by J. D. Ryan
Kit had to grin at Max’s dubious face. “You mean Disney songs? I can deal.”
“I meant all this family drama and you knew it. I was planning on avoiding my family for some time, but it backfired on me.”
“They’re not so bad. At least my sister is at work today. You won’t get the third-degree yet.”
“No, but you might.” Max shot a sour look at his mother, who’d brought herself a lawn chair and was presiding over the picnic baskets like a queen. Her daughters, under her supervision, were setting out paper plates and cups and shooing flies away from the bowls of chicken and potato salad. She’d also brought what looked like home-made rolls, several bags of chips, and a couple of cakes. They’d be waddling home tonight.
As if she’d heard their soft conversation, Mrs. Hill beckoned to her son. Max sighed, clutched Kit’s hand like a lifeline, and they stepped across to her chair.
“So you’re a musician, young man,” she said as they came closer. “Why aren’t you in the local orchestra?”
“Mom, you promised not to be nosy.” Max’s brows lowered.
“How is that being nosy? I’m just curious.”
Kit had to smile. Mrs. Hill was as curious as a cat, and seemed ready to burst if she didn’t get some answers. “That’s not really my type of music, Mrs. Hill.”
“For your information,” Max added in a huffy tone, “Kit plays the viola and the double bass. He could be in the orchestra if he wanted to.”
Kit squeezed Max’s hand. The man actually remembered which instruments he played. That left a warm glow inside Kit’s chest, along with the loyal declaration of his talent. Just playing an instrument was no guarantee he could get a spot in the orchestra, though he probably could if he had the free time to put in the work involved.
“What sort of music is your type then?” Mrs. Hill wanted to know.
Kit glanced at Max, not certain he really wanted to be honest.
Max glared down at his mother. “One: it’s none of your business. Two: Kit likes rock and roll. And three: I’m okay with that.”
Mrs. Hill chuckled. “You’re never okay with anything but the classics and you know it. I’ll bet Kit doesn’t practice in front of you.”
“Well, no, but that’s because—”
“Because the two of you are doing other things besides making music when you’re together. I remember what it’s like, being young and in love.”
“Mom!”
“So how exactly does one play rock and roll on a viola?” Mrs. Hill wanted to know.
“I’ve got an electric bass,” Kit admitted. “I can play regular guitar, too, but I like bass the best.”
“That’s the heart of a band, young man. Bass and drums.”
Kit looked at Mrs. Hill with some surprise. Her eyes twinkled. “Surprised that an old lady knows anything about rock and roll? That’s my childhood you’re talking about. I grew up listening to rock music.”
He nearly blurted out the truth about the band to her in front of Max. That’d be the end of that relationship, though. Maybe he could catch her alone sometime and confess, ask her to keep his secret. Though did mothers hide things from their own sons? Maybe he ought to keep his big mouth shut.
Max’s sisters beckoned to their respective children, calling them to come and eat before it was all gone. Kit and Max helped themselves to plates of chicken, salad and chips, then retired with cups of soda to their own blanket next to Mrs. Hill’s. Ebon plopped down onto their blanket with a plate piled high.
“Mrs. Hill said I’m too skinny,” he said in reply to Kit’s questioning glance. “She’s saving me a piece of both of her cakes, too.”
By the time they’d finished eating and helped clean up the mess, the orchestra was warming up for the evening performance. The sun was just beginning to sink behind the buildings, and the park lawn was shaded and cool. Max pulled Kit close, putting an arm around his shoulders. Ebon cuddled up between them on the blanket, as naturally as if Max actually was part of the family. Kit got a warm glow deep within his chest, imagining how the three of them must look, like a real family.
The orchestra did a great job with their popular songs. All of the kids were singing along, and lots of people got up and danced to the music. Ebon got bored sitting and jumped up to join the dancing, laughing as he gyrated with Max’s nieces and nephews. Max waggled his eyebrows at Kit meaningfully.
“Care to dance?”
Kit had to laugh. “I’m not sure ‘Under the Sea’ is our song.”
