Treble Maker

by Annabeth Albert

  And he wasn’t the same person who had boarded the plane back in Des Moines. Wasn’t the same guy who had promised not to forget the honor code amid the temptations of LA. Wasn’t the same son who agreed 100 percent with his dad’s work. And that scared him, and he hadn’t known what to do with that fear, so he’d taken the coward’s way out and simply done nothing.

  It wasn’t until it was slipping away that he’d realized how damn much he did want something real with Cody. But weeks of unsaid things had exploded in harsh words and hurt looks until whatever had been between them had been reduced to rubble. Then the dust had cleared and he’d seen there hadn’t been anything more than sex there in the first place.

  Cody had been honest about who he was, while Lucas had made so many bargains and compromises that he’d lost sight of who he really was. What he really wanted. Who he really wanted.

  He took deep breaths, his palms pressing into the cold metal of the stall wall. He tried telling himself that whatever he’d felt for Cody had been a lie, a trick of biology, because there couldn’t ever be anything else—not with someone more in love with himself than Lucas.

  And can you really fault him for keeping his heart on lockdown when you did the exact same thing?

  He could lecture himself for hours and it wouldn’t make it hurt any less. No matter how much logic he threw out, it didn’t help the seeping feeling that he’d lost a part of himself along with Cody.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cody tracked down Dane as he was putting his plate into a dish tub. The other directors and PAs were loitering over coffee at one of the big wooden tables, but a lot of the contestants were already heading back to the buses.

  “Long time no see.” Dane gave him an easy grin. “But heard you last night. You sounded great.”

  “Thanks.” His skin feeling tight and hot, Cody scratched his neck. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure.” Dane looked around the emptying room. “How about I give you a ride back? That’ll give us some privacy.”

  Cody knew what he meant, and even with his stomach going nuclear, he followed. He knew the drill, knew that Dane wouldn’t want to be caught leaving together, so he gave Dane a head start, then slunk out the doors, hightailing it across the parking lot.

  “Didn’t see you at the after party,” Dane said as he unlocked his newer-model Prius. He gave Cody a hurry-up gesture as he got in. Right. Can’t be caught talking to the desperate twink. Protocol Cody had never questioned since arriving in LA suddenly seemed seedy. Wrong.

  Damn it. Shake it off. Cody tried to get his head back in the game as he got in the passenger seat.

  “Yeah. I had . . . other plans.”

  “Too bad.” The car was parked at the far edge of the lot, back by some trees. Setting his keys in the cup holder, Dane gave him a long, smoldering look that left Cody colder than a Des Moines street corner in January.

  “Listen. I need a favor. Our song choices this week blow,” he said. No sense in dragging things out.

  “I’d like to help.” Dane looked Cody over, his eyes coolly calculating. “But here’s the thing . . . not everyone is thrilled with how well your group did last week.”

  “Fucking British prick.”

  “Among others.” Dane didn’t sound particularly sorry. “It’s the way things go. But maybe you guys can work with what you have.”

  “Hardly.” Cody wouldn’t be here if that was the case.

  “Well . . .” Dane took out his phone, scrolling with a well-manicured thumb. “A few groups have already chosen, so there are a few discards.”

  “That would work.” Anything to get out of this car. Get this over with.

  “I’d have to talk to some people.” Dane reached out with his free hand, touching Cody’s face. This wasn’t the way things usually went—Cody was supposed to be the one in charge. Even when he had a feeling his choice of partners might benefit his career, he was still the one calling the shots. But now nothing felt right.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m happy you caught me. Haven’t seen you much lately.” He traced Cody’s lips with his fingers, leaving no doubt what he’d missed. “Eric has been gone again. Been awfully bored.”

  That was Cody’s specialty. Relieving boredom—for himself, for back-up band members, club owners, and groupies, with no thought beyond the night. For years, it had been all anyone wanted of him. He’d had some standards and had taken charge of the hookups and had a lot of fun. It had taken Lucas throwing rocks at the glass house of denial he’d constructed before he’d seen how empty and hollow his lifestyle had become.

