by Jaime Samms
The phone rang again.
“You going to answer that?” Vance asked. He stuck two fingers into the front pocket of Len’s jeans and pulled the slight guitarist against him.
“Fuck you,” Stanley muttered, irritated with himself for the wave of jealousy that washed through him.
Len offered a crooked grin. “Not anymore,” he said as a flush rounded up over his cheeks.
“Shut it, imp,” Vance growled, but he buried his face into Len’s hair again and closed his eyes.
“Oh, please,” Stanley muttered. “You’ll be braiding his mane next.” He turned his back on them and picked up the handset as the phone rang for the third time. “Hello.”
“Mr. Krane? Stanley Krane?”
Annoyance flashed through Stanley. The voice on the phone was male, sounding like it belonged to a twelve-year-old. If someone at the hotel had breached his security, or that of any of his musicians….
“This is he,” Stanley snapped. “Who is this?”
Vance’s head came up and he wrapped an arm protectively around Len’s waist. None of them were strangers to overzealous fans.
“My name is Paul Cassidy. I work at Logan International Airport Security.”
“Airport?” Stanley’s heart stuttered. Trevor. “What happened?”
“Nothing, sir. At least, nothing yet. Mr. Damian is here, though, and I’m afraid, due to his overindulging—”
“He’s drunk?”
“I’m afraid so, sir. Rather spectacularly. He mentioned your name, however, and I thought it prudent to call you in hopes you can help him out before my partner calls the police. So far, Mr. Damian hasn’t broken any laws or seriously crossed any lines. I’d like to keep it that way if I can.”
“You’re a fan?”
“Let’s just say I think it would not do to have today’s episode splashed across the headlines. We have had to confiscate his boarding pass.”
Thank God for small favors.
“I can be there in twenty minutes. Think you can keep him out of camera range that long?”
There was a pause and then the young man was back on the line. “I don’t think he’s going to be any more trouble for the time being, sir.”
“Passed out is pretty drunk, Mr. Cassidy.”
“Not to worry, sir. He’s not passed out. Just very subdued.”
“Hang on to him. I’m on my way.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Where can I find you?” Stanley proceeded to write down the directions the security guard offered and a phone number where he could be reached, just in case, then he gave the young man Vance’s cell number before he hung up.
“Gimme your phone, Vance.”
Vance pulled his cell out of his pocket and handed it over.
“Where is he?” Len demanded, straightening and almost, but not quite, removing himself from Vance’s touch.
Vance ran a soothing hand down his lover’s arm.
“Airport,” Stanley said. “Drunk, apparently, which thankfully kept him grounded and not flying off to God knows where.” He glanced over at Vance. “Can you go back to the studio? Let them know we found him, and plug in my damn phone? I’ll go get him.”
“Sure.” Vance took the offending phone and pocketed it.
“I want to go!” Len took a step away from Vance.
“No.” Vance pulled him against his chest. “You’ll stay.”
“But—”
“Maybe,” he said, lips close to his lover’s ear, “once ol’ Stan has him dried out and cleaned up.” He kissed the side of Len’s head, closed his eyes, and Stanley watched a flow of expressions―worry, determination, resignation, and more worry―pass over his friend’s features. All that uncertainty, so carefully hidden from Len. “I promise,” Vance said, eyes still closed. “We won’t leave Boston until you’ve had a chance to say good-bye proper.”
Len nodded and some of the tension left his slim frame. He leaned against Vance, but it wasn’t the same surrender as before, even if he did appear to take some measure of comfort from the contact.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, darlin’.” Vance straightened. “Let’s go tell the crew.”
“Vance.” Stanley stopped the singer at the door, but Len carried on into his room. “You okay?”
Vance nodded. “Tired.” He glanced after Len. “Remember Blue Star?”
Stanley chuckled. “Yeah. I thought of her too.”
“Len’s prettier,” Vance said wistfully.
“You are so gone over him.”
“Oh yeah.”
Stanley shook his head. “Better you than me, my friend. He’s too needy.”
“And Damian isn’t?”
