Treble Maker

by Annabeth Albert

  “I’m not going.”

  “Huh.” Trevor’s exhalation ruffled the hair falling across his forehead. “Kinda figured that might be the case.”

  “That why you’ve been avoiding me all week?”

  “Maybe.” Trevor swallowed hard. His eyes looked like he wanted to say something more, but he only gave another shrug. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” Lucas wasn’t exactly sure for what, but it seemed the right thing to say. He was sorry for how the show had strained their friendship. And maybe he hadn’t been the best friend to Trevor the past few weeks either. “Listen, I’d better go find my group, but maybe we can talk later? Figure out the school stuff?”

  “Yeah.” Trevor nodded. “I’d better go find my group. Start saying bye and stuff.”

  Not ready for good-bye. Moving away from the table, Lucas started scanning for Cody and the others. The backstage area was still clogged with people. In fact, it seemed even more crowded, as various production people and friends and hangers-on had migrated to the space.

  “Lucas?” His dad’s booming voice cut through the crowd.

  “Dad?” Lucas closed his eyes, like maybe that would make his dad disappear, but he opened them and his dad was still there, still in front of him, still wearing his we-need-to-talk face.

  His dad pulled him out of the crowd, guiding them over to one of the long cement block walls. Darn. Now it was even harder to try to spot the others.

  “You came?” Lucas asked.

  He’d looked around before the show, but he hadn’t seen his parents. The lights had been too bright while they were taping to see much of the audience. His phone had been silent all day. No texts. No voice mails. No e-mails even. He’d kind of been expecting a big, long here-is-where-you-went-wrong e-mail. His dad had been known to send e-mails that included footnotes, but nope, Lucas’s in-box had been empty.

  He’d tried telling himself that he didn’t care if they showed up, and that it would be better if they skipped. But seeing his dad right in front of him, he knew he’d been lying to himself. It did matter that they’d come. The collar of his shirt felt too tight and he had to swallow hard.

  “We came all this way to see you, after all.” His dad reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but something in Lucas’s expression must have stopped him and his hand fell back to his side.

  “And?”

  “You were wearing more clothes tonight.” His dad coughed awkwardly. “Judges didn’t go your way, though.”

  “Did you come to gloat?” Lucas had to chew his lip to keep disappointment from bubbling out. He needed Cody and the rest of the group. Not his parents.

  “What? No. Of course not.” His dad raked his hand through his thinning blond hair. “I wanted to find you before the show, but we got lost. Stupid GPS. We wanted to wish you good luck.”

  “Seriously?” Lucas blinked, not sure if his dad meant it sarcastically.

  “Seriously. Look, we still have reservations—justifiably so—about this show. But you’re still our son.”

  Lucas snorted at the justifiably. Typical Dad. “And the rest?”

  “The rest?” His dad looked puzzled. “Oh, you mean that boy.”

  “Yeah. And he’s not ‘that boy.’ He’s a man. And he’s my boyfriend. If you’re hoping that because we’re off the show, I’m done with him, you’re going to be disappointed.”

  He could tell from his dad’s face that this was exactly what his parents had been hoping. And Lucas had this cloud of dread gathering steam in his middle, afraid they were right, afraid he and Cody couldn’t weather the loss. Cody hadn’t sounded anywhere near as certain as Lucas when they’d talked about staying together. Maybe he wouldn’t even want to.

  But he couldn’t talk about those fears with his dad.

  “All right.” His dad rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We’re still not in favor of your involvement. He’s not at all what we’d imagined and he doesn’t seem . . . stable.”

  Lucas took that as dad-speak for He looks like he’d cheat on you.

  “He’s not what I imagined either. But I love him.” Lucas firmed up his spine, owning it a bit more. “And I know he’s not like the rest of my friends. And he’s not religious. Like at all.”

  “Have you talked to him—”

  “It’s not something he’s going to change on.”

  “But he wants you to change?” His dad frowned.

  “Not at all.” Lucas was pretty sure his face matched his red shirt by now. “He . . . respects my opinions. I mean, obviously he’s not down with every single thing you’ve written. . . .”

