Indigo Knights: The Boxed Set

by Jet Mykles

  Waking with Izzy had been a little weird but not too awkward. They’d had sex again during the night, but mostly they’d talked. The topics were varied and light, and Rabin was pretty sure Izzy had kept away from any hot topics on purpose. He had to admit that he appreciated it. They’d had breakfast at a coffee shop by the school, then parted ways with conspiratorial smiles.

  Brent’s car was in the parking lot when Rabin got to the studio, and he found his friend alone in the console room, working on a raw recording Rabin had never heard before. Brent looked up when Rabin entered, and stopped the playback.

  “Want me to come back?” Rabin thumbed over his shoulder out the door.

  “Nah. Just listening to a demo tape.” Brent pushed out one of the chairs with rollers, eyeing Rabin up and down. “Those the same clothes you had on last night?”

  Rabin ducked his head as he retrieved his guitar case from the corner. “Yeah.”

  “Good night?”

  He sat. “Yeah.” He felt a little guilty for not telling Brent that his cousin was the reason, but since Izzy himself had suggested the secrecy, Rabin respected his wishes.

  “Good for you. Then I guess you don’t know when Zane’ll be here?”

  “He’s not here yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  Scowling, Rabin pulled out his phone and speed-dialed Zane.

  “Yo.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Could ask you the same.”

  “I’m at the studio.”

  Zane grunted. “I missed the first train.”

  “But you’re on your way?”

  “Yeah. Be there in thirty.”

  “Okay. See you then.” He hung up and glanced at Brent. “He missed the train. He’ll be here in a half hour.”

  Brent shrugged. “Todd’s gonna be late anyway.”

  Now that Brent mentioned it, Rabin recalled that the drummer had mentioned he’d be late. Was it uncharitable of him to wonder if Zane had missed the train on purpose so as not to chance being alone with Brent? He decided yes. Bending over, he opened his guitar case. “Wanna jam?”

  Brent stood. “Sure. Let’s go in there.”

  Bringing the case, Rabin followed Brent into the studio. After setting the case by the wall, he took his accustomed stool while Brent took a seat next to the keyboard set.

  “So”—Brent turned on the board and flipped a bunch of the switches—“is this going to work out?”

  Distracted by warm-up exercises for his fingers, Rabin wasn’t sure he heard him. “Huh?”

  Brent watched his own fingers playing over the keys. “Zane doesn’t want to work with me, does he?”

  Rabin played a sour chord. “Uh…”

  The volume was low, but Rabin recognized one of Heaven Sent’s songs, one Brent surely knew backward and forward and could play without thinking. “It’s true. Not sure what I did, but it’s obvious enough.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “Will he?”

  He’d better. “Yes.”

  Brent glanced at him. “Nothing’s ever gonna happen if he doesn’t let a bass player stay for the jam.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe we should put things on hold. Give you guys a chance to shop around for someone Zane likes.”

  Rabin sat up, gripping the neck of his guitar hard. “You’d do that?”

  Brent laughed, eyes still on his fingers. No, the song wasn’t a Heaven Sent song; it was one of Hell’s melodies from his pre-Heaven Sent days. Brent played it with the same careless talent he always showed, keyboard or strings. “Doesn’t do me much good to force coming in here when we don’t get anything done. I could hire out the place. Already have offers.”

  Rabin’s heart sank. “Yeah, I guess.” He pried his hand free and resumed his finger exercises. “Only problem is, if we stop, I need to get a job.”

  “Advance almost up?”

  “Yep.”

  “I know of a few studio gigs coming up, if you’re interested.”

  Rabin dropped his chin to his chest. “Damn, man, I feel guilty with you helping me so much.”

  “This one’s no skin off my back. You’d be doing me a favor. There’s a singer I want to produce, and she doesn’t have a band. I’ve got Todd and Dylan interested already. And she’s got money to burn.”

  Rabin stared at Brent’s profile, wondering if the other man realized what he was saying. He wanted to get the lineup he’d proposed for the Knights together with another singer? Should Rabin be offended? If so, he couldn’t manage it. “Thanks. Yeah, I’m interested.”

