by Jet Mykles
“Let it go, man,” Zane grumbled over his shoulder at Rabin.
“The fuck I will.” Rabin winced as the volume of his own shout clanged in his brain. His left eye had swelled completely shut. The copper taste in his mouth was blood from his lip. He didn’t know what he’d do if Markus charged him again, but the asshole had messed him up!
“Okay, okay.” Arthur stepped farther into the room, positioning himself between them. “Let’s all calm down and work this out.”
“We need to take Rabin to a doctor,” Zane piped in.
“Nothing to work out.” On shaky legs, Rabin turned toward the guitar case that had spilled to the floor. “I’m out of here.”
“Right.” Arthur came and took the guitar case from Rabin. “Let’s get you to someone to look at that eye.”
“Good riddance, fairy boy,” Markus snapped as Arthur and Zane led Rabin from the studio.
“Eat shit, asshole,” Rabin threw back, adding a middle-finger salute to it.
ARTHUR DROVE RABIN and Zane to an urgent-care facility and managed to get them through relatively quickly. Rabin argued against going on the drive over, but Arthur quieted him by offering to pay. Rabin wasn’t fooled, sure Arthur would get the money out of them somehow, but the swelling of his eye worried him enough that he gave up the fight.
He needn’t have worried. The doctor proclaimed that it looked bad and it’d hurt like hell, but nothing was wrong. She told him the swelling might be worse the next day and he should ice it, but that he’d be healed up in a week or two.
The three of them were very quiet on the drive back to Rabin and Zane’s apartment. Rabin didn’t know what had been said between Zane and Arthur while he was seeing the doctor, but he got the feeling words had been exchanged. Zane was practically radiating resentment in the backseat. Rabin put his head back and closed his eyes to enjoy the pain meds the doctor had let him have.
Arthur came up to their apartment with them and set Rabin’s guitar down just inside his room as Rabin dropped onto the bed. “Zane? Could you give me a moment to talk to Rabin?”
Zane, who was hovering ineffectually in the doorway of the bedroom, looked to Rabin.
Rabin could only nod as he pulled off his shoes.
Clearly unhappy, Zane nodded. “I’ll order us some pizza for dinner?”
Sighing, Rabin sank back onto his pillow. “Sure.”
“I’ll get you that ice pack too.”
“Thanks, man.”
Arthur watched him go, then shut the door softly behind him.
Uh-oh. “Look.” Rabin pushed up onto his elbows. “I know you’re going to try and talk me into making up with Markus, but there’s a long hist—”
Arthur held up his hand. “I’m not going to do that at all.” Determined, he crossed the room and sat on the side of the bed by Rabin’s feet. He looked so out of place in Rabin’s run-down room with his dress shirt and tie. “I have to remind you, though, if you leave, you’re in breach of contract.”
“Dude, look at my face. I. Don’t. Care.” Rabin took a deep breath, raising an arm up to his forehead. “Breach says I lose rights to the songs we recorded so far. Fine, they’re all yours.” Thank God he’d let Gordon read over that agreement and explain the finer points before he’d signed it. At least he knew exactly what he’d given up.
Arthur nodded. “I thought you might feel that way. I don’t blame you. But here’s the deal.” His blue gaze speared Rabin. “We could give a shit about the Knights in general. Cardamon wants you. We know you’re worth more alone than any of the other guys.”
With his one good eye, Rabin peered at Arthur from under his arm. Yes, he was flattered. But he couldn’t silence the sneering voice that labeled Arthur and his company slimy sons of bitches. Of course, they ran a record label, so that went with the job.
Arthur wasn’t finished. “Tell me what we need to do to make this work. We can get a new bass player, your choice. We can replace the whole damn band.”
Rabin thought of Zane and immediately felt guilty. “I don’t know.”
“What do you need? Some time? Different venue?”
Chicago. Brent. Izzy. “Some time. Yeah. I can’t think right now.”
Arthur patted his knee. “Of course. You take a few days. Then we’ll talk. Okay?”
“Sure.”
Arthur stood.
Rabin stopped him at the door. “Thanks.”