  “Obviously,” his father said, his voice drier than toast. “Look. Your mother and I love you. A lot. You being with someone we don’t approve of isn’t going to change that.”

  Part of Lucas wanted to beg them to approve and demand their support, but a bigger part—the tougher part—took a deep breath. He wasn’t a little kid. They loved him. He loved them. They didn’t have to see eye to eye on this.

  “I don’t want a lot of lectures on how he’s not right—”

  “Lucas. You say he makes you happy and that he respects your beliefs. Your mother lectured me on how we need to work on trying to respect your choice.”

  Lucas took that to mean that he had years of quiet disapproval to look forward to.

  “And I don’t want you to write any articles about this.” Lucas tried to sound as firm as his dad did when handing out deadlines. “I don’t want to be an example in your how-to-deal-with-a-wayward-kid series. I need . . .” He drifted off, not sure exactly what he needed other than breathing room.

  “Space. You want space. I get it. Well, more like your mom figured it out and told me and now I think I get it.” His dad smiled wryly. “You’re a man now. Maybe we didn’t quite see that before. And you want to be your own man. It’s a natural phase—”

  “Dad.” Lucas cut him off before he could launch into a lecture on the phases of independence. “I love you, but I really need to find my group.”

  “Go.” His dad looked a little sad as he shooed Lucas off, so Lucas hugged him tighter one more time before wading back into the swarm of people.

  Cody had played with faulty mellophone and trumpet valves. He’d had his voice break in midsong. He’d tripped up guitar chords and fumbled piano keys. He’d been booed. He’d played to rooms with three people, two of whom were passed out drunk. But those failures were his—he’d owned them and pushed on. And most of the time they’d been his own stupid fault.

  This felt different—this shared disappointment wasn’t something he knew how to process. He’d gone off to be by himself, but somehow he’d ended up off in one of the wings, fenced in by hay bales. Raven sat on Jeff’s lap, all red faced and puffy. Ashley collapsed next to them with a brokenhearted sigh.

  Cody had to wrap his arms around himself. His insides felt cold and frozen, while his face felt sweaty and feverish. Everyone was looking at him with big sad faces, like he might know how to fix it. Or like maybe he’d caused it. And maybe he had. He’d been the odd one out since the show’s auditions—the punk rock kid who’d never sung a cappella before. Even back in high school, he’d been a terrible choir member—he’d used show choir to hone his skills, but he honestly hadn’t cared about the rest of the group. They were the same fuckers who gave him hell in the halls and whispered rumors about him.

  “What do we do now?” Raven’s eyes were huge and her eyeliner had started to run as tears trickled down her cheeks.

  Cody shrugged. How had he become the leader here? Because you stood up and made it all about you from day one. Because you had the loudest voice. Because you had the most to lose—and the most responsibility.

  “We sounded good,” he whispered, because his fucking voice wasn’t cooperating again. “Really good.”

  “Yeah, we did.” Shoving aside prop pieces, Lucas joined them. He wrapped his arms around Cody, gently pushing aside Cody’s own arms. Breath warm in Cod
y’s ear, he dropped his voice. “I love you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said to the group. He needed more words. Better words. Bigger words. Give him a guitar and an hour and he could write a song about the pain in his chest, but right now stupid words were failing him.

  “It’s okay.” Lucas rubbed his back, a slow, swirling touch that thawed his frozen heart and sent blood pumping back to his brain. “Wasn’t your fault.”

  “Saw you over with your dad,” he said to Lucas. “He come to take you home?” He tried to say it as a joke, but some of the terror whipping around his guts leached out, making his voice thin.

  “He apologized. Sort of.” Lucas’s vague gesture was a clue that his dad’s apology likely didn’t include asking forgiveness for their rude opinions about Cody. “Doesn’t matter what they think. I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said. I want to be with you. Show or no show. Parents’ approval or not.”

  Oh, hell. That had done it. Now he was crying, big nasty tears that burned through his stage makeup.