  Whatever. He’d have time for angst later. He reached for Dane’s belt, knowing what he had to do. So what if he was essentially turning this Prius into a casting couch? It wasn’t anything different from what hundreds of others had done to advance their careers. It didn’t matter what rules the show had about things like this. Everyone knew how things really worked.

  His spit turned metallic, the heavy taste of brass gagging him. And why the hell were his fingers shaking worse than if he’d had six shots and no sleep? You’d think he was the virgin.

  Ah. There it was. The heavy punch of guilt he’d been expecting. Sadness settled in like a wool blanket, muffling everything around him. Maybe he’d blown dozens of guys for far worse reasons, but he wasn’t that guy anymore.

  Fuck you, Lucas. Fuck Lucas for somehow undoing everything Cody had known about himself. And then fuck him for not caring enough. For not seeing enough. For not believing in Cody. Cody’s face and throat burned like he was being smothered. Like he was trying with all his might to inhale and getting nothing but blanket lint. Hands still trembling, he withdrew them.

  Fuck Lucas for messing up Cody’s last good chance at salvaging this mess.

  “No?” Dane raised one well-groomed eyebrow. “What? You’ve got a particular song in mind?”

  “Not like that,” Cody mumbled.

  “Could be.” Dane looked at him, assessing. “Depends.”

  Clearly, he’d been selling himself short all these years. Should have been asking for a hell of a lot more. Playing harder to get. Or maybe it was only now that he knew what he really wanted that he saw what he’d given away.

  “No. I’m sorry.” He shook his head, bile rising in his throat. “I can’t.”

  “What the hell? You suddenly turn cock tease?” Dane’s face was dark now, his easy indifference gone. “Or what? You suddenly think of something else you want?”

  Yes. Lucas. Cody stared at his hands, wishing he had an answer for Dane. Wishing he had an answer for himself. He’d played chicken with Lucas’s affections and wiped out, goading and pushing until they were both bloody and bruised.

  “Think you’re the only one wanting solos and prime songs?”

  “No,” Cody said, his head feeling like it weighed more than the neon bull on Rebel Army’s roof. “I should . . . go.”

  “Don’t bother asking for favors if you’re going to play head games,” Dane huffed. “I don’t have time for that. You’re not exactly playing with house money here—people want you gone. And I’m a fan, but there’s only so much I can do.” He held up his hands.

  I’m a fan. Love you, but . . . Huge fan. Wish I could . . . He’d heard it enough to hate the word fan. He loved his audience the way a junkie loves his next hit, but he hated the industry types who called themselves fans right before they snubbed him.

  Part of Cody wanted to tell Dane he had a boyfriend, ask if he could have a new song anyway, beg forgiveness for not putting out, but he could tell from the hard set of Dane’s jaw what the answer was likely to be. And Cody wasn’t the begging type. Certainly not with some jerk who thought he was entitled to Cody’s mouth.

  He escaped from the car, barely making it to the bushes before he puked up his coffee and yet another lost chance.

  Cody barely managed to catch the last bus back to the hotel, then had to duck up to his room for a clean shirt. The room had been empty with
no Lucas, no chance to talk. Like that would help. He’d pulled on the first shirt he’d found, not wanting to linger over the memory of doing laundry with Lucas earlier in the week.

  Rushing back down to the conference-floor level, he paused outside the door of the practice room. They’d gotten an upgrade this week, taking over the room vacated by the losing group. It was a bright space, with room to move, but the other four were clustered in the center of the room on metal folding chairs. Raven was rubbing Lucas’s back, glaring at Jeff and Ashley.

  “I said I was sorry.” Ashley swirled soda in a half-empty bottle.

  Cody leaned in the doorway, wanting to see how big a shit storm he was walking into.

  “I still don’t see what the big deal is.” Jeff held up his hands. “I was joking. But everyone knows gay guys don’t do exclusive.”

  “Well, some do.” Ashley gave a dramatic eye roll. “But Cody’s allergic to relationships.”

  Ouch. That hurt, even though it was mostly true.

  “The big deal is that Lucas is sad,” Raven lectured them with the voice of a future teacher. “And them broken up—”

  “I never said that,” Lucas mumbled to the floor.