Stanley shrugged. “I’ll admit, Damian is a mess. But not fundamentally broken. You and your soft spot for the terminally cracked waifs no one else wants.”
Vance laughed, and then sighed. “I’m screwed,” he said matter-of-factly. “I admit it. But you wait and see how bright he shines.” A smile touched his lips. “Brighter than Blue,” he said softly.
“If anyone can shine him up, you can. Just….”
When he didn’t finish the thought, Vance looked at him. “Just what?”
“I remember Blue Star, Vance. How often she kicked you. Threw you on your ass. Almost died on you that first year.” He met Vance’s gaze. “Did die, eventually.”
“Len’s hardly on his way out,” Vance joked.
“No. But you with a broken heart. I don’t think I can stand it again.”
Vance shook his head. “Not like I ever had a choice with that horse, Stan, and you know it. Ain’t got a choice here either.”
“That’s what has me worried,” Stanley admitted.
“Well, don’t.” Vance offered him a smile and a fist to his upper arm. “I’m a big boy. Len’s a big boy. We’ll figure it out.”
“Figure it out,” Stanley muttered. “You’d better, because this band is falling apart around me, and that’s you removing their guitar player. I hope you have some idea where I’m going to get another one even half as good.”
“Not just me,” Vance said, all the levity leaving his voice. “Do not let that boy of yours slip free of some of this. I’m doing what Len needs to stop the cycle. If you didn’t believe that, you would have stopped me. I read the contracts too. You didn’t have to let him off.”
Stanley bit back a sigh. “You’re doing what they both need. The rest of them understand, or like you say, there would have been more of a fight. Hell, they practically kicked him out. I don’t think they knew it was as bad as it is. I didn’t know. It still sucks.” He slammed his suitcase closed, disappointed by the utter lack of impact of the canvas cover, and viciously zipped it closed.
“Take care of that, will you?” he said, pushing the case toward Vance. “And settle the rooms for me.”
“Where you going to take him?”
“Home.”
“Good.”
“God, Van, I hope so.”
“You have to know it, or you’ve already lost him, Stan.”
Stanley nodded. “I know. I do know this is best. He needs a few days. I’ll call Alice soon as I can, but can you let them know they have a few days off? Somewhere, we will find a guitar player who likes insane pressure to perform the impossible.”
“For a chance to play with Firefly? I doubt you’ll have a hard time finding someone. The hard part is getting someone Damian will sing for.”
“I’ll worry about that when I’m sure I can get him in front of a microphone and capable of getting three words in a row out of his mouth. He needs to just stop and regroup. He can’t do that here.”
“Right. So go already. He needs you.”
“Thanks, Van.”
Vance thumped him on the back. “Any time. You know that.”
Stanley did know it. He knew he could walk out the hotel door and not look back. Anything Vance couldn’t or didn’t want to handle, he would pass off to Miriam. She would take care o
f Stanley’s public and professional world while he sorted out his private one. He made a mental note to give her a raise. Another one.
At the airport, the directions Paul had given him were sterling. It took no time to wind his way through the maze of people, past the ticket counters and bag checks and coffee kiosks to the guard room tucked out of the way down a narrow hallway.
He stopped outside the door indicated on his instructions and peered in the tiny window. Inside, a small desk and chair were occupied by a young man in uniform. He was on the phone, speaking rather emphatically, his hand splayed flat on the desktop, as though he could hold whoever he was talking to at bay.
On the floor, just behind his chair, was Damian, leaning against the wall, head down and knees up to hide his face. His right leg bobbed a sporadic rhythm, and his hands twitched. He kept curling his fingers around each other, rubbing down their length, back up, three, four times, then twitching his hands apart and letting go, only to start the jerky movement all over again.
A trickle of sweat dripped along Stanley’s spine and made him itch. Hairs stood up along the back of his neck. Shades of Vance at his worst flitted through his mind. Drunk and twitching and too skinny. The dirty, bloody bandages hanging loosely from Damian’s hands didn’t help the image. Stanley had to take a few deep breaths, get his heart rate back to within reasonable limits, before he could knock on the door.
