by Lane Hayes
I snickered, then looked over my shoulder to see if Rand was close behind. He was, but he wasn’t alone. He was with Will, his longtime boyfriend. Rand had him backed against the brick wall with his hands pinned above his head while he cleaned his tonsils. Tim and I shared a look as we continued, slapping high fives along the way.
We were escorted to a large room that served as a dressing room slash lounge. Mirrors and stage lights lined one side of the space, while a sofa and a few chairs anchored the opposite end. There were usually a couple of assistants on hand after a show to ascertain we had everything we needed, from water and tequila to gummy bears, carrots, or whatever oddball items we were craving. And lately there was always extra security.
I spotted Brian standing with his arms crossed next to the door. All he needed was a pair of dark sunglasses. I grabbed a water bottle from the side table and raised it in greeting before turning to say hello to Carter and Holly, who were immediately hijacked by their partners. I wasn’t offended. The adrenaline rush from a successful show was intense. A rampant spike in libido was a common side effect.
Cory already had his arms around his girlfriend, while Tim and Carter made out in the far corner. Great.
“Doesn’t anyone have any respect for the lone single guy in the band?” I griped.
I set my guitar on a stand and moved in front of the full-length mirror next to Tim and Carter, who came up for air to give me a two-way eye roll. They were an improbable couple: the drummer in a rock band and his sexy finance-wizard boyfriend. Carter was one of the most handsome men I’d ever met. He was tall with dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a killer bod. But he also had a great sense of humor and he didn’t put up with any bullshit, which made him perfect for my friend.
Tim stepped out of Carter’s arms to lift his sweaty T-shirt over his head before gesturing toward my serious-looking bodyguard. “You know, he’s kinda cute. Why not make the best of a less than ideal situation?”
“You’re hilarious, Timmy.” I swatted him with my towel just as Rand and Will swept into the room. Rand raised a bottle of champagne above his head, effectively diverting everyone’s attention.
There was a lighthearted scuffle when Tim commandeered the bottle. I’d turned away to deal with the complicated tie on my shirt when someone came up behind me and batted my hand away.
“Great show, Ize. Need help?” Will asked in a soft voice.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Thanks.”
Will let out a low whistle. “Wow. This is… special.”
“Yeah. Benny outdid himself, but—”
“I got it.” Will gestured for me to turn so he could free me from the sweaty garment.
I glanced at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I looked fierce tonight. The deep blues in the blousy material complemented my light brown skin, and the lip gloss and eyeliner were subtle but hot. I liked my new toned-down look. It was sexy without being outlandish.
Will met my gaze in the mirror and smiled. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks. Where’s Benny? New Jersey is practically local. I thought he’d be here tonight to help me get in and out of this thing.”
Will stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “One of us had to be at the theater until eight. He and Zeke probably got here in time for the show.”
I pushed the fabric off my shoulder and pulled a mesh neon orange top over my head.
“How’s it going on Broadway, baby?” I asked with a wink.
Will smiled and stepped back. “It’s crazy busy right now. Benny and I are taking turns being nervous wrecks.”
“Congratulations! Not on the nervous wreck part, but wow. I can’t believe I know the next Andrew Lloyd Webber.”
Will’s grin took over his handsome face. He was a good-looking but understated guy who tended to dress somewhat conservatively in khakis and pressed designer button-down shirts. He’d finished his master’s at New York University a couple of years ago and had embarked on rewriting the music for an off-Broadway production. He’d convinced Benny to help rework the costume design for the show. I was proud of them for chasing their dreams. Their hard work had paid off. The show was reopening on Broadway soon.
“Thank you. We’ll be starting up just as your tour ends. The previews will go through January and we’ll be busy ironing out kinks, but I’ll be around as often as possible if you want to go over new material. Rand has written a ton of new stuff,” he commented before moving to pick up the acoustic guitar on the stand next to my Fender.
“I love what I’ve heard so far. Are you responsible for some of our new material?”
