Time Out of Mind [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations ManLove)

by Tymber Dalton

  They weren’t in London proper, it appeared. In fact, it looked to be more rural, large houses and acres of land, upper class, if he had to guess.

  “Where’s this being held at?”

  “Some earl or duke or potentate’s house. I can’t keep the dang titles straight.” She switched to a snooty British voice. “Mosswater Hall, what.” Back to Tilly. “I mean, that’s not it either, something like that. I’ve been here before for a couple of events. He’s a government official and he does a lot of charity work. I really shouldn’t make fun of him, and I promise to behave myself tonight. He and his wife are very sweet. We worked with them on a TV documentary last year about a military charity for wounded vets who help with adaptive sports and getting handicapped athletes to the Paralympics.”

  “Ah. Okay. Wow. That sounds impressive.”

  “Yeah.”

  They fell into an easy silence as they rolled through the gloomy evening. Eventually, Tilly slowed and turned into a driveway where a guy standing under a picnic tent leaned out to speak to her as she stopped. After checking them off on a clipboard, he spoke into a radio and waved them down the long, winding driveway that disappeared into the trees. Fortunately, glowing stakes were evenly spaced along either side, marking the path.

  “Holy crap, how big is this place?”

  “Yeah, right? It’s huge. I’ve seen it in the daytime. They’re what we’d call ‘old money’ in the States.”

  They emerged from the trees into a large parking area where a polite man in a yellow rain slicker waved them up to a line of cars waiting to pull into a covered portico area. Valets were running back and forth to get everyone parked.

  “No slogging through the mud,” Doyle noted.

  “Right? They’re classy, I’ll give them that.”

  When it was their turn, two attendants opened their doors for them and Tilly handed the keys over to the one on her side. A smiling woman with a clipboard and a radio greeted them at the doorway.

  “Good evening, and welcome. Names, please?”

  “Tilly Cardinal LaCroux and Doyle Turner. I might be the only one listed on there with a plus-one. Last-minute name change for our company’s tickets, if that helps. We called this morning. Sorry about that.”

  “Right, I have you both on here.” She stepped aside, still smiling. “The coat-check is just inside. And dinner and the festivities will be down that hall and in the ballroom on the right, starting in approximately thirty minutes. Feel free to mingle before then. You’re at table two tonight, and you’ll see your name cards at your seats. Please don’t change seats, because we’ve arranged them for the children.”

  “Thanks. Sure thing.”

  After checking their coats they were met by a server with a tray of champagne.

  Doyle held up a hand. “No, thanks. Just ice water for me. Sparkling, if you have it.”

  Tilly glanced at Doyle and smiled. “Two, please.”

  Another uniformed man hurried off to get it as the two of them stepped out of the way and looked around. There were no signs anywhere, but lots of child-friendly decorations, including actors dressed as treasured children’s cartoon and movie icons.

  “This place is huge,” he whispered.

  “Yep.” She leaned in closer, barely whispering in his ear. “Can you imagine the dungeon parties we could have here?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh.

  “There’s my psycho Dom buddy.” The man walked up with their sparkling waters on a tray. “Ah, thank you.”

  When they were alone again, she stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah, before we built the new house, we looked around. Nothing as big as this, but there were some we looked at for the hell of it and they were huuuge. No freaking way. I want to be able to take care of it myself. I don’t want to need a staff just to keep it livable.”

  “They probably have bathrooms larger than my apartment in LA,” he muttered.

  She snorted. “True story.” After snagging a canapé from a passing tray, she smiled. “These are nommy, though. Let’s go scope this place out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  On the ride over to the venue, they were still working out the set list, swapping songs based on the lyrics and music. Mevi didn’t want to perform anything inappropriate in subject matter, and wanted to keep things upbeat and light in tone.

  “You know this is going to be fine, right?” Bonnie teased. “You always stress like this over one of our charity shows. And it’s always fine, they always love it.”

  “I want to give them a good show. Especially the kids. What if this is one of the few really good memories they have?”

  She sighed. “And that, dude, is why we all love you.”

  They were to perform first, before dinner was served, then they’d be sitting around the room at different tables with people to chat and socialize. Anyone who wanted pictures or autographs with them could have them, and they’d had a lot of merchandise, including T-shirts, shipped over in plenty of time for the organizers to make up goodie bags for everyone. They’d had their team on the ground purchase lots of other kid-friendly toys and goodies, with the direction of the charity, to add to the goodie bags.

  They also wouldn’t leave that night until every last attendee had been able to get a picture or autograph, if they wanted one.

  Also, due to the nature of the charity, and the privacy for the patients, there wouldn’t be any outside press in attendance. Only three photographers for the charity, and the band’s own publicity team, who’d provide photos and video free to the charity and families for them to use as they needed. They didn’t have their band logo plastered all over everywhere, either. It wasn’t about them, it was about the charity and the kids they were helping, and that’s the way they always approached these things.

  As a practical matter, they also kept their participation quiet ahead of the event to prevent the venue from being mobbed by fans. The charities approached their biggest donors first, and they knew the rules.