  Brent nodded. “Good. I’ll set it up. Meantime, we’ll need to rearrange the schedule for the Knights.” All said without looking up, without stopping.

  “Yeah.” Rabin looked down at his own fingers. “We’ll do that today.”

  Without any more talking, they both finished their warm-ups, then just kind of slid into a quiet jam. One of the many reasons he loved playing with Brent was that it was so easy. They just kept playing, working around and with each other, like they were dancing. It was like that when he was fucking Izzy. He played a sour chord thanks to that off thought, but he recovered before Brent remarked on it. But now he couldn’t get Izzy out of his thoughts. Fucking him was like playing music—easy, exciting, and never got old. At least, not yet. He had no frame of reference regarding gay sex, but he knew enough about straight sex to know that it couldn’t be easy with just anyone. It was Izzy that made it special, Izzy’s willingness to give and take that was compatible with Rabin’s mood and actions.

  Lost in his thoughts and the music, Rabin didn’t realize they had company until Brent’s playing tapered off. He glanced up to see Brent looking toward the doorway. Zane was there, standing quietly. Listening.

  Zane waved his composition notebook toward the hall behind him. “Todd’s here. Stopped by the john first.” His voice was subdued, and his eyes strayed low of Rabin’s face.

  Rabin glanced at Brent, but his friend had shut off the keyboard and was strolling toward the console room. “Cool. I’m gonna grab a smoke before we start.”

  Zane watched him go and waited until the door from the console room to the hall opened and shut before he came into the studio. “So. You got lucky last night.”

  Rabin tracked him across the hardwood floor to the couch. “Yeah.” He stood, guitar strap still slung over his shoulder, and joined his friend. “You?”

  “Nah.” Zane tilted his head to rest his skull on the back of the couch. His tight, abundant curls pillowed his head. “I stayed home. Did some thinking.”

  Rabin stilled his strings by placing a palm on them. He waited.

  Zane took a deep breath. “You’re right. I haven’t given this a shot. I just… It doesn’t feel like ours. Y’know?”

  “Honest? No.”

  Zane combed hair from his forehead, staring blankly across the room. “Some of the stuff you and Brent wrote is pretty damn good. I guess I’m jealous.”

  “You shouldn’t be. It’s for the Knights. I want you involved.”

  “I know.” Zane’s hand fell back down and slapped his thigh. “I guess… I haven’t felt right since… Well, you know. I guess it’s just…big to be back, doing this, with all new people.”

  “Yeah, okay. I get that. But the old way’s not coming back. You know that, right? Markus and Sam are gone.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Finally Zane twisted his neck to look at Rabin. “I know.” He bit into his lower lip, a sign of emotion that Rabin knew well. “I came up with some lyrics last night that might work.”

  That made Rabin smile, which prompted the same for Zane. “Cool.”

  He’d fill Zane in about Brent’s offers later. Right now, this tentative truce and the promise of forward movement were too precious and fragile to jeopardize.

  Chapter Eleven

  For two weeks, things worked.

  Zane cooperated and came up with lyrics and suggestions for three new songs. He even seemed excited.
Brent played bass for them for the first few days, but then a guy named Oscar Trent—preferably known as OT—came in. He wasn’t perfect and didn’t contribute much to the creative process, but he played whatever bass line they asked of him and was patient when they changed it up. It was an exciting time.

  Rabin enjoyed it even more because he and Izzy met every two or three days. Rabin went to see him after school, and they most often ended up at the same motel, but two nights they went to the movies, and one night Rabin spent a few hours hanging out with Izzy and his friends at the school while they were practicing for an upcoming exam. Rabin never told Zane who he was going to meet, just let his friend think there was a girl he’d hooked up with. He felt guilty for that—and for not confiding in Brent—but Izzy didn’t seem to have the same problem.

  * * * *

  “What have you been telling them?” Rabin asked one night as they lay facing each other under the bright orange bedspread.

  Head pillowed a few inches in front of him, Izzy dragged his eyes open. “Brent and Hell?”

  “Yeah.”