Arthur gave him a smile. “Don’t mention it.”
Zane came into the room with some ice in a towel a few minutes after Rabin heard the apartment’s front door close. “What did he want?”
Rabin took the ice and lay back with a sigh. “Just reminding me that if I leave, it’s a breach of contract.” He kept the rest to himself for now.
“That was rough, man. You and Markus never got that bad before.”
“Yeah, well, he’s a raging homophobe, isn’t he?”
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Rabin realized what he’d said. He kept his eyes closed and let Zane chew on it, wondering if he’d ask.
“Yeah. Well, pizza will be here in twenty.” The mattress swayed as Zane’s weight left it. “We’re out of Coke, so I’m gonna walk to the corner. You want anything else?”
“Nope.”
The apartment was surprisingly quiet after Zane left. Rabin tried not to move, letting the meds shut him off from the throbbing pain in his skull. Zane hadn’t said it, but Rabin knew his friend too well—he thought Rabin had slept with Danny. He bought the nonsense Rabin had spouted at Markus. It was only a matter of time before he made Rabin confirm it. Rabin could hold back, admit that he hadn’t slept with Danny. That’d make Zane feel better. He didn’t have to tell his friend about Izzy. But the events of the past day had broken new ground for Rabin. He felt too big for his skin. His life had changed, and the things that used to satisfy him just didn’t cut it anymore.
As he drifted to sleep, he wondered if his friend could understand that.
Chapter Seventeen
By mutual agreement, Rabin and Zane didn’t talk about it that night. Pizza and TV, then Rabin crashed early. In the morning, Zane’s bedroom door was shut when Rabin scrounged for breakfast. He wasn’t all that hungry anyway. The swelling was worse in his eye, and his jaw ached. He managed some toast and coffee, then crawled back into bed.
Despite the pain medication, he couldn’t sleep. His thoughts simply wouldn’t settle. Within the hour, he was back up and on the phone.
His first call was to Gordon McCarty. A brief rundown of what was happening with Arthur and Cardamon Records, and Gordon agreed to represent him. Rabin gave him all the details he knew and Arthur’s contact information. That done, he was as taken care of legally as he could be. Then he was on his laptop—at least the awful little apartment came with cable and high-speed Internet access—finding a flight back to Chicago. He didn’t really have a plan, just knew that he had to get the fuck out of LA, and Chicago had the most appeal as well as an apartment for him to return to.
Zane still hadn’t surfaced by early afternoon when Rabin took a bathroom break. Rabin had found a flight the next day that he could just afford with what he had left in the bank. He needed to check with his friend to see if he should make two reservations.
Rabin’s second call of the day was to Danny. It went straight to voice mail, and he had to assume Danny was on shift, waiting tables. So he left a message for his new friend to call him. He wanted Danny to know he was leaving. He also had a vague notion of asking him to join them in Chicago. He’d have to see how that went.
Next he should call Brent—if he was going to make anything happen musically, he was damned determined that Brent would be involved. But he couldn’t decide how to approach the conversation. He could keep it just business, but he was dying to hear news of Izzy.
Undecided and with nothing better to do, Rabin started packing. One way or the other, he was leaving the next day. He’d just finished sorting out what of his meager wardro
be needed to be washed when he finally heard Zane’s door open. Well acquainted with his friend, he knew he had at least a half hour before Zane would be human enough to talk, so he went ahead and bundled up his clothes and headed for the building’s laundry room. He met their friendly neighbor down there and told the story of his bruised and swollen face. A few hours and a few beers later, he returned to the apartment with clean clothing.
Zane sat on the couch in his shorts, watching television. “Yo. How you feel?”
“Like shit.” Rabin passed him by to take his clothes into his bedroom.
Zane followed him, scratching his bare belly. “What the…?”
Rabin dumped his clothes on the bed and started folding.
Zane came to the foot of the bed, scowling at the bags that lay on the floor nearby. “What’s with the packing?”
“I’m leaving.”
“You talked to Arthur?”
“No. Gordon’s talking to Arthur. But I’m leaving anyway.”