He didn’t wait for an answer. The second Damian’s head popped up at the sound, Stanley needed to be on the other side of that barrier. The desperate look in the younger man’s eyes left a hollow the size of a fist in Stanley’s chest. He twisted the handle, opened the door, and stepped inside.
Damian glared up at him for a split second, and then his expression changed. His jaw went slack, his eyes widened, and suddenly Damian the performer, the badass, and the troublemaker were gone. Trevor gaped at him, vacant and stunned.
Stanley held out a hand.
One heartbeat passed, and then Trevor was on his feet and flying at him. Stanley had less than a breath to brace himself to catch the other man before Trevor’s arms wrapped around his waist and his face pressed hard into the crook of Stanley’s neck.
“Okay.” Stanley hooked one arm around Trevor and slipped his other hand into his hair. “Okay,” he whispered. “I got you.”
“YOU DIDN’T tell me where we’re going.” Trevor had his gaze fixed on the floor as he spoke. Venom dripped from his voice, but the rest of him drooped, as though it was himself he was poisoning with his bad mood.
Stanley glanced over at his bedraggled companion. “You never actually asked.”
Trevor was still shaky and uncertain, but he seemed to have sobered up considerably from Paul’s description of how he’d been. Paul had insisted on calling EMTs to look at his hands. Forty-five minutes of answering their questions and convincing them he didn’t have to go to the hospital probably had a lot to do with that.
“Wh-where?” He ducked his head and pink scribbled up his neck as he cut the question off.
“Home,” Stanley said quietly.
“Toronto?”
Stanley shook his head. “Innisfil, actually. Well. Toronto, then we’ll rent a car and drive to Innisfil.”
Trevor frowned. “You mean h-home, home. Why?”
“Why not?” Stanley dropped his carry-on onto the conveyor belt and pulled out a tray to toss his shoes and belt into. He peeled off his suit jacket and tossed that in as well.
Trevor glanced at his bandaged hands. The bandages were now clean and carefully wrapped, and the wounds beneath thoroughly disinfected. Stanley was again grateful they had managed to circumvent a trip to the hospital. There had been enough delays getting Trevor out of town as it was. Whatever it was about this city, it did the man’s head in, and the sooner Stanley could get him out, the better.
“M-my m-other isn’t exp-pecting us.”
Stanley glanced at the younger man. “Do you really think I would just drop in unannounced?”
“You c-called her?” Trevor sounded panicked at the thought.
“Only to let her know we were taking a break from Boston for a few days. She didn’t seem to require more reason than that.” He waited, in case this time he might get the explanation as to why Trevor hated the town so much, but he got only a bowed head and silence.
He didn’t press.
Once they passed through the detectors and found their gate, Trevor was content to sit pressed as close to Stanley as the uncomfortable molded plastic seats would let him get. Stanley endured the way the hard armrest dug into his ribs so he could fit an arm around Trevor’s shoulders.
“Wh-what’s going to h-h-appen to the t-tour?” Trevor asked after a while. “We n-need a gu-gu-gut-t—” He gave up and turned his focus to the far side of the waiting area.
“And we’ll find one,” Stanley assured him.
“Wh-what if I c-can’t s-sing?”
Stanley tightened his arm, and his grip, and kissed the side of Trevor’s head. “You will. You need a rest.”
“You think I need my m-mama?” Trevor sounded insulted and broken and exhausted all at once.
“Yes, in fact. And your brother, and your home. That’s where people go when they’re hurt. Home.”
Trevor didn’t say anything else, not even once they were on the plane.
In less than two hours, they had picked up their car and were navigating away from the airport toward the highway, and he had still said nothing more than what was absolutely necessary. He huddled in the passenger seat, watching the scenery pass, lips pursed, leg bobbing, and eyelids drooping. In a matter of ten minutes, he was asleep.
