. Brown leather pants, no shirt. Muscular arms, black hair, and eyes that couldn’t possibly be that blue. Zavier Demos.
Why did that name sound familiar? Looked a little familiar, too. Adrian shook his head, and turned his attention past Dominic to Mish, the red-haired woman on the far right. She stood taller than the guys and wore tight jeans and a top that clung to her perfectly. She had a smile that tingled Adrian’s nerves, as if she could stare through the page and read his mind. God, the presence in that look.
At last, he came back to Dominic. The name read Domino Grinder and Adrian swallowed a chuckle. It sounded—well—made up. Which, obviously, it had been.
They all wore makeup to some degree, though Domino’s was so much more evident than any of his bandmates. In this photo, he had black lips, and eyeliner, starkly different from the cover of t
he magazine. The eye shadow was gold and his hair had been spiked and teased up, rather than the soft feathery mess Adrian was used to.
No bowties. No button-downs.
Same eyes, though. Dark and strong. And that smirk—he’d seen that a few dozen times. He touched Dominic’s face on the magazine, then flipped it open to find the article.
The text swam in his vision. Right, so he wasn’t going to be able to read it. Not yet. The photos, though, he could look at. Most were studio shots, obviously staged, and they all looked perfect and utterly untouchable. Still, there was something about Dominic that was fierce and full of energy, despite the white backdrop.
There were also some shots from concerts, and those Adrian stared at. Because they were real and visceral and he could almost feel, hear, and taste the crowd, the music.
And he wouldn’t have known a Twisted Wishes song if it hit him in the head.
In the heat of the concert, they all looked magnificent. Drenched in sweat, but so full of passion and life that, either by movement or a trick of the camera, they were streaked at the edges.
There was Dominic in the center of it all, flesh and leather and metal, with a flame-red guitar, makeup still perfect despite the dots of perspiration on his face. His fingers were blurred on the guitar strings, and he looked like he’d been caught in a moment of dancing.
Despite the outfit and the hair and how different he looked at first glance, Adrian would have known that look of sheer bliss anywhere. Same grin he’d seen at the museum when playing that old instrument. Same blissed-out expression Adrian had seen in his bed—only ramped up about one thousand percent.
The utter joy and passion and fire. He’d seen those, too.
Adrian shivered, then closed the magazine. Here was Dominic’s secret life, the one he hadn’t been willing to share, not with the man he’d been sharing everything else with.
The hollow feeling in Adrian’s gut turned to burning. He hadn’t asked for every piece of Dominic. That would have been unfair and toxic. But this side—this Dominic had shared with the world. His utter passion, his life’s work. And he’d kept it from Adrian, like a dirty, scandalous secret.
Or, a horrible voice whispered in the back of his mind, maybe you’re the secret he keeps from the world. Adrian swallowed against that thought.
Well, one way or another, tonight the truth would come out.
He set the magazine aside again, and tried desperately to lose himself in coding.
* * *
Friday rocked, literally. The band was a few weeks away from their concert and working up the set list, discussing which songs, new and old, they’d play. There were a couple different options, and they worked through a few combos to see how songs sounded, how they could transition and blend into the new ones.
Felt so fucking right, for all of them. Ray pranced around the studio, and Mish was a ball of energy. Even Zavier—often a rock—was full of grins and playfulness. He’d even drawn Ray close and whispered something into his ear before kissing him. A rare display of affection for Zavier, and one that seemed to push Ray even higher in energy levels.
When they played, the room filled with sound, vibrating through Dom, setting his soul right.
To add to all of that...tonight he’d tell Adrian about Twisted Wishes, about Domino, and he’d ask Adrian to come to a practice and maybe be there at the concert to watch Dom play. To be a part of this life, too—one that was public for everyone else, but secret to Adrian.
He’d worked hard to keep the resolve to open up to Adrian tonight, despite the fear and the voice in the back of his head telling him how foolish the idea was. Talking to Mish, Zavier, and Ray at their practices helped, too, even if he had fucked up on Wednesday. He could have said something then, but he hadn’t been ready yet.
He was now. He hoped.
Yeah, they’d have to talk about how Dom kept the life Adrian knew out of the public eye, but like Zavier had implied, Dom could trust Adrian.
Had, and with more than his heart. Those times on his knees or tied up—Adrian never ever took advantage. Had always sought consent. Never pressured for anything, not even when Dom screwed up and said something about the band. Asked, sure. But never insisted.
His demands were always in what Dom realized were scenes—those moments when they both acted out roles for each other’s pleasure and need. When Dom submitted and Adrian took control.
But they also existed outside that dynamic, too. Friends and lovers. Reading partners. Museum hoppers. Boyfriends.
He really hoped Adrian would be okay with dating someone whose public persona was nearly always in the limelight.
The hope was there, buoyed by Zavier’s smile and his clap on the back, and Mish’s and Ray’s hugs.