Will shook his head and strummed a couple of chords. “Maybe for a little of the music, but the words are all his.”
I sat next to him on a low nearby stool. “I like that. Is it a ballad?”
“Yes,” he said in a soft voice I knew from experience meant he wanted nothing more than to dive into it here and now.
Rand once told me Will tended to skim the surface of everyday life. The real Will could be found in his music. As much as I had come to love and respect Rand, Tim, and Cory, I made no secret that Will was one of the biggest reasons I wanted a place in Spiral. The guy was a musical genius.
Before I joined the band, Rand explained that his boyfriend had agreed to temporarily take the spot to cover their asses for upcoming shows until they hired a new guitarist. I’d assumed Will was a serviceable player who agreed to do his man a favor, but I was wrong. Will blew everyone around him out of the water. He taught me how to look for nuances between the notes and the subtleties of enhancing the silence to create a new sound.
My fingers ached after hours onstage, but the haunting riff he coaxed from the strings drew me in.
“Let me try,” I said, gesturing at the guitar.
Will smiled when he looked up at me. “Can you hear it?”
“I think so.”
This was how we worked. Whether he meant to be or not, Will was still my mentor. I’d learned to stop what I was doing and listen when he played. I closed my eyes, firmly pushing the background distractions aside, and found a quiet space in my head to play for myself. Not for the fans. Not for money. For me.
“That’s it,” Will said in a soft voice.
I opened my eyes and was surprised to find him crouched in front of me. He smiled, but his expression was more thoughtful than excited. “What were you thinking just then?”
I strummed a couple of chords with less finesse for the sake of filling the space as background noise took over. If we’d been alone and had more time, I would have suggested we keep playing. Music was pure. Words muddled everything.
“I was thinking about the mega mistake I made recently.”
“What did you do?”
“I had sex with my friend’s straight brother,” I blurted.
Will’s mouth opened to a comical-looking O. He blinked a couple of times before responding. “O-kay. The guy who’s been staying with you?”
“Yeah. Adam. He left me a note this morning to tell me he’s moving out in a couple days. It was next to a Post-it sticker about the dishes in the dishwasher being clean, which I think was a not-so-subtle hint it was my turn to put them away,” I sighed. “I guess I don’t blame him. Even when it was happening, I knew it was a bad idea.”
“Were you drunk?”
“Alcohol was definitely a factor. Whatever. He just got divorced. New city, new attitude, new life… why not try something different? I got the feeling it wasn’t his first time with a guy, but—it doesn’t matter. I wish it hadn’t happened now ’cause I can’t stop thinking about it.” I inclined my head toward the door. “Add Inspector Gadget following me around like a piece of toilet paper stuck on the bottom of my shoe, chronic jet lag, and painfully callused fingers, and I gotta wonder why anyone would think this is the glamorous life.”
Will chuckled. “Poor baby. You should prob—”
A loud cheer and a wolf whistle were quickly followed by a cheery
“Hel-lo!” I turned with a grin to greet Benny and Zeke just as Brian issued an abrupt demand for the newcomers to show their badges.
“I don’t have a badge. Do I really need one? I—”
“No one is allowed in this area without proper identification and credentials,” Brian said in a stern voice as he moved to block the entrance.
“Excuse me?” Benny asked incredulously. I couldn’t see him clearly from the far end of the room, but I’d bet money he had one hand on his hip and was giving my bodyguard a thorough diva-style once-over.
Will tapped my shoulder and gestured toward the disturbance. “You better go save Inspector Gadget. Zeke will level him if—”
“I got it, I got it,” I said, handing him the guitar.
I hurried to the door before anyone else jumped in and started a riot, and stepped between Zeke and Brian with an overly bright smile. “Hey! You got here just in time. Actually you’re late, but it’s cool. What did you bring me?”
I ushered Zeke and Benny past Brian, who stopped me with a hand on my elbow.
“Sir, I can’t allow—”
“I can. Brian, you’ve met Benny a dozen times. Badge or no badge, he and Zeke are our friends. They’re always welcome here.”