  “So what will we do now?” Raven looked close to tears again. “Where will you guys go?”

  Hell if I know. “I go wherever Lucas goes.” That was the real answer, the only one that mattered. “And . . .” He looked at their faces, so open and expectant, and he knew they needed something more from him. He needed something more from him.

  “Look. You guys are right. Before the show I was convinced that I was better off alone. And I made it all about me and my career. And I wasn’t really about the group.” He looked over his shoulder at Lucas, who smiled encouragingly. “But I was wrong. I’m not better off alone. I don’t really have the answers, but I want to keep singing with you guys.”

  The curtain rustled behind them, and their heads swiveled in unison.

  “I think I may be able to help with that.” Michelin Moses stepped out of the heavy burgundy curtain and extended a hand to each of them. He was taller than any of them, filling the narrow alcove with his larger-than-life persona, and his voice—even when he was being low-key and conversational—carried a quality that screamed I am a superstar, behold my awesomeness. Cody wanted that trick. Badly.

  “Been looking for you guys—I wanted to catch you before you left. It’s not the same as winning the show, but I have something that might be of interest. My new tour’s starting soon, and I’d love to have Embellish as an opening act. It’s not a record deal, but it would keep you together through the spring at least.”

  “Yes. Please.” Ashley raised her hand like she was flagging a taxi to take her to the promised land of a steady gig. Might not be a record deal, but opening for a big name like Michelin could open doors down the road.

  “We’d be interested.” Raven’s eyes danced. “Assuming Cody and Lucas are?”

  “We’re in.” Given Lucas’s wide-open mouth and dazed look, Cody didn’t need to ask him. He didn’t need to win. He didn’t need to call his agent. He had a chance to stay together with the group, a chance to make things work with Lucas, and a chance to sing.

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  “Remind me to compliment Michelin on his taste in hotels.” Cody pushed Lucas’s bare shoulders against the pink tapestry of the high-backed chair. The whole room was done in pinks and browns and screamed money. One thing he could say about this gig was that Michelin didn’t skimp on food and lodging.

  “You know, when you said you’d reward me, I didn’t quite mean—”

  “Yeah, you did.” He bit Lucas’s bare shoulder. “I was thinking about this the whole time we were setting up. Please tell me you hit Submit on the paper.”

  He’d gone to help with the soundcheck and setup for the show while Lucas had stayed behind to work. Lucas was doing his final few classes through independent study and online courses, and Cody wanted to do everything he could to make sure he graduated. Lucas had given up a lot to do the tour with Michelin—and to be with Cody. Thus, Cody had made it his mission to make sure Lucas got enough homework time.

  And it turned out that as much as Cody had sucked in school, he was a rock star at devising reward charts. With very inventive reward stickers.

  “I finished the paper.” Lucas grinned up at him. “All done. Now I never have to write another paper with MLA citations ever again.”

  “So that’s it?” Cody asked. “You get to graduate?”

  “Yep. I’ll get to walk with everyone else.” Lucas wiggled around, testing Cody’s bonds. Whatever folk pop Lucas had been listening to while he studied was still piping through his laptop’s speakers, the earnest female lead giving a nice ironic soundtrack for the scene Cody had in mind.

  “Of course that means dragging your butt back to Iowa to watch me.” Lucas watched him carefully. “My parents will be happy to see you again.”

  Happy was seriously pushing it—he was pretty sure Lucas’s family merely tolerated him because they overflowed with love for Lucas. But his mom did make good pies, and his father’s fake happiness got a little less false each time they met, so he supposed that was something.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Cody stripped off his own shirt, giving Lucas a good show. “You’ll have to e-mail me the date, though—Michelin has this thing to talk to us about.”

  “Oh?” Lucas leaned forward, but the ties wouldn’t let him, so his head whiplashed back.

  Laughing, Cody pushed the chair, Lucas and all, closer to the wall so Lucas wouldn’t accidentally tip over.

  “I’m not sure.” Cody unzipped his pants. “You really want to hear about that right now?” He wiggled his hips as he scooted his pants off.

  “Is it more gigs for us?”

