by Arden Powell
“The bus,” Rayne said. “There’s been a slight incident.” He held out his hand to Frank, smiling widely. “And you’re Kris’s dad! I’ve heard about you. All of you,” he amended. “Did you have a good drive?”
Kris’s dad shook Rayne’s hand and smiled back, clearly relieved to find Rayne capable of small talk. “A good drive, yes, thank you. Beautiful landscape, beautiful country. And it looks like you’ve got decent weather for the festival too.”
“Couldn’t ask for better,” Rayne agreed, offering his hand to Kris’s mom next, who seemed charmed. Rayne had that effect on people.
“And my sister, Cassie,” Kris said.
Cass squeaked, grinned, and thrust her hand out at lightning speed. “Hi. Rayne. Rayne Bakshi. Hey.”
“Hey,” Rayne said, his eyes sparkling. “I heard you keep my picture in your room.”
“Kris!”
Rayne laughed and patted her shoulder. “No, I’m flattered. He promised there wasn’t a shrine or anything, so it’s fine. You want to meet the rest of the band?”
“I get why Kris likes you,” Cass said, allowing his hand to stay. “You’re awful. I love it.”
They set out together back to the buses, and if anyone noticed that Brad never got introduced or shook Rayne’s hand, no one commented on it.
Kris was surprised to find that there really had been an incident with the bands: Knocks, Passionfruit’s drummer, had broken his foot and been whisked away to the nearest hospital, and the remaining band members were huddled outside The Chokecherries’ bus, nursing various alcoholic beverages and looking morose.
“What happened?” Kris asked.
“Jay tried to kill our drummer,” Billie said.
“It was an accident,” Jay said.
“You tackled him into the middle of his drum kit. You’re lucky you didn’t break his neck.”
“I didn’t know he was going to get tangled up in the pedals like that.”
Billie sighed. “And now we’re trying to borrow Lenny for our show tonight instead.”
Lenny raised his drink in a salute.
“You’re going to play two shows back-to-back every night for the rest of the festival?” Kris asked.
“That’s what I said,” Rayne cut in, glowering at Passionfruit.
“We need a drummer,” Billie returned, “and Lenny knows all the songs. Mostly. Kind of.”
Rayne cleared his throat. “Everyone, this is Kris’s family. They’re here to see the show.”
Cassie waved. Kris’s parents smiled and fidgeted, keeping a polite distance while Brad stood stony-faced, arms crossed and feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Cass wanted to meet the bands, and the timing kind of sucks, but hey?” Kris tried.
“The timing’s fine,” Rayne said. “It’s a festival. There’s always something going on.”
Billie sighed again, more heavily this time.
“You know I didn’t do it on purpose,” Jay muttered, sotto voce.
“We’re talking about this later,” Billie said.
Kris winced and turned back to his family. “So, this is it. Passionfruit; The Chokecherries. Check out the glamorous life of bands on tour.”
“Accidents happen,” his mom said diplomatically. “They’re rarely the end of the world.”
“But obviously you’re all very busy, and we should get out of your hair,” his dad said.
“No, it’s fine!” Billie said. “It’ll be fine. Do you want a drink? We’ve got beer.” He glanced at Cassie. “Or water, or Coke?”
“I’ll have a Coke,” Cassie said, happily undermining her parents’ attempt at retreat. “Is your drummer going to be okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” Jay stressed, pulling a can from the cooler for her. “Grab a seat, hang out with us.”
Cassie sat down on top of the cooler and looked at the rest of her family expectantly.
“We really don’t want to get in anyone’s way,” their mom began.
As much as he’d like to avoid Brad, Kris felt bad giving his parents the same treatment. “Stay until we go for makeup in another hour,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”
Rayne nodded. Cassie was already making herself at home as if she were among old friends, smiling and chatting away. Brad scowled—almost imperceptibly; Kris didn’t think anyone else would notice—but took a seat with the others. Hatchwork, the mustachioed Passionfruit bassist, drew Kris’s parents into a conversation about their hometown, which they were only too glad to have. Lenny was engrossed in a quiet argument between Rayne and Billie.