  Of course not. Jerk-off buddies didn’t break up. Wasn’t like they’d been . . . something. Cody’s gut clenched, bitter acid rising in his throat. And right now, he was nothing—nothing. He felt hollowed out, with nothing left to offer.

  “Just said I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I know.” Raven continued her back patting, but Lucas shrugged her off. When he caught sight of Cody, his face went gray, his mouth sagging. It was like he’d lost a baseball game, his dog, and his last hundred bucks in the same day. Fuck it. Cody wanted Lucas angry or judgmental or irritated or . . . anything but hurt. He couldn’t fucking handle the idea that Lucas might be hurting as bad as he was. It’s his own stupid fault.

  “You’re back.” Lucas’s voice was flat, with absolutely no welcome to it.

  “What did you get? Do we have more than one new choice? Is it good?” Ashley knocked over her soda as she rushed over to Cody.

  Lucas let out a loud huff and mopped up the mess for her.

  “Nothing.” Cody waved her off. “We’re stuck with what we got.”

  “He said no?” Her eyebrows shot up like she didn’t believe him.

  “Did you not ask?” There was a little hope in Lucas’s voice. Just enough to slice what remained of Cody’s heart in two. The soda stain had spread out across the brown low-pile carpet, but Lucas kept scrubbing, shredding the flimsy napkins he’d tossed down.

  He could say the words Lucas wanted to hear. Give him the satisfaction of knowing Cody hadn’t been able to go through with it. But then what? Watch as Lucas tried harder to make Cody fit into the box labeled boyfriend? Cody wasn’t going to be another mess to clean up. Wasn’t going to watch Lucas try to make things work, even when it was so clear . . .

  “I asked.” He shook his head, his eyes starting to sting. He had to sit down before his feet gave in to the urge to race away. “He said no.”

  “Hell.” Raven sounded close to tears.

  “Dude. Thought you were like good,” Jeff said, but no one laughed. Raven moved her chair two feet to the left with a loud screech.

  “People aren’t happy with us doing well.” Every muscle in Cody’s body hurt. Hell, his brain hurt. “Let’s just pick something and move on.”

  “You want to cue up the choices again?” Jeff asked Lucas, who’d connected his tablet to the speakers in the room.

  Fuck. Cody had accidentally taken the chair next to Lucas’s. Lucas gave him a searching look as he sat back down, his whole body slumping into the chair.

  All three songs sounded as terrible as they had the first time they’d listened to them, even with the better acoustics.

  “No way in hell am I doing the cowboy song,” Jeff said.

  “I want to try the Carrie Underwood one.” Ashley’s foot rattled against the metal rungs of her chair. “I could tell the story and do the verses but let Cody belt—”

  “No offense, but that sounds like a train wreck.” Raven spoke up. “I’d vote for ‘Ride a Cowboy’ for the fun factor, but if Jeff ’s afraid his manly man club membership is in jeopardy—”

  “I didn’t say that. You’re still pissed because—”

  “I’m not pissed.” Raven’s tightly pursed mouth called her a liar. Great. More people mad at each other. They might as well start waving the white flag right now. Cody wasn’t a quitter, but he was a realist—nothing they could do this week would make a damn bit of difference.

  “I don’t care. Just pick.” Cody rubbed his head. He wanted this week over with. Fast forward to elimination. He scrolled through his e-mail on his phone, not wanting to be a part of their deliberations. He needed to call his agent to see if he could trade on any minor promo from when the show aired in the fall to get a few gigs. Maybe they’d be able to cobble together a minitour worth more than gas money. Might as well buy a stack of lottery tickets.

  “What?” Lucas leaned forward, almost coming out of his chair, invading Cody’s space. There it was—every last shred of hope had drained from Lucas’s face, leaving only a harsh light in his eyes and deep lines around his mouth. “That’s it? You’re just giving up? Not even going to try?”

  “What’s the point? They want us gone. Time to pack our bags.” He didn’t look up from his phone. Lucas’s anger was almost a welcome thing—he wrapped it around himself like a blanket, security from any pity or misguided kindness.

  “You’re an asshole.” Raven turned her anger from Jeff and blew it all over Cody. “Your agent told us you were our best shot of making it to the finals. And I’m not giving up without a fight.”