  Izzy’s eyes closed. “That I’ve been kind of dating a friend from school, and that he’s got a place here in town.”

  Rabin slid his hand down Izzy’s bare arm, his blood still simmering from the sex they’d just had. “They’re okay with that?”

  Eyes opened again, mostly in shadow since the only lit lamp was on the nightstand behind him. “Why shouldn’t they be?”

  Rabin fingered the sharp bone at Izzy’s hip. “We should tell them about us.”

  Izzy frowned. “What for?”

  “You shouldn’t have to lie. Besides, they should know.”

  “No. They shouldn’t. It’s none of their business. And if they did know, that’d just make them all paranoid.”

  “Paranoid?”

  Izzy sat up, profile to Rabin, and pushed a riot of hair from his face. “If Brent finds out that I’m in another secret relationship, he’ll tell my mom, and she’ll pitch a fit.”

  Rabin scowled, propping up on his elbow. “All the more reason to tell them.”

  Izzy sighed. “Why?” He rounded on Rabin, dark eyes unusually bright and serious. “Are you gay now?”

  Rabin’s jaw dropped. “I… Uh…”

  “Uh-huh. You’re not. Let’s face it. We’re having fun, but you don’t want a real relationship. You don’t need—or want—all the crap that comes along with living gay, so why bother piling on the guilt?” He told this all to the silent television rather than to Rabin, his tone more forceful than usual. “The minute we tell Brent, he’ll give you pressure or, worse, tell you not to see me anymore for my own good.” His hands rose and spread, emphasizing his words. “Everyone will convince you that what we have is wrong. It’ll become a thing for absolutely no reason.”

  Agitated, Izzy shoved out from underneath the sheets and spun around so he knelt facing Rabin. He resembled a wild boy, naked and still a little sweaty, the curls of his hair drying in wacky formations. He reached out to stroke Rabin’s jaw. “I like what we are. I’m fine with it. I don’t want to stop seeing you, and I don’t want other people to convince you that you need to stay away from me.”

  Rabin blinked up at him, at a loss what to say. There was something wrong with what Izzy was saying, but it dangled just out of his reach, obscured by the bright distraction Izzy himself presented as he edged closer.

  “Please?” Izzy wiggled back down to his side and snuggled up to Rabin. He kissed Rabin’s parted lips while sliding his hand down Rabin’s side. “Please, don’t ruin this. It’ll probably end on its own soon anyway. Let’s enjoy it while we’ve got it.”

  End? Not that he wasn’t of the same opinion, but hearing Izzy say it with that faint note of desperation was out of tune. “Iz…”

  “No no no.” Insistent lips took his, sharp little teeth biting away at the words he wanted to say. “We’re fine like we are.” Wonderful fingers wrapped around Rabin’s cock, waking it up. “I… Yes.”

  He should stop this. He should make Izzy talk. But strangely, he didn’t feel like he had the right. Like Izzy said, he wasn’t ready to announce to the world that he was gay. Wasn’t even sure that what he did with Izzy made him gay. Was it just the sex that did it? Like Izzy said, there was so much more to it. So if he wasn’t prepared to come out, did he have a right to rouse the suspicion of those around Izzy? Given his past, Izzy’s family and friends would be justified in their concern. He let Izzy push him onto his back and accepted the smaller man’s weight atop him. All the while, they kept kissing. Rabin’s mind wouldn’t stop. Was what they were doing hurting Izzy, or should he trust that Izzy knew himself and knew what he was doing? Izzy, after all, was the one who kept pointing out that what they had was just fun and couldn’t be long-term. That shouldn’t bother Rabin, because it was true.

  Frustrated with the rolling thoughts in his mind, Rabin growled and put all his attention into the physical act, pulling that darling body as close as he could and letting his hands roam the silken expanse of back. This was good. This couldn’t be bad. He lay there while sweet lips sampled his neck, his chest, his nipples, and he loved the way Izzy stroked his cock. He did have to stop Izzy to remind him about the condom when the other man reared up to impale himself, but Izzy just grumbled and scrambled for one of the little plastic packets on the nightstand. Rabin let the lapse pass while he sheathed himself, then put his hands on Izzy’s hips to steady his lover as he sank down on Rabin’s cock. He spurred Izzy on with words and a stroking hand on his cock, fascinated by Izzy’s gyrations over him. Dark hair fell back from the face that tilted toward the ceiling, pleasure pouring groans from his open mouth. This time, Rabin lost it first, groaning and gripping Izzy’s hips as the orgasm shook him. Izzy rode him through it, his own hand on his cock now to bring himself to come just moments after Rabin.

