by Lane Hayes
I sighed but gave him a weary smile. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No, thanks.”
We ran in silence for a minute, letting the hum from the machines float between us.
“I don’t snore,” I said, finally breaking the quiet.
Adam chuckled. “Yeah, you do. Like a truck driver.”
“Fuck you,” I replied without heat, tossing him a dirty look. This time he grabbed the bar on the treadmill and threw his head back and laughed—a hearty, happy sound I liked much more than the silence I’d thought I craved. This was nice. It felt… easy. “Got much experience with snoring truckers?”
Adam’s eyes twinkled merrily. He adjusted his balance when his machine tilted to a steeper incline, and picked up his pace accordingly. “Can’t say I do. But I will suggest you try sleeping on your side. When I got back at two, the walls were rattling.”
“I can’t take this much fun before coffee,” I sighed. “How was last night? It must have been great if you’re in such a good mood at this ungodly hour.”
Adam snorted. “Work was just okay. One of the bouncers didn’t show, so I ended up covering for him at the door. Not my favorite job. I like being behind the bar. Or at least inside where the eye candy is better. Gotta go where I’m needed, though. It’s the downside of being a big guy. Plus it’s a newish place and they don’t have all the kinks worked out. They’re always understaffed. I get the feeling the owner didn’t realize how popular the bar would be.”
“Hmm. What’s it called?”
“Jock’s. It’s on Eighth.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a sports-themed bar in Chelsea, but it’s also the owner’s name. Or nickname. I’m working a double shift tonight. Thursdays are as crazy as weekend nights.”
“Chelsea? Huh. Wait. Is it the bar on the corner next to that French bistro?”
“Claude’s. Yep.”
“That’s a gay bar,” I said, not bothering to keep the confusion from my voice. “Why are you working at a gay bar?”
Adam flashed me an annoyed look. “That’s a weird question from a bi rock god. Why do you think? It’s a good part-time job. What difference does it make who the clientele is?”
“You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” I acknowledged with a short nod and quickly changed topics. “How are your parents?”
Adam gave me a funny look but went along with my awkward segue. “They’re good. The same. Nothing much changes back home. I guess the big news is they’re talking about retiring. They want to spend more time with the grandkids. Did you know Ian’s wife, Kate, is pregnant again?”
“No. That’s cool. Number three?”
“Yeah. Ned and Megan are already talking about another kid too. It’s wild. They’re all very… grown-up. You’d approve,” he added with a smirk. “Everyone is settling down. It’s tough being the odd man out. If you can’t hang in a conversation about diaper brands and making baby food versus store-bought, you won’t last long at a family gathering nowadays. I think my brothers are sad I’m not part of their fun. No one was particularly bummed about the divorce, but they don’t like my single status either. And there’ve been a rash of breakups lately. It’s like an epidemic in Springville.”
“Anyone I know?”
I don’t know why I asked. I zoned out while he listed a few vaguely familiar names until something in his tone shifted.
“…Danny and Beth too. Did you know he came out?”
“Came out where?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
Adam gave me a “what the fuck?” look and tried again. “Of the closet.”
I cocked my head and let the words sink in before I responded. “Danny Calhoun, the quarterback in high—really?”
“Yeah. It was a major scandal. He moved to Chicago with his boyfriend… who happened to be his assistant.”
“That’s wild, but… good for Danny. I hope he’s happy.” I narrowed my eyes as I pictured Adam’s old high school teammate. Danny was a blond, blue-eyed hunk who could have easily modeled for Abercrombie, selling a slice of American perfection.
“Hmm.”
I gave Adam a sharp look as I slowed to a walk. “What did you think I’d say?”
“I don’t know. I was about to say something about him being the first out gay or bi guy in Springville, but then I remembered when you came out after graduation. That was pretty fucking brave.”
“I wasn’t brave, Adam. I just had nothing left to lose.” I abruptly ended my session and hopped off the treadmill. I wiped my forehead with the towel hanging on the bar and gave a brief wave. “See ya around.”