  They kept it quiet.

  The kids were kept in the dark about the band until the event itself. Another way to protect their privacy.

  Mevi loved doing these events. It was one of the things that pissed him off the most about the theft, because he’d been looking into donating several million dollars to a children’s hospital for cancer research, something meaningful.

  Something in Tom’s memory.

  Something so that, at the end of his life, he could look back beyond the music and could point to a tangible action that really saved or improved lives. Especially for kids.

  Following his failure with Doyle, it was events like this that provided the only light in his life lately.

  Doyle had taken a huge risk to be with him, and he understood why Doyle left. To Doyle, it had been the ultimate violation of his trust, especially after everything he’d done, risked, and given up to be with Mevi in the first place.

  And trying to shift blame onto Doyle, when Mevi should have gone straight back to their room to begin with, was just wrong. He was at fault here, not Doyle. Even Bonnie admitted she’d pushed the narrative the way she’d wanted it to go and that yeah, Doyle probably did assume they’d slept together based on her words.

  The limo slowed as they approached the gate. They would be escorted around the back of the building to enter through a service corridor so as not to be a distraction too early. The publicity team and their core roadies and techs had already set up for them earlier that day and performed a sound check. By the time they were in position inside, they’d be ready to go on.

  Bonnie pried the set list out of Mevi’s hand and shook it at him. “We’re good. This is good. This is great, and you’re great. Stop stressing. These are fun, remember?”

  Before they left the limo, Bonnie reached her hands out to Mevi and Troy, who were closest. All of them joined hands as Bonnie spoke, their usual mantra.

  “Fun, friends, and family. Let’s have a good time and put on a good show. Smiles, boys
. Smiles. We’re lucky to be alive.”

  * * * *

  Doyle stayed out of the way, finding a secluded section of quiet corridor wall to hold up while Tilly disappeared to the bathroom and he held her glass for her. When she returned, she hooked an arm through his to make their way through the crowd and to the ballroom.

  “Those are like the tiniest freaking bathrooms ever. I’d hope your apartment’s bigger than that. I guess they have a modern bathroom that’s handicapped accessible for the kids on the other side. But that’s barely two phone booths sharing a spittoon in there. Don’t know what the men’s is like.”

  “Yeah, I overestimated. It was tight. But I’ve been in worse. So who is the entertainment tonight?”

  “Some band. Apparently well-known over here.”

  They found their table, and their name cards. The card at the empty seat next to his, on his left, only had “2” printed on it. The table was also close to the front, just feet from the stage. Seating over a dozen people each, there were several kids and their parents at their table, as well as people Doyle assumed were big-time donors, from the way they were dressed.

  He felt decidedly underdressed next to many of them, despite the parents and kids being dressed about how he was.

  Tilly leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “We’re giving the kids a studio tour next week. I mean, a group from the charity. Thirty kids, some of their most critical who are still able to travel safely.” She looked sad. “Makeup and hair, screen tests with Nick, the whole thing. They’ll all get headshots and videos they can take home.”

  He smiled as he watched her watching some of the kids. “You’re a good woman, Mistress Cardinal.”

  “Shh.” She shot him a frown. “Do not say that here.”

  “It’s the truth. You do that without the actual title.”

  “I mean people will think I’m a softie. I’m not.”

  “Yes you are, you big marshmallow.”

  “That’s a rotten thing to say. I thought we were friends.” But she smiled.

  An older woman walked up to a microphone that’d been set up at the front of the low platform where the band’s instruments had been arranged. Due to where he and Tilly were seated at the round table, they had to turn their chairs sideways or crane their necks. He didn’t miss how Tilly scooted close behind him, one arm hooked around his left, tightly, as she rested her chin on his left shoulder.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “A little chilly.”

  “Want me to get your coat from—”

  “Shh!”

  The woman smiled as the room’s overhead lights dimmed and lights focused on the stage area highlighted it and her.

  “Thank you all for coming tonight. This is one of our largest annual fundraisers, and we’re so pleased that one of our regulars volunteered to be the entertainment for tonight…”

  She launched into a discussion about the charity and their work and the kids they helped. Doyle reached for his water glass with his right arm, since Tilly felt like a ton of dead weight hanging from his left.

  As he sipped, the woman finished her spiel. “And so, it is with great pleasure that I present…Portnoy’s Oyster!”

  Fortunately, the explosion of applause and cheers in the room covered the sound of him choking and Tilly whacking him several times between the shoulder blades.

  * * * *

  They were being held in a small anteroom right off the stage area, a closed door separating them from the main ballroom. When the cue was given for them to emerge, Mevi led the way, his concert smile pasted firmly in place and waving as he walked.

  Then Bonnie plowed into him when he stopped, his gaze locked on a very shocked-looking Doyle.

  “What—oh!” Bonnie grabbed his arm and pulled him across the stage while Mevi struggled to focus and not burst into tears.

  “Places!” she hissed at him as she walked over to the keyboard stand and took her place, tucking her IEMs into place.