I turned back to Benny with a smile. My stylist was maybe five foot eight with dark brown hair he often dyed for what he called “creative reasons.” Tonight his bangs were a pale purple. Tomorrow it could be anything from electric blue to magenta. He was funny and charming and very talented. I found his brand of fabulous refreshing and inspirational. Benny had a subtle way of reminding me it took courage to stand out in a crowd.
I pointed at the bouquet he was holding. “For me? You shouldn’t have.”
“I didn’t. I actually almost tripped over them in the doorway,” Benny said irritably as he shoved the vase of long-stemmed red roses at me.
Zeke slung his arm around his husband and kissed his cheek. “You know I wasn’t gonna let the bodyguard take you down, baby.”
Like Rand and Will, Zeke and Benny were polar opposites. Zeke was tall, lean, and handsome with dark hair and a short, sexy beard. He was somewhat serious in a way that suited his Wall Street–financier persona, but he melted around Benny.
“Me either,” I assured him. “He’s just… excitable. Here. Take the roses. We’ll probably forget them after the meet and greet anyway.”
Benny shook his head. “No. They’re for you. The card has your name on it.”
“Fine. I’ll take the card. You take the flowers. I don’t have a green thumb. I’ll end up killing them anyway.”
Benny huffed a melodic laugh. “You can’t kill them, dummy. They’ve got a limited shelf life. But okay. I’ll save them from you since you saved me from your bodyguard. Now we’re even. Thank you. They’re gorgeous.”
He handed me the small white envelope attached to a long plastic prong, then pushed the roses to Zeke to carry. I chuckled at his husband’s put-upon expression and mild grumbling. I stepped aside to finish dressing and immediately bumped into Brian.
“Shall I take the card for you, sir?”
Oh my God. It was like being handcuffed to a Labrador retriever.
“No, thanks.”
I thought he might argue and demand I give up my prize, but he gave a curt nod instead and returned to his post near the door with his arms folded over his chest. I had a fleeting thought that he could be playing the part of a sentry outside a castle gate in a B movie set in medieval times. He was either there to protect me or to make sure I didn’t escape. I couldn’t tell which.
A moment later someone shoved a glass in my free hand and pulled me into the impromptu party. The cheerful hum of familiar voices celebrating a job well done was all the encouragement I needed to rejoin my friends. For a few hours, I banished the eerie sensation that I was losing a little more control of my life every time I stepped offstage.
FORTUNATELY THE doorman on duty at 4:00 a.m. wasn’t chatty. He waved a short greeting at Brian and me as we headed for the elevator. I pushed my messenger bag higher on my shoulder and let out a gigantic yawn. It might have been the dead of night, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary to get home at the crack of dawn after a show. I was usually flying on an adrenaline high for a good couple of hours afterward. Add time to grab a drink and some food with my buddies before commuting back to Manhattan, and crawling into bed before sunrise was practically respectable.
I pushed open the door to my condo, turned on the light in the foyer, and immediately spotted Adam’s Converse near the kitchen island. He was home. My pulse went into instant overdrive. God, I was a head case. I turned to Brian and pointed at the door.
“Everything is fine, Brian. I’m going straight to bed. Good night.”
He hesitated for a second, but thankfully he didn’t argue. I turned off the light and tossed my bag onto one of the barstools. When I skirted the island, I almost tripped over Adam’s size-thirteen shoes. I gritted my teeth and bent to pick them up by the shoestrings. These seemingly harmless red canvas sneakers were silently mocking me for bad decision-making. Roommates didn’t screw around. They shared a space and respected each other’s shit. They took turns doing chores like… I stopped when I saw the yellow Post-it Note he’d left on the counter earlier. The dishes in the dishwasher are clean.
He had to be fucking kidding. He’d purposely ignored me all week, and suddenly the dishes needed my attention?