“Well, thanks for telling me.”
Rabin dropped clean jeans back on the mattress. “I’ve been waiting all morning to talk to you.”
Zane frowned at the wall. “I went out last night after you went to bed.”
“All right. Let’s talk.” Rabin resumed folding clothes. “I can’t work with Markus anymore.”
Zane folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah. I get that.”
“And I hate LA.”
“You’re going back to Chicago.” It wasn’t a question.
“That’s the plan.”
“You’re hooking back up with Brent?”
“I hope so.” He paused, wanting to see Zane’s reaction to his next request.
Nothing. He just stood there with his hands deep in his pockets.
“Come with me.” Rabin sat on the bed and leaned forward so he could peer up into his friend’s face. “Seriously. Let’s get on a plane tomorrow and go back.”
“What about the Knights?”
“Arthur wants to make a deal with me. He wants me more than Markus.”
That widened Zane’s eyes. “He told you that?”
“Basically.”
“He’s behind you going back to Chicago?”
“He asked me what it would take.”
He had to wonder if Zane really heard him. Zane just stared at the mattress with the whites showing around his irises, nostrils flaring. “Dude. Did you really sleep with that guy?”
So that’s it. Rabin sat back. “No.”
Some of the tension melted from Zane’s shoulders. “Why’d you say all that shit to Markus, then?”
“He pissed me off.”
“Okay, he’s an asshole. But what the fuck? Don’t joke about things like that.”
Rabin saw that he could leave it there. Zane wouldn’t dig any further. But he was sick of hiding what he was realizing he was. “It’s no joke. I didn’t sleep with Danny. But I did sleep with Izzy.”
Tension snapped Zane’s shoulders right back up. “What?”
“You remember Izzy, Brent’s cousin? Yeah, well, the person I was seeing while we were in Chicago? That was him.”
Realization stretched Zane’s face, dropping his jaw and raising his brows. “What?”
Rabin nodded, relief and panic a strange mixture in his belly. “Yeah. In fact, I think I’m in love with him.”
Zane grimaced, fists clenching and releasing. “Quit it, man. You’re not funny.”
Damn, was he about to get into another fight? Rabin stood slowly. “I’m not joking.”
“You can’t be gay.”
“I think I am.”
“You’ve slept with plenty of women.”
“All right, I’m bi. But I’m pretty sure I’m in love with a guy.”
“Fuck you. This isn’t funny.”
“No. It isn’t.” Rabin shook his head. “I’m sick of hiding it.”
“Hiding it? No fucking way.” Zane’s hand sliced through the air between them. “You’re not gay.”
“Deny it if you want. Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Fuck. Man.”
He stayed where he was, watching Zane back toward the doorway. “Doesn’t change anything between us.”
He wasn’t any closer, but Zane backed up like Rabin was right on top of him. “You bet it does! You slept with a guy! I mean, did you do…all…?”
Rabin’s heart sank, but he felt the need to be clear about this so Zane couldn’t excuse it away. “Yeah, the whole deal. And loved every minute of it.”
Zane shuddered, stumbling against the door frame when he missed the opening. “Shit.”
“Oh Christ, man, stop it. What difference does it make?”
“It makes a lot of difference. I don’t even know who you are.”
Rabin stared sadly at his friend of so many years. “Yeah. Well, maybe I’m finally becoming who I should be.”
Zane’s head snapped side to side, either a negation or a shaking of his brain in an attempt to dislodge nasty thoughts. “Fine. Go back to Chicago. Do whatever you want. Leave me out of it.” With that, he turned and fled into his room. A few minutes later, he dashed past Rabin’s door in jeans and a shirt. The front door slammed after him.
Rabin sank back down onto the bed, staring at his reflection in the big mirror over the bureau. The two bruised areas of his face practically glowed in the afternoon sun. “That’s it, then,” he told himself, oddly calm about having lost his band and his best friend all in the space of a day. He nodded, hoping the empty feeling in his chest would ease with time. “That’s it.”