I felt his stare as I walked out of the gym. As soon as the door closed behind me, I leaned against the wall and scrolled through my contacts, then pressed Send.
“I was wondering when you’d call,” said a familiar voice.
“So you do know something! Spill it, Ned. What’s going on? Why is your brother in my guest room?”
“Did you ask him?” Ned chuckled.
I could almost picture him sitting at his desk, wearing ripped jeans and an old sweatshirt, with a dog at his feet, surrounded by family photos. Ned had the same dark hair as his brother, but he was lanky and lean like me. All the McBrides were friendly, but Ned was the most serious of the three brothers. He was a natural-born worrier and peacemaker—Ian and Adam’s complete opposite. It was funny to think how different all our lives were now. I was in a band. Ned worked from home as a structural-engineering consultant for a firm based in Harrisburg. Ian owned a music store in Springville. And Adam was trying to find himself.
“He told me about the divorce.”
I peeked through the sliver of glass on the gym door. Adam’s golden skin glistened with sweat as he pushed himself to climb the treadmill at an exaggerated angle most people couldn’t sustain for an extended stretch.
“It’s for the best,” Ned said in a neutral tone. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but we could tell he was miserable.”
“Yeah, he seems more relieved than anything. But I also get the feeling there’s something he’s not saying.”
Ned was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that I pulled the phone from my ear to check the connection on my screen. He let out a deep sigh just as I was about to speak. “Yes, but… whatever it is, it has to come from him.”
I frowned and then swiped the towel over my brow. “Is this classified or what?”
“Talk to him. I can’t tell you anything he said to me in confidence, but I will admit I encouraged him to give you a call. I told him to get lost in the big city. Sometimes we need to forget where we’ve been so we can remember who we are.”
“Wow. That was pretty deep for an engineer,” I teased.
“I must have heard it on Sesame Street,” he quipped. “Hey, he’s my brother and I love him, but he’s got a demon or two to conquer.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Maybe so. When did you get back from your trip, Mr. Rock Star?”
I graciously took the hint and let it go. I filled him in on my recent travels and asked after his family as I made my way toward the elevator. Ned was right. Adam’s story was his own to tell. But I couldn’t help feeling a familiar twinge of jealousy over their brotherly bond. Ned and I weren’t as close as we were in high school, but even then our friendship took a backseat to family loyalty. I understood, but as an adopted only child with distant parents, I’d grown up envying the McBride brothers. They were a close-knit group that celebrated each other’s differences and shared a love of laughter. I remembered the many times I’d walked home from their house with a grin on my face at the memory of some ridiculous shenanigans that had taken place. Like Ian telling an off-color joke in a serious tone while Adam stood behind him making fart sounds in his armpit. Ned and I laughed uproariously as Mrs. McBride scolded the boys, swatting them with a dish towel as she did her best not to chuckle at what s
he called their nonsense.
Personally I loved their nonsense as much as I loved the vivid atmosphere in their home. It was filled with humor, joy, and… love. It was very different from the sterile house up the hill behind the wrought-iron gate where I’d been brought up. When I’d opened the ornate door into the massive foyer, the quiet stung. It judged. It demanded proof of excellence and a worthwhile use of my time. And in a strange way, it reminded me I was an interloper in my own home. Like a visitor who spoke the same language, but in a heavy accent. Sometimes I wondered if a part of me would always feel that way.
THE WORD bodyguard conjured a James Bond 007 cool factor. Or maybe that was my crush on Daniel Craig doing the thinking for me. The reality wasn’t any facsimile of sophisticated, suspenseful hijinks. It sucked. Within a week, I was over Brian. He wasn’t a bad guy, but he was dull.
I’d been assured his presence would be unobtrusive. That he would be the guy in the background I forgot was there. Not so much.