“You’ve met Rayne now,” Kris said to Cass. “This is Maki and Stef—and that’s Lenny, over there.”
“Hey,” Stef said with a smile.
“Hi.” Cassie smiled back. “I’ve seen your videos. Love your work.”
Maki caught Kris’s eye and gave him a knowing smile. Kris rubbed his hand over his face, not caring about smudging his makeup anymore.
“I can play drums, you know,” Cassie said.
Everyone paused and looked at her.
She shrugged. “I’m pretty good. Kris can vouch for me. Just putting that out there.”
“Cassie,” Brad said.
“What? I am.”
“How fast can you learn a new song?” Billie asked, leaning in.
“I know most of your set already,” she said, taking a swig from her drink. “I checked out your albums when Kris said you were opening for Rayne, and I’ve been watching all your concerts since you started the tour. I bet I could play most of it right now. See?” She offered her phone to show off a recording of her on her kit in the garage. She played as steady as a metronome, and she smashed out her solos with the energy of a hurricane.
“Damn,” Billie said. “That’s actually amazing.” Cassie preened as Billie glanced around at the rest of his band. “What do we think, guys?”
“Hell with it,” Jay said. “Let’s audition her. What have we got to lose?”
“You can’t be serious,” Brad said, but though their parents exchanged a few whispered words, they didn’t voice any objections.
“Don’t worry,” Rayne said, ignoring Brad entirely in favor of addressing Kris’s parents. “There’s a billion people around to keep an eye on her. She won’t get into any trouble.”
Cassie beamed and finished her drink. “No trouble at all,” she promised, and then she was sauntering off with Passionfruit like that had been her plan all along.
Brad turned to their parents. “You’re really going to let her go off like that without—”
“Oh, give her a break,” Kris cut in. “It’s a festival, she’s an adult. Let her enjoy herself for a minute. Jesus.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” their mom said. “Like Mr. Bakshi said, there are plenty of people around to watch out for her.”
Kris flashed Brad a spiteful smile. He wasn’t sure what to make of Cassie auditioning for Passionfruit, but if it annoyed Brad, he was all for it.
Leif was at home in music festivals, and Purple Sage was one of his personal favorites. He sat with his disciples in a clearing between a ring of tents, their bikes parked nearby and the peacock wandering the grounds, as was His wont. The bird never strayed too far, and it wasn’t as if He could get lost, so Leif let Him be. He talked about his spirituality in a low, calm voice as he etched a fresh tattoo on Boar’s leg. They had attracted a few onlookers, including a twitchy, strung-out youth named Travis who watched wide-eyed as the needle dug into Boar’s skin and the ink set.
“Will you do me next?” he asked, but before Leif could answer, a black girl with a huge halo of curly hair stumbled into their circle as she rounded the corner of the nearest tent.
“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to barge in on you like that.”
Leif glanced up from his work to see if she was interested in hearing about their god, and she stared back, apparently not expecting to run into such a gathering. Leif knew how they appeared to casual passersby: pale as bone an
d covered in strange scribbled tattoos, their heads shaved, and dressed head to toe in scuffed-up bike leathers. Anyone who wanted to hear about the universe, their god, and their coming salvation had to see past their rough exteriors to the truth.
“It’s no problem,” Rikki said to the young woman.
Rikki didn’t fit in with the others yet. He was the order’s newest recruit: the youngest of them, and the slightest, too, with big pale eyes and a face too earnest to make a living the way they did, though he believed in their god as fervently as Leif could wish. They’d work on him.
The woman gave Rikki a short nod and sidestepped out of their midst. “Enjoy the festival,” she said, and left quickly, without looking back.
Leif returned his attention to Boar’s tattoo, but he didn’t miss the way Rikki watched the woman as she disappeared into the mess of tents.