  Mevi took a deep breath, barely remembering to put his IEMs in, and grabbed his stage acoustic from the stand it was propped in. After a couple of quick plucks to make sure it was in tune and that the guitar’s wireless pick-up was playing through his IEMs, accompanied by Bonnie giving them a C, he turned and stepped up to the mic.

  As the room stilled, an anticipatory hush falling over the crowd, Mevi forced his gaze from Doyle’s and swept the room. He hoped his smile looked right.

  “Thank you all for coming tonight, and thank you very much for allowing us to be a part of this evening. We always enjoy doing these shows and are happy to be partners with the McMurphy Paediatric Cancer Center. We’re honored to once again be involved with this wonderful organization’s efforts. What you do here is real heroics…”

  He stumbled through a version of what he normally said at this particular event. “So…we hope you enjoy the show tonight.”

  As applause and cheers thundered through the room, Mevi fought the urge to toss down his guitar, jump off the riser, and throw himself at Doyle’s feet. From the pleased expression on Tilly’s face behind Doyle, and from Doyle’s stunned expression, Mevi’s educated guess under the circumstances was that she’d ambushed Doyle.

  Focusing on Doyle, he made a point of reaching up to adjust the mic, even though it didn’t need it, his right wrist facing out.

  Where Doyle had to see.

  Before he reached for a pick from the holder attached to the mic stand, he made a point of brushing his left thumb over his tats.

  He decided to change the opening number and looked over to Bonnie. “‘Aloof Excuses.’”

  Used to him doing this, she nodded. He glanced back to Pasch, who also nodded and started a gentle count off. As Mevi strummed the opening chord, his gaze once again fell upon Doyle.

  * * * *

  Doyle wasn’t sure that he might not permanently lose the use of his left arm from the death grip Tilly had on him.

  Now he got why she did that. He couldn’t leave without literally dragging her out of her chair and causing a scene, and she damn well knew it.

  “Enjoy the concert, buddy,” she whispered.

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  “Nah, bruh. You lubs me.” She kissed his cheek.

  He immediately recognized “Aloof Excuses.”

  How could he not?

  He sensed it was a message from Mevi to him, but he wasn’t sure what yet.

  And the markings on his wrist…that had to mean something, right?

  Was it possible Mevi still loved him?

  Was it possible he’d been wrong and should not have left?

  If those two things were true, it meant he was the failure, and that he didn’t deserve the man’s love.

  None of these questions racing through his brain could be answered right that moment, or even that evening. Not with a room full of kids surrounding them.

  Mevi occasionally glanced around the room, but his gaze always returned to Doyle.

  “And as I see you I realize,

  My life before you was full of lies.

  Now I know better, and together

  We can celebrate the sunrise…”

  Doyle’s vision blurred as Mevi sang, and he blindly groped for his napkin to dab at his eyes.

  That was a new verse. One that impaled him straight through his heart.

  He knew.

  He knew without even talking to Mevi.

  He’d been wrong. He’d jumped the gun.

  He’d failed to trust his boy.

  Doyle didn’t know what the full truth was, but it nearly made him sick to realize this man had far more trust and faith in him than Doyle rightfully deserved.

  I don’t deserve him.

  * * * *

  Somehow, Mevi made it through the entire set without breaking down. He changed it up completely, much to Bonnie’s thinly disguised frustration. But he wanted every song they sung to be a concert for Doyle.

  A private declaration of his love
for the man.

  One Doyle would hopefully understand.

  It was all he could do right now. Mevi knew he couldn’t do what he wanted to do, which was throw himself at Doyle’s feet.

  Because of too many reasons to list, including a room full of kids.

  Once they finished and the house lights were brought back up, they took a bow and stepped down off the riser to find their tables. Mevi knew he was at table 2…and of course, his seat was right next to Doyle.

  But he made sure to work his way around the table, starting on the far side of his chair, and knelt down to introduce himself to each child and their parents, and the donors, getting the first round of selfies out of the way with them, learning their names and trying to commit them to memory. As the evening wore on, all of them would cycle through the room to meet everyone there, but after dinner.

  * * * *

  Doyle knew from the way Mevi kept adjusting his mic between songs, his wrist facing out and toward him, that it was a direct statement.

  One that threatened to draw more tears from him every time he saw him do it.

  His boy still had faith in him.

  It shattered his heart.

  He started to rise as Mevi made the rounds, intending to escape, but he felt Tilly’s iron grip clamp around his right arm.

  “Where do you think you’re going, buster?” she hissed.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Oh no you’re not. I’m your fricking ride, and you have no clue where you are to even get back. Your ass stays here, with me. Nut up.”

  “Tilly—”

  “I said nut. The fuck. Up.”

  Her grip only relaxed when he did, setting back in his seat.

  Mevi kept glancing at him as he worked his way around the table. It broke Doyle’s heart how gracious and kind Mevi was to the kids, friendly, smiling. A natural.

  And he knew Mevi meant every word and smile he gave every child.

  I’m an idiot. I don’t deserve him.

  Mevi gave Tilly a hug and Doyle damn well knew she whispered something in his ear.