But he rose when Max tugged him to his feet. To his surprise, the man pulled him close for what seemed to be—given Kit’s inexperience at dancing—an actual waltz.
“You really know what you’re doing,” he said, trying gamely to keep up.
Max shrugged. “I thought it would be nice to dance to the music I like best. This isn’t quite the best song for it, though.”
Kit enjoyed it though, and his pitiful attempts to waltz had Max laughing, which was worth the embarrassment. He did love hearing that melodious laugh. After the performance ended, they rolled up their blanket and strolled through the park, leaving Ebon to play with his new friends since Mrs. Hill and her children were there to supervise. As they approached the bandstand, Kit pointed out how the shell funneled sound out towards the audience. A few of the kids had already discovered the acoustic properties of the stage, and were cutting up by yelling nonsense and making revolting noises at the tops of their lungs.
“Lovely,” Max said, tugging Kit into a detour around the side of the stage. “Let’s see what’s coming up next month, shall we?”
Suddenly, Kit’s Max-soaked memory churned into life—the heavy metal concert was next month! Radioactive had been selected to join the lineup, mostly of local bands but with a scattering of more well-known tribute bands thrown in to attract the crowds. He couldn’t let Max see their poster!
Kit leaped forward, putting his back to the announcement board and yanking Max close for a desperate kiss.
“Mmph!” Max’s back stiffened at the sudden intimacy, and he pulled his head back when Kit had to come up for air. “Did all that Disney music make you horny or something? Everybody can see us over here, you know.”
“I…er…. that is…we…”
“I want to see what’s coming up. Maybe they’ll have another Bach festival like last year.” Max tried shoving Kit first one way, then the next, in an attempt to see what he was hiding on the board. “You’re acting awfully suspicious, Kit.”
Kit shoved at Max’s chest. “We can check the board some other time—when those obnoxious kids are gone. Let’s go back and have another piece of your mom’s coconut cake. I’m starving.”
“You already had two pieces. You can’t be.” Max craned his neck to see over Kit’s head. “What are you trying to hide?”
“Nothing. I just—”
“Well, that’s going to be a disgusting show,” Max announced, thumping a finger down onto a poster just behind Kit’s left ear. Kit didn’t move. Maybe Radioactive’s picture wasn’t visible. Maybe Max wouldn’t look closely enough to recognize Kit. Maybe Kit could reach back there and jerk the poster off the board while Max read the other announcements.
Max put hands on hips. “Are you trying to hide that heavy metal poster? Were you planning to take Ebon to something like that? All that screaming and wailing? It’s not real music, you know. I don’t think Ebon’s old enough for something like that.”
Kit had been planning to do just that, actually. Ebon would be perfectly safe backstage while they performed, and they’d be offstage early enough for him to get to bed at his usual hour. Of course, it was going to be hard to get him to sleep with all the noise down in the park that night, but maybe the boy would decide he liked the music enough to understand the long hair and tattoos.
Max chuckled. “Look at that guy—he looks like he ought to be in the circus. When I listen to music, I like to hear something I think I couldn’t do myself. I could stand onstage
and scream. Probably better than he does.”
“Er…it’s possible.” Kit didn’t dare turn around to see the guy Max was pointing to. Radioactive might be exposed in all their glory on that poster for all he knew. “I have to agree that not all rock musicians are talented. Some of them are just good-looking and have a lot of charisma.”
“Charisma…is that what you call all that shrieking and gyrating?” Max took a step back and gave Kit a long, speculative look. “You’re actually worried I’d find out you were going to see a rock band. I told you I don’t mind whatever sort of music you happen to like. Well, so long as you don’t play it when I’m trying to relax, that is.”
Kit swallowed hard. “I know that, it’s just…”
“And if you honestly think Ebon is old enough to be in that sort of crowd, who am I to disagree with you? You’re an excellent father, Kit. I shouldn’t have poked fun. I hope that’s not your favorite band or anything.”
