Syncopation

by Jodi Payne

  Instead he was dealing with so much pain from all directions.

  “Hey, Kyle? Kyle!”

  He blinked and lifted his head, looking back at the stage. “Yes. Sorry.”

  “Where do you enter from?”

  They were rehearsing in his understudy for tonight’s performance. As dance captain, that was Danny’s job. Kyle was only there to help with the details. But just as his thoughts had been with a beautiful dark-eyed Cajun the night before, his heart wasn’t in this either. “Right. Sorry. For which number?”

  Last night he shouldn’t have been dancing at all. Today, it was the only thing he wanted to do, and he couldn’t.

  Ali squinted at him from the stage. “Kyle… are you all right?”

  “Hey, let’s take five everybody, okay? No, ten. Take ten.”

  Kyle sighed as Danny made his way up the aisle toward him. “Dammit.”

  “Kyle, I really need your attention, or I’ll never get through this.”

  “I’m sorry. I know.”

  “What’s going on?”

  He shook his head. He couldn’t find the words to explain that Colt had left him. Even if he could, Danny wasn’t the one to share his love life with. He couldn’t face “I told you so.”

  Danny sat on the armrest of the seat in front of him. “It’s just a fracture. It’s not a big deal. It will heal up good as new, and you’ll be on it full-time in a few weeks.”

  “That’s easy to say, isn’t it?” God, he was whining like a fucking baby.

  “You’ve been pushing hard lately. Maybe your body is telling you it’s time for a rest.”

  It wasn’t time for a rest. His own exhibition was supposed to open next week. “I’m going to have to pull the plug on my exhibition.”

  “Oh. Fuck.”

  “Yeah.”

  It was more than disappointing; it was irony. It was karma.

  “I’m sorry, Kyle. I was focused on—”

  “Stop. You have a job to do.”

  Danny nodded. “I do. And they do.” Standing up, Danny pointed to the stage, his empathetic expression suddenly neutral, all business. “Don’t let them down, and don’t waste their time.”

  He blinked at Danny a few times, those words hitting him like being zapped with electric current, his brain just needed to sort itself out a second.

  “Right.”

  Of course, Danny was right. It was about the work. It was always about the work; it had to be. Whether he was onstage or not, people were counting on him. There was a show tonight.

  “Yes, right. Of course, Danny. I apologize and I’m ready to work.”

  Danny squinted at him, gave him a nod and a smile. “That’s more like it.”

  He missed Colt deeply, in ways only his heart understood. But he had to get back to work.

  RYDER PICKED Colt’s happy ass up at the airport, eyes going wide as saucers at the sight of him. His friend didn’t say a word about it, though. Just unlocked the truck and headed straight for the east side of Austin and one of the dive bars.

  They went in and lined up three tequila shots, the lime, the salt.

  The first one burned, the second one tasted fine, and the third one was like water.

  “Better?” Ryder asked.

  He shook his head. “Ask me again after a couple more, oui?”

  “You’re on.” Ryder flagged down the bartender, ordered three more shots and a Coke. “I can’t stand flying. I’m all white-knuckled the whole time. Good thing Norv is steady. But… this seems like more than travel anxiety, huh?”

  “I—I ain’t got words. I let him break me, I think. I ain’t made to understand all this mess, and I didn’t do it right, trying to fix it. I be tired and raw, like I’m rotted inside.”

  “Shit.” Ryder pulled out his phone. “I better let Norv know where we’re at.”

  “I want to go home so bad.” But he didn’t know where that was, didn’t know that he ever would.

  “The dancer? That who you mean? He was pretty, but I don’t know, Colt. Who makes a man take his boots off? I don’t know if he got it.”

  “That’s a fancy-folk thing maybe? Shit if I know. Thing is, boo, I fucking love him, but he don’t want my music and that’s like….”

  “Not wanting you. I get that.” Ryder slid another shot under his nose. “Are you sure, though? He seemed into it when we met him.”

  “I ain’t sure of dick.” He took the shot. Enough of this and he wouldn’t care no more. He got it, why a man would let drink take him over forever. Sometimes the hurting was awful bad to bear.