My friends thought I was being ridiculous. Rand had been dealing with a security detail almost from the beginning. But he loved it. He would have been seriously disappointed if our fans didn’t want his autograph or follow his travels as the band toured the world. He was made to stand out. I might have been up front wearing attention-getting outfits, but I wasn’t naturally inclined to seek the limelight. In many ways, I was still adjusting to success. If I’d known I’d be trailed by a bodyguard because of a zealot fan, I might have reconsidered auditioning in the first place. Nah, I fucking loved these guys. They were my family now.
I leaned over my guitar, bending the notes to Rand’s deep, raspy vocals. We’d positioned our stools around Tim’s drum set as we worked on the instrumentation for a new song. I liked where we were going with the harmony, but something was off.
The four of us listened closely, moving with the music as though motion would provide clues. Moments like this made the less-than-savory parts of fame disappear. The creative process, the building, shaping, forming, and reforming, was life-affirming. I knew I was one lucky bastard the day these guys asked me to join their band.
When I first auditioned for Spiral, I’d been nervous as hell. I wanted the job, but I couldn’t say why it mattered so much. I had a gig as a studio musician at the time. The money was decent even if the jobs weren’t always exciting. It didn’t matter as long as I was playing. Being paid to do something I loved was a dream come true. However, aspirations of rock-and-roll superstardom were for crazy dreamers. I certainly had my share of issues, but I was relatively sane.
The minute I walked into Suite Dog Studio and heard Spiral live, I was blown away. Their dynamic was electric. They were more like brothers than bandmates. They finished each other’s sentences and seemed to know how to navigate mood swings through music. Rand struck me as a passionate and sometimes volatile guy with a big mouth and grand opinions. But he could also be sensitive and self-deprecating. Tim and Cory were more even-tempered and openly friendly.
The three friends had met in Baltimore when they were teenagers taking community college courses. They shared a history and a hometown. Whoever got the job of lead guitarist was going to be the odd man out, on top of dealing with the usual learning curve involved with new material and style of play. Rand made no secret that they’d come to New York City to make it big. That meant long practices and hard work. Spiral wasn’t a hobby for any of them. It was a way of life.
I wondered why I hadn’t run for the hills when they asked if I’d be opposed to wearing glam-inspired costumes onstage à la David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust phase. I wasn’t a flashy guy. It wasn’t in my nature to jump into the spotlight. Respectable citizens didn’t dress in drag where I came from. And they certainly didn’t talk about their sexuality in bored tones as though they were discussing what kind of dressing they preferred on their salad. Rand and Tim were bi. Cory was straight. And while they all agreed it was no one’s business, they warned me fans would probably want to know about the new guitarist at some point too.
When I weighed the pros and cons, I had to admit there were considerable obstacles. Spiral wasn’t a sure thing. It was a shot in the dark. A chance. But I liked their vision. I wanted to adopt it and infuse my own style. I saw an opportunity that felt more like a calling. It should have been a cumbersome decision, but honestly it was a no-brainer. I wanted the job, and yes, I’d even wear heels to get it.
Two multiplatinum albums, a handful of Grammys, and millions of dollars in the bank later, I knew I’d made the right decision. Not because of the money or the fame, but because the music was still number one. It was all any of us cared about. When I was in the studio playing with them, I could forget about my new bodyguard and the things I hadn’t counted on when I’d first joined what was now arguably the biggest band in the world.
Cory stopped midsong and glared at Rand. “You’re going too fast.”
I watched them warily from my perch a couple of feet away, knowing this could either be a pivotal point in creativity or a sign we should quit for the night.
“Oh? How should it go?” Rand asked, widening his eyes theatrically.
Cory ran through the bridge again on his own.
“That doesn’t work, Cor. Let’s redo it with a faster beat,” Rand suggested, waving his right hand in the air like an orchestra leader.
I glanced sideways at Cory, who looked like he wanted to clobber him with his bass. I made a face to ease the building tension, but I could tell it wasn’t going to work. Cory was pissed. He set his instrument on a stand and moved toward the door.