“Hey,” Ray said. “You know you can call me anytime with anything, right? Just like always.”
Dom patted his best friend’s—his near-brother’s—cheek. “Yeah. I know, I just hate talking to you about the sex stuff.”
Ray made a face. “Ditto.”
They both laughed. As close as they were, there were a few lines they didn’t cross.
Dom headed back to his place first, to shower and change into something a little nicer. Classy pastel-red button-down, paired with a blue jewel-tone bowtie. Tan slacks rather than jeans, and a pair of brick-red dress shoes he’d spotted the other day. They matched his shirt nicely. He picked out a bottle of wine from his collection—something to drink later in the weekend, for when they ate in.
He fucking loved when Adrian cooked for them.
During the walk to Adrian’s, his heart was in his throat and his mind spun. He so wanted this to go well. He needed this to go well.
Ten minutes later, he climbed the steps and rang the bell.
As soon as Adrian answered the door, Dom knew something was horribly wrong. Yes, Adrian was dressed in one of his nicer dress shirts, sans tie, and his finer suit pants, but there was a remoteness that had never been in his expression before, not in all the weeks Dom had known Adrian. His gaze held no warmth, and his expression was masklike rather than full of joy and laughter. It was as if a wall had been built between them since Wednesday night, the last time they’d seen each other in person.
But there had been nothing remote in Adrian’s voice last night on the phone. He’d been dirty and wonderful, whispering wicked thing until Dom had spilled himself all over his chest, then sweet and gentle when they’d finished their goodnights.
“Hello, Dominic.” Cool words. No smile.
Oh shit. This was bad. Dom had no idea what it was, but something awful had happened. Or was about to. He replayed all their recent interactions, but aside from Wednesday, when he’d deflected conversation about the band, he came up empty. That couldn’t be it, could it?
“Hey.” Dom gripped the bag with the bottle of wine he’d brought. “Can I come in?”
Adrian nodded, and stepped away from the door. No hug, no kiss. He just—walked down the hall.
Dom’s heart thudded against his ribs. So so so not good. Fear bit in hard. This—this was the motions of a breakup. Oh god. He closed the front door and latched it, then made his way to the living room. Adrian stood by one of the chairs, his hand resting on the cushioned back. He stared at Dom, sad eyes roaming over him for a moment before they focused on the coffee table.
Dom followed his gaze and recognized the magazine that lay there. His stomach lurched and the bag slipped from his hand, the wine bottle hitting the rug with a thunk. Everything in Dom’s vision tunneled down to that cover.
Twisted Wishes. Domino. Adrian knew. He knew.
He’d found out before Dom had had a chance to tell him. Explain things. Ask for him to keep Dom’s secret. Who knew who Adrian had told? Had he? Fuck. The press would have a field day. Be on his doorstep.
Oh god, he was gonna puke. Or have a heart attack
. His chest heaved and it took every effort to rip his focus from the magazine to meet Adrian’s eyes.
“So.” Adrian spoke coolly and calmly, as one might talk to a stranger. “Who are you really?”
Shit. Dom really was going to throw up. He pressed a hand over his mouth and swallowed a bunch of times, trying to quell his stomach and heart. When the awful acid taste lessened, he lowered it and answered. “I’m who I said I was.” Because that was the truth, too. “I’m Dominic Bradley.”
“And yet...” Adrian nodded at the coffee table.
Yeah. “I’m him, too. Domino Grinder.” The name sounded harsh and wrong in the mess Dom’s voice had become.
Fire and itching crept along his skin, and he fought against the growing panic. But this was worse than he’d been in the studio. This wasn’t unfounded fears—this was real.
Silence stretched between them for a very long time, and little cracks and fissures formed in Adrian’s expression. The wavering stance, the way his lips quivered when he took a breath. Worst, though, was the hissing pain when he whispered, “Were you ever going to tell me? Or wasn’t I good enough to trust?”
The irony struck Dom like a knife to the side. “Tonight.” He should have been crying, but no tears came, just that overwhelming sense of dread and fear. It built and built, cracking his bones and dissolving his organs. He blinked a few times and everything turned wrong. “That was the plan.” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry. I should have said something sooner, but...”
God, he needed to hold it together. He hadn’t wanted to be rejected by Adrian, and he’d needed to find a way to exist as both Dominic and Domino, which he still hadn’t. Then he’d fallen in love. So foolish he’d been to wait. Trust went both ways, didn’t it?
Or had it been completely reckless to believe he could have two lives he loved at the same time?
Maybe he could live without love. His heart wrenched in his chest and his lungs tried to flay themselves.
“But you didn’t. You didn’t say anything at all. Kept pushing me away.” The tears that should have been in Dom’s eyes were collecting in Adrian’s. “I waited and waited, Dominic. How could you...” His voice shredded and broke.