  “What?” Cody kicked off his briefs. “It hasn’t even been a year and you’re already so immune to me naked that you’d rather talk about work?” He sighed dramatically as he straddled Lucas’s lap. “Fine. I’ll be like those strippers who dispense stock tips during a lap dance.”

  “They have those?”

  “See.” He ground down against Lucas’s lap, doing a dirty bump and grind in time to the music. “Not. Even. Paying. Attention.”

  “Am too.” Lucas’s head fell back, exposing his scruffy jaw.

  Biting and nipping at the tender skin, Cody said, “You’re going to want to skip shaving tomorrow.”

  “We’re playing Madison Square Garden.” Lucas laughed between every other word. “And you’re making me perform with a hickey?”

  “Just one?” Cody grinned down at him. “You set the bar so low. And technically, Michelin and the rest of the Humanity for One concert headliners are performing. We get to warm up the crowd, before the cameras start rolling.”

  “Complaints.” Lucas shrugged, the motion making his bound arms ride up the back of the chair. “Whatever. We’re still playing Madison Freaking Square Garden.”

  “Yeah, well, next time I want to be a headliner.” He leaned in and kissed Lucas slowly. It had been a while since they’d had a chance to hang like this. They’d performed a show in DC and done another in Philly yesterday. While the tour bus was a huge improvement over his van, it offered nothing in the way of privacy. Best they could manage was cuddling with Lucas turning pinker than a Katy Perry wig.

  Pressing bare skin together, making out slowly in time to the music, getting to indulge Lucas’s kink, nothing to do until tomorrow—ahhh. Pure luxury. The music switched to something with a decent bass, and Cody felt the song’s emotion flow through him, into Lucas. They fell into that shared space where the song became something more because they both heard it, because they used its rhythm to pass energy back and forth, building like the refrain of the song.

  Lucas pushed up against him, his cock dragging across Cody’s abs.

  “I could come like this.” Lucas’s voice had turned soft and dreamy, his eyes staying shut.

  “Nope.” Cody scrambled off Lucas’s lap. “I’ve got plans for you, Mr. All Done With School.” He’d positioned the chair so that it faced the bed—a big, f
luffy king-size with lots of white pillows. He’d had a particular fantasy in his head for a few weeks now, and he wasn’t letting Lucas distract him into missing his chance to make it a reality.

  Grabbing the condoms and lube from his bag, he climbed onto the bed. Lucas’s moan of protest went straight to his dick.

  “I’m sorry. Did you want something?” He held up the bottle. “Since you’re all occupied over there, I think I’ll just make my own good time right here.”

  “Come. Back.” Lucas thumped the chair.

  “Nope.” Cody stuck out his tongue at him. “Not till I’m good and ready.”

  “Please.”

  “Don’t make me gag you.” They both knew he wouldn’t—a huge part of the fun was Lucas begging and him refusing. Instead, he jacked his cock, nice and slow, leaning back on the pillows so Lucas had a nice view. He drew his legs up, putting his ass on display, too.

  “Oh . . .” Lucas made a low sound of approval. With time to kill while Lucas studied, Cody had dreamed up the perfect viewing angle for this little scenario—and had done porn-star worthy manscaping. Might as well fully commit to the scene. Providing Lucas with a steady supply of live porn was addictive.

  He grabbed the lube, greasing up his fingers, then waggling them at Lucas. “Too bad you can’t give me a hand.”

  “You’re evil.”

  “Yep.” Keeping his legs wide, he snaked a hand down under his thigh, running a finger around his rim. Lucas had gotten bolder recently and tried fingering him during a blow job. They’d also fooled around with his dildo a few times, so he had a feeling Lucas would be down with what he had planned.

  Not bothering with a slow build, he went straight to two fingers, breathing hard during the tight stretch, then relaxing into it.

  “Holy . . .” Lucas’s eyes were wide. “I could come just from watching you do that. For reals.”

  “Better. Not.”

  In response, Lucas’s eyes snapped shut. Cody had to laugh, which felt downright weird with fingers inside.