Kit had no idea which band was featured on that poster, and he still wasn’t moving to find out. “I just didn’t want to start an argument or anything. I know you hate that kind of stuff, but I was planning to go, yes.”
“You nut! Of course I’m not going to get into an argument over something that silly. By all means, go to a rock and roll concert if you want to. Heck, take Mom if she wants to go—she could help keep an eye on Ebon.”
Kit’s face felt as if it were glowing in the dark, he was blushing so hard. “I think she’s ready to leave. We should head back and help her round up the kids.”
Max chuckled, wrapped an arm around Kit’s neck, and tugged at his ponytail. “I can’t believe you’re getting this worked up over a concert, even if it is going to be a scream-fest instead of real music.”
Kit couldn’t believe he’d gotten off this easily. He’d have to make sure Max checked out the schedule online, so he wouldn’t be tempted to walk over on his lunch break and check out that poster.
Chapter 15: Radioactive
“You’re an idiot. You know that, don’t you?” Val had to raise her voice to be heard over the noise of the club’s patrons. Kit and the band were on break, and Val had a rare night off because a friend had needed a free afternoon. Kit was happy she’d gotten to come to the performance—she rarely saw him actually doing what he was best at—but he didn’t want another argument.
“I’ll tell him sometime,” he replied, popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “It’s not as big a deal as you’re making out.”
“Kit, this is your life—your real life. That damn restaurant is just to make enough money for you to do this on the weekends. Everybody who knows you knows that. Your music and your son. And you’re only sharing one of those with your boyfriend.”
“It’s not that bad. He knows I like rock music.”
Val reached across the table and swatted the side of his head. “That’s like me saying I like helping people. Rock music is in your blood. You have to own up, brother, before he finds out from somebody else and thinks you’ve been lying to him all this time.”
Kit’s stomach did a funny little jerk, like it was trying to turn over. He didn’t want Max to find out at all, but certainly learning the truth from Kit’s mouth would be better than second-hand. Maybe Kit ought to get it over with and end the relationship. At least they might remain on speaking terms if he confessed. If Max thought he’d been lying, he’d probably never speak to Kit again, even if Ebon was in his Scout troop.
“I’ll try to talk to him,” he muttered. “It’s not as easy as you think. The man hates heavy metal with a passion.”
Val gave him the sort of look she’d give Ebon if he denied stealing a cookie with his mouth full of chocolate chips. “But he loves you. I can see that, you moron. That’s got to trump his hatred of heavy metal. Maybe he’ll come to terms with it. It’s not like he has to listen to you play or anything. He just has to understand that it’s part of you.”
“You didn’t hear him the other night. He thinks heavy metal musicians are circus freaks. He said we just bang on our instruments and scream at the top of our lungs.”
“Well, that’s what a lot of heavy metal musicians do, and you know it. And that’s what a lot of people think when they see a metal band. Get him to give you a chance. Show him how hard you work.”
“I’m not inviting him to a show. That’s the most ridiculous suggestion you’ve ever made.”
Val signaled a passing waitress for another Sprite. “It’s a perfectly reasonable one. An open-minded boyfriend would want to see exactly what it is you do when you’re doing the thing you love. Buy him some earplugs and bring him to the club some weekend.”
The thought of Max Hill standing in the crowd made Kit so nervous he lost interest in the peanuts. At least he didn’t have to sing much—his mouth was so dry he didn’t think he could croak out a lyric. Max would probably walk right out without even listening, once he spotted Kit onstage with his bass.
Kit did try to bring the subject up over the next couple of weeks, but whenever they were alone, all either one of them wanted to do was cuddle and have crazy sex. They had another family dinner at Mrs. Hill’s house, but that was hardly the time to bring up Kit’s deep, dark secret. The more time passed, the more nervous Kit became. He had to find the right time, had to confess before Max found out the hard way and decided he never wanted to see Kit again.
The day of the heavy metal show rolled around. Radioactive had a spot that, while not the best (after dark), was better than the early afternoon. The sun was setting over the park when they took the stage. The crowds ebbed and flowed around the stage as people headed for the beer stations or bathrooms, or came back to listen to their favorite bands. Ebon and Val stood backstage to watch. Kit shot his son a grin as they launched into their first number. This wasn’t the first time they’d played a larger audience, but it felt good having his little family here to see him play.