  “Me either.” Lucas’s fierce expression looked ready to be cast in marble, like a mythical creature ready to guard buildings. “And since Cody doesn’t care, I vote ‘Red Solo Cup.’ Full-on choral arrangement with no leads.”

  “Taking it old-school a cappella?” Jeff grabbed a pen from his bag and started scribbling notes. “Lots of minisolos? I could dig that arrangement.”

  “No lead?” Cody couldn’t keep quiet.

  “Hey.” Lucas managed to look like he’d forgotten Cody was still there. Nice trick. “Thought you didn’t care.”

  “I meant which song.” Snap. If Lucas had expected him to come groveling back, he’d never really known Cody at all.

  “Way I see it, they’re probably thinking there’s no way in heck we’d pick that one. And that there’s no way we’d do anything other than a Cody-as-lead song.” Lucas sat back in his chair, staring Cody down, challenge in his eyes.

  Ashley fidgeted in her chair. “Which is why I should—”

  “Wait.” Raven held up her hand. “You want to sing about drinking beer in front of your parents?”

  It shouldn’t have surprised Cody that they already knew about Lucas’s folks visiting. Heck, for all he knew, they’d probably known before him. The muscles in his back pitched a tantrum and his throat burned. Felt like he’d never be able to sing another note.

  “Better than singing about riding cowboys.” Jeff laughed hard enough to turn his face red.

  “All the more reason to do Carrie Underwood,” Ashley put in.

  “Way to stereotype,” Raven threw back. “Not all—”

  “Stop.” Cody held up his hand. They all shut up and looked at him. Taking bizarre satisfaction in that, his spine lifted. “Let’s go ahead and vote.”

  “Look at you. Mr. Democratic.” Ashley gave fake applause.

  “I vote ‘Red Solo Cup.’” Jeff spoke fast.

  “I vote the Carrie Underwood song.” Ashley stared him down.

  “I vote the cowboy song.” Raven made a face.

  “Song choice is going to be the least of my parents’ freak-outs.” Lucas sighed, then seemed to pull himself together, lifting his head. “And pop comes in cups, too. I like what we could do with the arrangement. ‘R
ed Solo Cup.’” He still hadn’t looked at Cody, but he gave Jeff a weak smile. Cody’s fist clenched.

  “I vote ‘Red Solo Cup,’ too.” Up until he opened his mouth, Cody had been planning to vote for the cowboy song. At least it would give him a strong lead and a loud fuck-you to whoever was having issues with him. But something in the set of Lucas’s jaw made Cody vote with him. And it wasn’t like it truly mattered—the cards were stacked against them, with the judges ready to send them home and a pissed-off Dane not about to do them any favors. Not having power over his fate made Cody almost as nauseous as his fight with Lucas.

  “Fine.” Ashley rolled her eyes. “Side with the boys. Whatever.”

  Fucking fool, he immediately cursed himself. Like one song choice agreement was going to be enough to fix him and Lucas. Like he had any business, even for half a second, wishing they could be fixed.

  “You want me to wear what?” Lucas stared at Dawn, the PA from hell. Like full-on eyeballs popping out, jaw on the floor, cartoon-style goggling at what she was proposing. Dawn had yanked him from their morning rehearsal and dragged him off to wardrobe without much explanation. The walls of the wardrobe trailer felt like a soda can being folded up around him.

  “I told you. It will help your group.” Dawn spoke slowly and not so patiently. “You guys can’t exactly afford to be going all diva on us.”

  Did everyone know they were doomed? The show was worse than high school as far as gossip. It was probably common knowledge that his group had less cohesion right now than a junior high marching band with an absent director. And if he’d doubted whether people had guessed about him and Cody, all the sidelong sympathetic glances had ended that uncertainty. Yeah, everyone knew.

  His shoulders and neck ached and he felt drugged with lack of sleep. He’d slept on Ashley and Raven’s floor the last two nights, giant chicken that he was. Trevor had been avoiding him, which was okay because the last damn thing Lucas needed was a lecture from Trevor about how he should forget Cody and return to making better choices.