  “If the dancer can’t be clear with you, then he don’t deserve you anyhow. Or your music. You save that for folks like us that know how to hear it.”

  Colt reached out blindly, needing a friend so bad. Ryder grabbed his hand, held on.

  “Fuck this asshole. Fuck all the goddamn Yankees, man. Come home. Me and Norv would take you in a split second.”

  “I know, boo.” And he did. He knew. So why didn’t he just say yes?

  “You hang with us for a few days. We’ll make some music, grill some steaks, catch a few fish. Right? It’ll be good. You’ll see.” Ryder looked at his phone. “Norv says don’t let you puke.”

  “Tell Norv to suck it. I be a Cajun. I was born to drink.”

  “Far be it from me, man.” Ryder held the phone where he could see it and shut it off with a grin.

  He grinned back, letting the company and the booze ease him. “You got money for the jukebox?”

  “Yessir. Money and time. Come on.”

  COLT SAT in Norv’s studio, guitar in his hand. “What if I can’t?”

  “Don’t be stupid, boy. You are music. What? You can’t you?” Sometimes Norv said the things a man needed to hear. Sometimes Norv was just a fucker.

  “Maybe. Probably not. Who knows? Let’s just play.” He started with the classics, because that was their thing. Christmas carols and blues, Fats Domino and Willie.

  Ryder sat on the floor, leaning against Norv’s hip, eyes closed as he sang for them. There was the way Norv stared down, eyes warm, heated. They didn’t have to be careful here, they didn’t have to pretend, and Colt was honored that they trusted him, but damn, it hurt. Bad.

  After a bit, Ryder made his way over and sat cross-legged at Colt’s feet, grinning. “Give me something, man. Something I can play with.”

  He blew Ryder a kiss. “Something sultry, hmm? Something rocking and bluesy?”

  Ryder nodded and braced his arms behind him. “Whatever your fingers do, I’m in.”

  He wanted to rock it, wanted it to sing, but what came out was… pissed off. The guitar snarled, the chords raw and almost discordant.

  Ryder just stared at him and slid closer to Norv, as if his music had teeth and Ryder was afraid of being bitten.

  “Let him get it out, baby. He hurts.” Norv’s guitar answered his, giving him something to struggle against.

  Ryder didn’t join in. He understood that; Ryder didn’t have these words in him. You couldn’t possibly unless you’d been to this dark place, and the kid just didn’t understand dark.

  Norv, though. Norv had danced with the Devil close, had laid with dogs and come back from it.

  Tears began to fall, so filled with rage that he expected his guitar to burn.

  It didn’t matter, though, how raw and real the tears were or how much pain he poured into his instrument. None of it pushed the pictures from his mind. Images of Kyle so sharp they could cut him into pieces.

  “Norv….”

  “Let him alone, Ry. This is a safe place.”

  “La! I cain’t… I gotta take a walk.” He wasn’t going to be able to breathe no more like this.

  He needed out.

  Ryder hopped to his feet. “How about some blues, Colt? You’re feeling bad? That’s the way to go, ain’t it?”

  “I don’t know which way to go, boo. I don’t understand what I did wrong! I don’ know how to fix it a bit.”

  “Maybe
you didn’t do nothing wrong. Maybe it’s just he don’t appreciate you. You tell him, Norv. You can’t change what you are even if someone you love don’t like it.”

  “That’s true, son. You are who you are. What did he say?”

  “That he was pissed about me not playing for him no more. That he was pissed that I was pissed over getting fired. That he didn’t want me to come over when he called for me.”

  “Whut?” Norv looked confused. “That don’t make no sense.”

  “I know! I just….” He just had to admit it. He was a high-school dropout worthless piece of shit who couldn’t figure out a high-dollar man like Kyle. He stopped and sighed, collapsing in on himself. “La. I’m broke, me.”

  Ryder stepped closer. For all Colt wasn’t a big man, Ryder was even smaller. “You’re a good man. He’s a fool to let you go. If he was closer, I’d tell him so to his face.”