It was easy for Kris to forget that his family was in the audience by the time The Chokecherries took the stage. Passionfruit killed it, playing even more aggressively than usual, as if to make up for losing a member, but Cassie took to it like breathing. Apparently she had nailed the audition, and while Passionfruit had still wanted to test her in front of a live crowd, they had been vibrating with enthusiasm about her skills, telling everyone who passed that she was a genius and they needed to steal her for the rest of their tour. She broke a stick halfway through the set, and Passionfruit looked pleased as anything about it. When they traipsed offstage, she smacked Kris on the chest as she passed, sweaty and wrung out, grinning from ear to ear.
“This is great!” she yelled. “Way better than our band in high school. I get why you do it!”
“Nice playing, kid,” Stef said. “You’re a natural.”
“Hell yeah, I am. Go get it!”
When their set began, Kris played as he always did, keyed up with tension the second until the opening riff started and Rayne took the stage. By then he wasn’t thinking about his parents or Calloway or the future at all. Rayne commanded the crowd’s attention with a crook of his finger and shake of his head, and he stole Kris’s just as easily. The Chokecherries played with the same passion they always did, and Rayne sang with the same raw energy, but this time, when Kris waited for their midshow kiss, it didn’t come.
Kris frowned and tried to catch Rayne’s eye, but Rayne wasn’t looking.
There was nothing wrong with changing it up. They could always do the kiss later.
Later came and went, and Kris grew increasingly twitchy behind his guitar. He had thought they would keep their shows as they were until Calloway entered the picture, for the fans’ sake. Had Rayne already met with Calloway and begun the stunt without telling Kris?
When they only had three tracks left, Kris finally tore a page from Passionfruit’s book and launched an attack, barreling into Rayne from the side and jabbing his shoulder into Rayne’s chest, all without missing a chord. Rayne took a fistful of Kris’s hair, whether to hold him in place or push him away, Kris didn’t know. It didn’t matter. All he needed was Rayne’s hands on him, somewhere, anywhere, especially if it was going to be the last time. He butted into Rayne’s space, demanding more, but Rayne still didn’t kiss him. He came close, pulling Kris’s back in against his chest so Kris could feel their heartbeats thundering in tandem, even above the bass and the kick of the drums, and his lips ghosted over Kris’s temple, but they didn’t touch.
Kris leaned back, eyes closed as he coaxed the riff from his guitar, and dared Rayne to touch him for real. He let the music swell around him and Rayne’s heat soak through his shirt as his mouth parted, throat bared to the sky, waiting.
When Rayne shuddered, Kris felt it in his whole body. They moved into Stef’s solo, and Rayne bent forward, his hand splayed against Kris’s chest, and he mouthed, “You little brat,” against the shell of Kris’s ear.
“Why did you skip our thing?” Kris mouthed back. “Is it Calloway?”
“I haven’t even met him yet.”
“Then stop fucking around.”
“Your parents are watching!”
“I’m not asking you to fuck me onstage!”
Rayne dug his nails into Kris’s skin, and Kris rocked against him. “Just kiss me before we go backstage again, and give the people their money’s worth.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
Kris twisted around in Rayne’s grasp, flinging one arm around Rayne’s neck, the other holding his guitar between them, to meet Rayne’s gaze. They stared at each other for a second, Kris daring him to do something, anything—and Rayne finally smiled in exasperation and leaned down to press their lips together. It was more chaste than usual, but the crowd screamed right on cue all the same, and Kris shut his eyes and basked in it. Rayne’s grip in his hair tightened as he laughed into Kris’s mouth, smudging lipstick everywhere.
“You’re the worst,” Rayne said when they parted.
“You started it,” Kris said, his heart pounding at the thought that that might have been their last kiss until the festival was over. “Now you have to follow through.”
Rayne shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes, and stepped up to the mike stand again. Kris let him go this time as Stef pounded out the last of their solo, and Rayne opened his mouth for the final chorus. Kris returned to his spot, hot all over. He was definitely going to have withdrawal symptoms if he couldn’t do that again the next day.
Brad found him backstage after the show. By that point Passionfruit was long gone and the rest of The Chokecherries had dispersed as Kris took an extra minute to pull himself together before rejoining Rayne. Kris glanced up as Brad approached with a guarded expression and leaned against a set of scaffolding, watching Kris for a moment. Kris set his jaw and wiped his face with his sleeve, clearing up the excess sweat near his hairline as he waited for Brad to speak.