Chapter Eighteen
At four o’clock, Rabin stood on the moderately crowded sidewalk outside Izzy’s school. The air was thick with moisture from the thunderstorms that had hit the Chicago area in the last week, but today looked to be rain free. The people on the street hurried by, oblivious to the nervous pounding of his heart. He held a single, long-stemmed red rosebud that he’d bought on the way from the train stop. Maybe hokey, but it was the first time he’d ever wanted to buy flowers for anyone, so he’d gone with it.
Three days back in town. Three days to get situated in his mostly empty apartment. His eye was open again, and neither it nor the bruise on his jaw hurt much anymore, but both still looked pretty bad. The purple of the fresh wounds had developed that greenish healing cast. He looked awful, had no job, no band, and hardly any prospects, just a drive to make music and see the one face that brightened his life.
A stream of students started out of the front doors, and trailing the group with a backpack slung over his shoulder was Izzy. Rabin watched him clear the doors, eyes down, black hair loose in front to shadow his face. The rest of his hair was pulled into a wavy tail down the back of his black T-shirt. To Rabin, he looked odd in black with dark blue jeans that were on the baggy side. Where was the pink or blue that he was used to? Rabin waited, heart in his throat, for Izzy to look up. To see him.
He did. Stopped. Some of his classmates shuffled around him. Then Izzy took a visible breath and slowly approached Rabin. His mouth fell open a little as he studied Rabin’s face. “What happened to you?”
“I got in a fight.”
Izzy nodded slowly. “What does the other guy look like?”
Rabin had to laugh, a short, harsh bark. “Not a scratch on him.”
Izzy didn’t laugh. Because Rabin’s eyes were downcast, he saw Izzy’s hand start to lift before he stopped himself, curling his fingers into his palm.
“I look like shit, I know.” Meeting Izzy’s gaze, he tried a smile and held up the rose. “But I couldn’t wait to see you any longer.”
Izzy blinked, dropping his focus to the flower held toward him. “For me?”
“For you.”
Izzy glanced both ways on the street, silently pointing out the strangers around them. When Rabin didn’t lower the rose, Izzy reached for it, tentatively grasping the stem well below Rabin’s hand. “Brent told me you were back.” His voice was low, his att
ention on the flower he drew to his nose.
Rabin was momentarily distracted by the sight of velvety red rose petals caressing the rounded tip of Izzy’s nose. He wanted his lips to take their place.
His distraction lasted long enough that Izzy looked back up at him. “I’m sorry things didn’t go well in LA.”
Rabin’s head was shaking. “I’m not. I should have never left.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“But I do.” Rabin took a step forward, but Izzy instantly fell a step back, nearly colliding with a passerby. Even so, Rabin took heart that Izzy cradled the rose close to his chest. “Iz, can we go somewhere and talk? Please?”
Long lashes shielded Izzy’s eyes from him. “The motel?”
“There. The pizzeria. Anyplace but the street.”
“No.”
“No?”
Izzy took a deep breath and used it to find the courage to look up at Rabin again. The muggy air plastered a few stray curls of black to his forehead and neck. “Rabin, I can’t do this again.”
“Izzy, I—”
“No.” Izzy stared at the rose with a strange look of longing. Then he drew himself up. “I can’t. When you left, I was devastated. At first, I couldn’t tell anyone. Then… Well, without Brent and Hell, I don’t think I’d have made it. I… It was worse than when Greggory left. So much worse.” He shook his head. “They helped me to realize I was cheating myself. I won’t be a secret anymore. Not for you, not for anyone.” He held the rose toward Rabin, offering it.
Evidently Brent hadn’t told Rabin everything. Just the day before, Rabin had poured his heart out to Brent, trying to convince Izzy’s cousin that he really was in love. He hadn’t intended to do so, but he hadn’t fought the words once they started. In the end, Brent had insisted Rabin needed to say the words to Izzy himself, thus today’s meeting. Rabin kept his gaze on Izzy’s face, even though those beloved eyes wouldn’t look at him. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Long lashes fluttered. Then blinked open. “What?”
“I don’t want you to be a secret. I don’t want us to be a secret.”
“But Zane… Your career…?”