Each of the bands had an hour to perform. They’d unanimously decided to stick with their own songs instead of doing covers. Let the tribute bands handle that part. Radioactive would win over a few more fans today if they were lucky—maybe sell some souvenirs or CDs as well. They might not be everybody’s cup of tea, but Kit would back his group against the professional tribute bands any day. Their songs were solid, and if he did say so himself, well-written. The musicians were talented as well, and Rod had a good high tenor that cut through the noise of the crowd and got their message across.
Their line-up was solid as well, leading off with one of their best crowd warm-ups. The heavy beat soon had the people dancing in what limited space was available on the lawn. There were always a group at the back who’d brought lawn chairs, of course, and Kit wondered for a moment if Mrs. Hill might be out there in the gathering dark, maybe with a pair of binoculars to spot her son’s boyfriend at his nefarious career. Kit couldn’t think like that, though. He had to focus on the music, let himself get lost in the rhythm. They needed to shine tonight, maybe attract some attention from a local talent scout.
The local metal station was here, broadcasting some of the songs live as part of their regular weekend radio show. Kit had spotted a few media reporters, too. They’d already been interviewed for a few of the “local scene” papers of course, but maybe one of the bigger papers or online review sites would like their performance and want to give them a shot.
The crowd was already warmed up by the opening acts, and Radioactive kept them dancing. As the sun sank below the surrounding buildings, Kit forgot who might or might not be on the lawn. You couldn’t see much past the spotlights at any rate. Max’s entire family could have been standing in the front row and Kit would have been hard pressed to identify them. The heat from the lights felt good on his bare arms as the air cooled off in the deepening twilight. The smell of beer wafted over the stage, as well as the distinctive burning-rope odor of marijuana. There was always somebody who figured they could smoke whatever they wanted in a crowd like this.
R
adioactive kept up their grueling pace for their scheduled hour, keeping the crowd at fever pitch. By the time they’d finished, Rod’s voice was going hoarse and Kit’s hands throbbed. They took a few bows and turned the stage over to one of the professional tribute bands. Kit returned his bass to its case, feeling like a towel wrung out and left to drip dry.
“What did you think?” Val asked Ebon as they left the backstage.
Ebon’s face was glowing. “I think Dad’s band is the best.”
He danced in place as they waited for the rest of the band. Rod would want to meet up somewhere and analyze their performance. Kit hoped the man wouldn’t take half the night.
“Can you and Aunt Val get supper started?” he asked Ebon. “I should be home pretty soon and I’m starving already.”
“Got you covered,” Val said, taking Ebon’s hand and threading a way through the crowd. “I’ll spring for a pizza to celebrate.”
Kit turned to catch up with Rod, who’d headed for the pub on the corner. Before he could take another step, he froze. Standing by the steps was an all-too-familiar figure, tall and muscular—and all-too-obviously furious.
Max crossed his arms and waited for Kit to approach.
Chapter 16: Max Investigates
“You’re an idiot,” Max told himself as he studied the poster on the announcement board. Kit had all but admitted this to him—saying he “kind of” liked that sort of music, saying the orchestra “just wasn’t his thing,” that jibe about being a rock star. Why hadn’t Max picked up on the hints and figured out that the man was in a damn rock and roll band?
Now, looking at the poster of Radioactive—honestly, where did these people come up with such lame names anyhow?—he could see what he’d missed last night when Kit was trying so hard to hide the truth. The long hair, the tattoos, the electric bass…Max should have realized from the beginning that it all pointed to a rock musician. He’d almost missed the poster anyway. Kit didn’t look the same with his hair down, with a sleeveless tank-top instead of his typical long-sleeved shirt. He and his band mates glowered at the camera, in one of those stereotypical “hard rock band” poses with lots of attitude. Max had never understood why bands had to try to look like thugs, either.