Pique, wounded pride, and plummeting adrenaline levels were a troublesome combination. That had to be the reason for my sudden loss of fifteen years of maturity, though at that moment, I didn’t give a fuck. I studied the shoes in the semidark kitchen for a hot second before stuffing them into the dishwasher and then pressing Start.
I hurried to the other side of the island like a kid running from the scene of a crime and switched on the pendant lights over the island. I grumbled my many complaints about thoughtless roomies to myself as I opened my bag and began rummaging through a mishmash of junk ranging from a pair of dirty socks to a half-empty water bottle. I found my iPad and yanked it out, dislodging a plain envelope, which slipped onto the hardwood floor.
I picked it up and examined my typewritten name. I tried to remember who’d handed it to me. The cute college kid at the meet and greet who was so nervous he could barely formulate a complete sentence, or the older woman wearing five-inch heels who’d wanted to discuss fashion? Fortunately Benny had come to my rescue before I—
Benny. The roses.
After every show, there were a ton of bouquets strewn across the stage along with women’s thongs and even a couple of jock straps. The roses I’d passed on to Benny were different only because they were sitting outside the door. My name on a card didn’t mean anything really. We all received personal “gifts” from our fans. I’d once admitted in an interview that I loved Skittles and was bombarded at the next show with more Skittles than any human should ever consume in a lifetime. Many had been tied with red ribbons because I’d also mentioned it was my favorite color.
I was too tired to be actively curious, but I opened the envelope anyway.
A moment later my heart jumped into my throat.
Roses are red, violets are blue.
There is no one more brilliant than you.
You’re the biggest star and I’m your biggest fan.
I’ll make you forget the people who put themselves before you
I’ll never leave you, I will be waiting
Even when you die, I’ll be with you.
Holy fuck.
“ISAAC, WAKE up.”
My eyes fluttered open. I squeezed them shut against the bright reflection of sunlight off the glass coffee table and struggled to sit upright. I was cold and sore and—
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked in a raspy voice.
Adam didn’t answer right away. He cocked his head quizzically and grabbed the red throw blanket lying over the barcelona chair. He gently covered me like he was tuckin
g a kid in before a nap. Or a grown man who’d fallen asleep on the sofa because he didn’t want to be alone in his own bed.
He set a warm hand on my forehead, then pulled away quickly with a chagrined expression. “I don’t think you have a fever. Are you hungover?”
“I had two drinks last night,” I scoffed. “That hasn’t been enough to do any damage in years.”
“Did you take anythi—”
“I don’t do drugs, Adam.”
“Hey, I’m not accusing you of anything. But you’re out here instead of in bed and—are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I avoided eye contact as I scooted back to lean against a throw pillow. “What time is it?”
“Eight. I didn’t notice you when I left for the gym. I’m going to make some coffee. Hang tight and I’ll bring you a cup.” He started for the kitchen but halted almost immediately. “Unless you want to go back to bed. You probably didn’t get much sleep and—”
“Coffee sounds good,” I said.
“Cool. Be right back.”
I didn’t watch him, but I listened. Maybe I should have taken the out and claimed exhaustion, but I couldn’t. Nor could I deny that the sounds of the refrigerator opening and closing, water running, and cups and silverware clattering in the next room were comforting. It reminded me of the night we’d—
“Why are my shoes in the dishwasher?”
Oh. Right.
I ignored his question and reached for my phone instead. Adam strode purposefully into the living area holding a damp, sorry-looking sneaker.
“Well?” he prodded in a sharp tone.
“No idea. They look clean, though.”
“No. They look wet and they smell like dish detergent!”
I flashed a tight-lipped smile. I was going for badass and unapologetic, but I busted up laughing and ruined the effect. Once I started, I couldn’t stop.
“You should see your face! They’re only shoes!” I dabbed at my eyes and fell back against the pillows. “And you deserved it.”
“Hmph.” He dropped the lone shoe on the rug before heading back to the kitchen. He returned a couple of minutes later with two cups of coffee. “Here you go.”