“Where are you going? We didn’t agree to take a break.” Rand checked his watch and scowled. “I don’t have all day, man. I have to meet Will in an hour and—”
“I’m going to fucking hurt you if I don’t walk away now,” Cory replied matter-of-factly as he pulled the door open.
“Hey, asshole!” Rand pushed his acoustic guitar behind his back and went after Cory.
Tim and I looked at each other and shrugged.
“It’s your turn to go after them,” Tim said in a bored tone.
“Usually it’s Cory and I flipping a coin to see who goes after you and Rand, which officially makes it your turn. But don’t do it yet. I could use the break.” I pulled my cell from my pocket and crossed the room to sit on the armrest of the sofa against the wall.
“Yeah, me too. I should call Carter.” A big goofy grin split his face in two as he set his drumsticks aside.
“How’s married life?”
“We’re not married, idiot.”
“You may as well be.”
“Maybe. But I like it.” Tim kicked at my shoe before flopping backward on the leather sofa. “He’s pretty… great.”
“‘Pretty great’? Timmy boy, are you blushing? Aw. That’s cute,” I teased.
“Fuck off.” He chuckled and sat up to type a message into his phone. “How about you? I read you were seen getting chummy with Jason Simons.”
“The actor? I don’t think I’ve met him.”
“You have. He came backstage after our last show in London. You stuck your tongue down his throat in a dark corner when you thought no one was looking.”
“Imagine that.” I gave a bored shrug before turning my attention back to my messages.
“A whirlwind romance involving a quickie wedding was mentioned,” he prodded mischievously. “Is it true?”
I made a show of checking my fingers for a ring, then shook my head. “Nope.”
“Don’t worry. It was in one of the more salacious British tabloids. It was like the National Enquirer, where the next headline was about a UFO landing on the banks of Loch Ness. The monster was involved and… you know how it goes.”
“Yeah. I won’t sweat it, then,” I said with a laugh.
“Except… there was a picture of him coming out of your room at 5:00 a.m., looking a little disheveled. He explained that you were roommates for the night.”
“Fantastic,” I huffed sar
castically. “Another roommate. Fuck, I’m hoping the one I have now moves before the paparazzi find out and make up some big romance.”
My tone was light and jocular, but Tim sat a little taller and gave me an exaggerated searching look. “Roomie? Is Jason living with you?”
“Ha. Ha. My temporary roommate is my best friend from high school’s brother, Adam. He’s my friend too, I suppose. He’s newly divorced and wanted a couple months away in New York to lick his wounds.”
“Is he hot?”
I smacked at his boot when he kicked my leg again. “Yes, Adam is very hot.”
Tim whistled. “Now we’re talkin’. Tell me all about him.”
“Down, greedy boy. You have Carter.”
“I love Carter,” he stated simply. “But I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
I scoffed. “That’s as likely to happen as your ‘UFO meets Loch Ness Monster’ story. Adam is straight. And even if he wasn’t—which he is—we grew up together. He’s like family. Only better because I actually like him.”
“Why don’t you bring him around sometime? Or are you afraid your bodyguard will kick his ass?”
“Ha. Adam could bench-press my bodyguard with one hand tied behind his back.”
Tim chuckled. “What’s he do for a living?”
“Dog walking and bartending.”
“He sounds like an actor.”
I let out a short laugh. “They’re part-time gigs until he goes home. So far, so good. He gets up early and is gone before I leave for the studio. We shared some mac and cheese the other night before he left for work, but otherwise I haven’t seen much of him. I see more of my damn bodyguard.”
“Then get your giant hunky roommate to take the job instead,” Tim advised with a grin before looking down at his cell.
I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. Tim’s suggestion was a rhetorical one. It wasn’t meant as anything more than a joke. No response was necessary. But I took the bait anyway.
“I told you he—never mind.”