“I get that you’re doing it for the show,” Brad finally said, “and you don’t want to let your fans down. I can respect that. But can you seriously not see how he’s using you? He’s a predator, Kris!”
“Oh, yeah, he’s really taking advantage of me up there.” Kris rolled his eyes and put his guitar away. “Just let it go, man. I’m having a good time.”
“Listen to me. You’re my little brother, and I worry about you. And this? What you’re doing? I know you think this is the only chance you’ve got of fulfilling your dream or whatever, but have you stopped to ask yourself if it’s actually worth it?”
Kris paused and narrowed his eyes. “Are you worried somebody’s forcing me to do all this shit, or are you worried I’m actually into it?”
Brad’s mouth twisted.
“No, tell me,” Kris said. “What’s worse—your little brother being bullied into wearing girly clothes and getting groped onstage, or it being all his idea?”
“Kris—”
“What’s worse?” Kris demanded. “That I’m a victim or a pansy?”
“I didn’t come here to fight,” Brad snapped. “If you don’t want my support, fine!” He turned and stalked off the way he’d come, away from the stage and back in the direction of the family car.
“Fuck you too!” Kris yelled after him, before he disappeared into the crowds.
Cass poked her head around the corner. “Bad timing?”
“Fucking Bradley, sanctimonious asshole,” Kris muttered.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Just wait till he tries to warn Mom and Dad about the dangers of me running away with a punk band.”
“The Passionfruit guys are sweethearts,” Kris said automatically. “Wait, are you really joining the band?”
“I passed the audition,” she said with a shrug, “and they say I did good on the live show. They need a drummer, at least until Knocks is back on his feet. It’s almost as cool as running away to join the circus, and I’ve wanted to do that since I was a kid.”
“Cool,” Kris said faintly.
“Cool,” Cassie confirmed. “Have you seen Stef? I want to talk to them about something.”
&n
bsp; “Right, yeah, I’m sure. They were heading back to the buses, last I heard.”
Cassie grinned. “Thanks, bro. See you later.”
“Cassie? No hooking up on the buses! Tour rule!”
She waved over her shoulder. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”
Kris flopped onto the baggy couch and pressed a water bottle against his face. Why Brad had even wanted to come to Nevada, he didn’t know. The idea that Brad suddenly wanted to spend time with Kris after years of minimal contact was laughable. They hadn’t been close since before high school, and by the time they both finished community college, they’d had little in common outside their family tree. If Brad had come along on the Golding road trip out of some misguided attempt to show Kris the error of his ways and guide him back to the conservative, heteronormative light, he was going to have to try harder than that. Even if Kris left the band after they finished the tour and never wore girls’ clothes or makeup again, he wasn’t going to forget how incredible it had felt to kiss Rayne, or that dream in the hotel, or how he wanted to—
He rubbed his fingers over his eyes and shoved his thoughts back into order. He could barely remember why he had wanted to keep Rayne off-limits in the first place. Closing his eyes, he let a fantasy run wild for a second. He would come out to Rayne; they’d do a press release and kiss onstage. Then maybe they’d kiss offstage too. He’d talk to Brian and assure him that what had happened with Fink would never happen with Kris, and his family would come around quickly enough—apart from Brad. Maybe he should come out just to spite his brother.
“Stop it,” he said aloud, sternly. Fantasy aside, there was too much at risk in propositioning Rayne—like his career, and his friendship, and his dignity, if Rayne rejected him. Rayne had never shown any interest in being more than friends, and Kris didn’t need to invite awkwardness into their lives, or joblessness into his.
His fantasy ran in full Technicolor, suggesting a few other things he could invite instead.
He groaned. “That’s so unhelpful,” he muttered to his brain.
The fact that he wanted to sleep with Rayne—not hypothetically, not in a dream, but in a definite, real, messily undeniable way—didn’t get the due diligence it deserved. It seemed like the kind of revelation that should come down like a ton of bricks, but mostly Kris was just annoyed.