  Rabin stared at the ceiling as Izzy collapsed into the bedding beside him. Worn out, he felt sleep coming on him fast. We need to talk. He thought it but didn’t say it. Izzy snuggled up to his side, breath soft over the right side of Rabin’s chest.

  Nah, they were okay.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rabin was in his room on the phone with his mom when he heard Zane’s rejoicing whoop from the direction of his own room.

  It was loud enough that she heard it too. “What was that?”

  Lying on his bed, Rabin stared at the closed door. “I’m not sure.”

  Rabin’s door opened, and Zane rushed in. “Dude, you’re not gonna believe—” He stopped at Rabin’s held-up hand.

  “Mom, I gotta call you back.”

  “I hope nothing’s wrong?”

  Judging from the grin splitting Zane’s face, he doubted it. “I don’t think so. I’ll call you back.”

  “Okay, dear. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  “Bye, Mrs. Guardia,” Zane called.

  Rabin tossed the phone onto the milk crate that served as a nightstand. “What’s up?”

  Zane spread his arms, palms out, fingers splayed. “Dude! The best news.”

  Rabin had to smile. “Okay. What is it?”

  “You remember Arthur Cardowski?”

  “Worked A and R”—artists and repertoire—“for the record company, yeah.” The man who’d pumped them up and made them feel good so they’d make money for the record company. One of the ones who’d dropped them like a brick when things hadn’t soared. Prick.

  Zane nodded. “Right. That’s who just called me. He’s with his own company now, and they bought the rights to our album.”

  The album that never was and probably never would be, since their former record company owned part of it. But if someone else bought it… Rabin sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “And?”

  Zane plopped down next to him, bouncing the bed. “They want us to finish it!”

  The ground dropped out from under Rabin, or so it felt. “What?”

  “I know! His new label’s cal
led Cardamon Records, and they’re looking to start up by buying out albums like ours. Arthur got ours because he worked with us before.” Zane punched Rabin’s arm. “Dude, we’re back!”

  Rabin scowled at the floor, thinking fast. “When do they want to do this?”

  “Now.” Zane laughed.

  “Where?”

  “LA.”

  “How are we supposed to get to LA?”

  Some of Zane’s zeal deflated. “Dude, what the fuck?”

  “What? I’m asking, how’re we supposed to get to LA?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Rabin pulled a knee up onto the mattress so he could face Zane. “You didn’t ask?”

  “No, I didn’t ask. Christ.” Zane scowled, digging a finger into one of the holes in his jeans. “He said he’d call tomorrow with the details.”

  “Who’s in on this deal?”

  “All of us.”

  “Who’s ‘all of us’?”

  Zane sighed. “You’re a fucking piece of work. You know that? All of us. He’s already talked to Markus and Sam. They’re in.”

  Rabin’s eyes went wide. “They’re in?”

  “Yeah. Man.” Zane reached up to grab his arm, blue eyes sparkling. “This is it.”

  Rabin heard the words but was reluctant to believe them. “But how do we get to LA?”

  “I don’t know how. We’ll get there.”

  “On what? We’ve barely got the rent here for another month or so. We don’t have the funds for another move.”

  He saw some of his concern reluctantly dawn on Zane. “They’ll send us an advance.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “Well, no, but…”

  “Listen. I’m not saying this isn’t good news.” Rabin stood and started pacing the relatively empty confines of his room. “It could be. But we’ve got to be smart about this. I’m not moving the hell across the country on the promise of some record company douche.”

  “You sure that’s it?”

  Rabin paused on his trip back toward his bed. Zane sat there scowling up at him, a lot of his enthusiasm behind a dark cloud.