  “I’d prob’ly let you, just to watch him be all shocked.” Colt put his guitar down and hugged Ryder hard. “Y’all are my good friends.”

  “We are.” Ryder’s hug was deep and warm, offering up whatever Colt needed.

  He heard Norv putting things away, and then the man’s big hand landed on his shoulder. “We’re going to all cook supper together. We’re all going to eat and listen to good music and smoke a little weed.”

  “Norv went shopping. The fridge is busting!” Ryder’s grin was huge. The man was always hungry. Colt had never seen anyone so small eat so much.

  “Yessir.” Norv didn’t ask, just turned and expected that they’d follow, and follow they did, like a row of mismatched ducklings.

  “How about we catch some fish tomorrow, Colt? Want to? Get some sun, have a beer? I mean it won’t be crazy warm, but fresh air is good, right?”

  “Works for me, boo.” He knew better. He knew that he couldn’t stay here, taint their Christmas.

  He was poison right now.

  “DAMMIT.”

  He really needed to remember to keep his phone with him. Hobbling as he was, Kyle never managed to get to the damn thing before whoever was calling hung up. He looked at his missed calls on the way back to his recliner, and was just about to call Timmy back when it rang in his hand.

  “Hello?”

  “Dude! I got your message, man. Are you okay? That sucks!”

  He sighed, settling back in his chair and propping up his foot again. It was good to hear Timmy’s voice. “Hey, Timmy. Yeah. I’ll be okay. How’s Mexico?”

  “Rad, man. We’re all super stoked about the waves and the weather. We just came in for some lunch. Are you hurt bad? Can you dance?”

  “No, I can’t dance. They rehearsed in an understudy who will cover me for a few shows, and I had to cancel my exhibition.”

  Timmy sighed. “Oh, man. I’m sorry. You’ve been working hard on the solo thing, I know.”

  “Yeah.” It broke his heart, really. It was nice that Timmy understood that without him having to explain.

  “You need to cheer up. Make some popcorn and hot cocoa and watch It’s a Wonderful Life.”

  He didn’t have the stomach for popcorn or the heart to tell Timmy he wasn’t into a movie.

  “Hello, you there?”

  “Sorry, yes. I was just thinking about when I was eight and my pet rabbit died—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry dude. What was his name?”

  He grinned. Timmy’s sympathy was a hundred years late but still adorable. “Really, Timmy?”

  “Heh. Sorry.”

  “His name was Oreo. He was black and white.”

  “Clever.”

  “Anyway, I got up one morning, and he had died overnight.” He waited on Timmy, but the line was quiet. “No comments?”

  Timmy was chewing on something. “Nope. ’M good.”

  “Okay, well. Oreo died, and I was very upset, but I had rehearsal and I had to go because it was tech week. I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t feel like dancing, but I knew I had to. My dancing has always been everything. I missed birthday parties, school events, weddings. I missed my grandmother’s funeral because it was opening night. I didn’t learn to ride a bike. I didn’t date. I never stayed up late and watched David Letterman. It was always dance. Always the work.”

  “Wow.”

  “I loved it anyway, Timmy. I still love it. But I can’t do it halfway.”

  “Okay. So don’t. Is this about Colt, man?”

  “I… I don’t know. Maybe.” Was it about Colt? Or was it about him? He shook his head. “Everything, all of it, was about that exhibition. It was going to be ours. But he just kept… he couldn’t say no to anyone. He couldn’t make the show his priority, and I don’t know how to work that way. I shouldn’t have expected him to…. I shouldn’t have asked it of him in the first place. If I hadn’t asked….”

  “Wait. Wait. What are you saying, man?”

  “He doesn’t even like being in front of an audience. I knew that. I shouldn’t have asked him to work with me. He couldn’t do it all.”

  Timmy went silent for a long few seconds. “He wanted to do that show with you. More than anything.”

  “Then he shouldn’t have been doing so many other things at the same time! I thought I was helping him out by taking something off his plate for him when he couldn’t manage it himself. You had to see him all wild-eyed and…. Jesus.”

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “He said working with you was magic.”