Stanley almost hated to admit the singer’s quiet slumber was a relief. Watching Trevor collapsing under the stress of his own unspoken emotions was exhausting. Driving, at least, was a relaxing alternative, and the directions Trevor’s mother had given him over the phone while the EMT had wrapped up the young man’s hands were easy enough to follow.
Trevor was still asleep when they arrived at their destination an hour later. Dusk was creeping in behind them as Stanley pulled into the drive of the neat little bungalow next to “Learner’s Garage.” His passenger didn’t wake when he parked the car or turned off the engine. He only came back to reality reluctantly when Stanley finally worked up the determination to disturb him.
“Hey. We’re here.” He shook Trevor gently by the shoulder.
“Hmmm? Lenny?” Trevor blinked a few times and stared out the windshield, trying to get his bearings.
Stanley held in the desire to take the younger man by a fistful of his hair and remind him where he was and who he was with. The only thing that stopped him was the front door of the little bungalow banging open and a tall, broad-shouldered man barreling out.
“Hey, brat!” he called. “What the hell? Being a big-time rock star get to be too much for ya?” The man was an older, beefier, less polished version of Trevor, with the same shimmering greeny gray eyes, long lashes, and black wiry hair that framed a long face only slightly less delicate than Trevor’s. He had a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and high cheekbones, which made him seem younger than he probably was. If Stanley was remembering correctly, Trevor’s brother was something like seven years his senior, which would put him in his midthirties. He didn’t look it. Deep laugh lines and tanned skin set off brilliant eyes that sparkled along with his wide- open smile. He was a vision of what Damian could be without the desperate anger behind every expression, or Trevor, just plain desperate.
Stanley spared a glance for the singer as they climbed out of the car and noted he only grunted at his brother. He didn’t speak.
“Trev?”
Trevor shook his head, lips clamped shut, and tried to scurry past into the house.
“Trev!”
“L-l-leave m-me al-lone!” Fierce anger blazed from Trevor’s eyes and heat clawed his cheeks, visible even though the light was going out of the sky and the porch lights didn’t quite reach them
. He tried to squirm out of his brother’s reach, but wasn’t quick enough.
“Hey.” In true big brother fashion, rather than let Trevor pass, the big man closed a hand around his bicep and stopped him. “Hey,” he said more softly. “Bro, what’s going on?” He glanced in Stanley’s direction, but quickly turned back. “What’s happened?”
“I’m t-tired,” Trevor said, not looking up from the pink stones of the drive.
“Tired doesn’t make you stutter, bro.”
“D-don’t s-say anyth-thing to M-ma.”
“What? You think she won’t notice you not talking? She’ll notice. And she’ll know why.” He cuffed Trevor gently on the shoulder. “She’s smart like that.” He picked up one of Trevor’s hands and eyed the bandages. “Oh hell, she’ll know something’s up.” He turned to really look at Stanley this time. “I thought you were supposed to be looking out for them.”
“N-not his fault, W-Wayne.”
“Who’s, then? I want an explanation!”
“T-Tom-morrow?” Trevor pleaded.
“Ma’s waiting in the kitchen, Trev. What you want me to tell her? Julie’s here, your niece and nephew all ready to welcome home the fierce rock star, and here you are.” He dropped the hand he was holding to wave up and down over Trevor’s disheveled appearance. “What do you want me to say?”
Trevor shrugged.
“He should sleep,” Stanley said, loathe to give Trevor such an easy out, but knowing how little rest the singer had had over the past few days. Trying to stammer out all the explanations his family would surely want was not going to end well. Not as tired as he was. “I am happy to give what explanations I can, but he needs to sleep.”
Wayne drew a long breath in through his nose and pursed his lips, but finally nodded. “Fine. Go use the room above the garage, brat.” He dug a jangling set of keys from his pocket and removed a small ring with a single key from the bundle. “I’ll smooth it over with the kids. You’re on your own with Ma in the morning, though.”
Trevor nodded. “Th-thanks. G-give ’em my l-l-love, yeah?”
“’Course.” He roughed a hand through Trevor’s hair, and the gesture came very close to bringing a smile to the younger man’s face.