  He sighed, the words stinging him, making him ache. “Okay, so firing him wasn’t the right call. Fine. I didn’t understand…. I didn’t think it meant as much to him as it did to me. Firing him was impulsive. Yes, maybe.” He sighed. “But nothing he did after that was right either.”

  Colt was upset. Angry. He got that. And yes, probably rightfully upset. Upset enough to say some things that Kyle hoped Colt regretted, but that was a two-way street for sure. He hadn’t exactly been polite either.

  But he wasn’t anyone’s booty call. Why would Colt punish him like that? His work was work; it wasn’t… them. They were heart and soul, rhythm and music, but all Colt wanted anymore was sex? That hurt the most. He could get that from anyone. That he didn’t understand at all.

  “He cooked for your party.”

  He had. Colt hadn’t just cooked—he’d rolled his sleeves up and worked his ass off. “His shrimp was amazing. I don’t know what to do, Timmy. But I love him. Maybe it was just too intense to keep up. He is his music. I’m my dancing. Maybe we’re not meant to spend our energy on other people.”

  But Colt had inspired him, energized him. So how could that be true?

  Maybe he was just a selfish asshole.

  “Am I an asshole, Timmy?” He dropped his head back in his chair.

  “Everybody’s an asshole, man. Colt can’t be someone he’s not. He works harder and cleaner than anyone I know. He’s a machine. You know he never finished school, that he was homeless for, like, years? Maybe he… shit, what do I know?”

  “I knew about school.” He’d assumed the rest, but Colt hadn’t spoken specifically about that. “You’re saying maybe he thinks I’m a snob? Maybe. I don’t know, either, Timmy. I just miss him.”

  “He thinks you’re magical. Special. He believes in that.”

  “Not enough to be honest with me. Not enough to stay and work it out.” He sighed. He was more confused now than he’d been before he’d started talking. He got it. He’d fucked up. Fine. Didn’t it take both of them to want to make things work? And he still didn’t understand how he could have done differently. He didn’t know how to put anything ahead of his dancing. Not even himself. He never had in his whole life. “I think I’m going to put that movie on like you suggested.”

  He wasn’t, but he felt like crap and needed to get Timmy off the phone so he could cry about it.

  “Okay, dude. Listen, I’ll check in with you again soon. Take care, okay? Don’t forget to eat.”

  “No worries. Hit those waves hard. Thanks for ca
lling, Timmy.”

  He hung up the phone and stared at the dark screen sitting in his hand. God, he wanted to call Colt. He wished he had it in him to do it, but not today. Maybe he’d call tomorrow.

  “COLT? WHERE the ever-loving fuck are you?” Nathan’s voice ripped through his eardrum, and he winced, jerking away from the sound. He blinked up, trying to remember where he was. He never worried when he woke up with Kyle, but that was all gone.

  “Why you care?”

  “Young man, you are frightening me. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up. I’ll buy you a plane ticket, anything you need.”

  “I’m in a shelter. I’ve been playing.” He’d left the boys and hitchhiked to Houston. From there, the church bus brought him to Shreveport.

  Now he was back in Louisiana, and….

  “A shelter. What the actual fuck? You live like you’re desperate, honey. Why? You need more than what’s in your cash account? You got it. You work like a damn dog. I’m coming to get you. Now.”

  “You don’t know where I am.” He smiled, though, because Nathan’s straightforward shit was familiar, direct. Family.

  There was a long sigh on Nathan’s end of the phone. “Fine. You win. What’s the plan? Austin? Nashville? Back to New York?”

  “I don’t know. I kinda… I think I fucked up bad, huh? I fell in love.”

  “Oh, Colt! That’s lovely. In New York? Is that why you asked to stay so long? Wait… wait, honey. How is that fucking up? Are you not there? Oh, Colt. What happened?”

  “I’m not made right.” That was the only answer he had. “He’s so fine, and I’m not.”

  “Bullshit. You get your head out of your ass, right now.”

  “What?”

  “Not made right. You’re the finest musician I’ve ever known. You will never run out of work. The line to get to you would wrap around New York twenty times.”

  “Then what did I do wrong? I did everything I thought he wanted.”