Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
A fter practicing the Duetto with Kit and Andre several times, Luka finally had to call a halt. He needed some space to think and to quell the emotions that churned within him. He thought he’d done a decent job of hiding his inner turmoil from the other two, but there was no way he could perform that night if he didn’t get some time alone to get himself together.
Greg handed him a bottle of water as he walked off the stage, but he didn’t say anything when Luka shook his head and turned away without speaking. The band manager had been around long enough to know when Luka was nearing an edge, so he’d simply pointed toward the rear area of the stage. Here, Luka was lucky to discover the theater had several dressing rooms, and the first one he came to stood empty. He flipped on the light, then ducked inside and closed the door, sinking with relief onto a padded loveseat. He leaned his head against the cushioned back and closed his eyes, drawing in deep breaths to help him relax.
He hadn’t expected that after having Kit in the band for a half dozen shows, playing with Kit as a duo again would affect him so strongly. Luka had been so tense at first that even Kit had noticed it, but when Luka had let himself relax into the music, he was aware of Kit beside him and of the way they played together as effortlessly as if it had been days instead of years. It had felt right in a way nothing had felt since their fight, and the feeling of coming home had nearly wrecked him there on the stage.
He still wasn’t certain how he’d held it together, but he’d managed. It was probably his innate stubbornness, or maybe the way he’d always been afraid to show anyone weakness or vulnerability in case they used it against him. Anyone, that was, except Kit, who held him when he’d cried about the mental pain his parents had always inflicted on him, or when he’d fallen apart when his father had died. That time hadn’t been grief, not exactly. More like anger and bitter despair that now that his father was dead, Luka could never get the validation he’d sought by proving he was going to make his own way in music and do it on his own terms.
After losing his confidante, Luka had withdrawn within himself, and had never again let anyone else that close. It had been a revelation to him, when he’d finally come back to himself after his months of depression and isolation, that instead of being devastated because of Jordan, the thing that had hurt most and had been much harder to come to terms with was the loss of Kit. Luka had realized that he had probably been more dazzled by and in love with the idea of Jordan than he had been with the man himself. Sure, he was hurt and angry, but he hadn’t really missed Jordan at all. And definitely nowhere near as much as he’d missed Kit.
Playing together the way they had made Luka ache with loss for the time they’d been apart. But now that Kit was in his life again, and since the truth was out between them and Luka had come to terms with his own part in what had happened, where did they go from here? Luka had spent so long building the walls to protect himself from hurt, he wasn’t sure he could let anyone in again. He realized with a start that he had forgiven Kit, something he’d never expected to do. But there it was, the anger completely gone and a sort of wistful longing in its place. Yet forgiveness wasn’t everything; Kit had claimed to want Luka back in his life, but was there any way Luka could really learn to trust him again?
He wanted to, he admitted to himself. It was feeling more and more right every day to have Kit around, to be playing with him, sharing the tour with him — it was exactly what they’d dreamed about doing together years ago, when Sultana had been nothing more than one name among a hundred they were considering for “their” band. But there were so many differences, and they weren’t the same boys who’d talked so confidently of “making it”. They were men now, and there was still a gulf stretching between them that Luka wasn’t sure he could cross. Not without risking losing everything again — and that was something he couldn’t bear to think about.
His mind kept going round in circles, but he couldn’t decide. Then a soft knock sounded on the door, and he raised his head, realizing that he’d actually dozed off.
“Hello? Luka?” he heard Kris’s voice. “Are you in there?”
“Yeah, Kris, sorry,” he said, standing up and moving to the door. He opened it and gave her a rueful smile. “I must have dozed off. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. We’re just going to get some dinner and didn’t want to leave you behind,” she said. Her eyes were searching, and she reached out to pat him on the shoulder, ever the mother hen. “You don’t need to collapse on stage with low blood sugar.”
“Yeah, that would suck,” he agreed.
The rest of the band was waiting, and he caught Kit looking at him with concern. He smiled crookedly, and Kit seemed to relax, apparently reassured that Luka wasn’t brooding. Then Greg ushered them all out of the theater, claiming that he’d found a cantina down the street with great tacos. The place was loud and lively, and the group indulged in big platters of food while they debated the merits of what they were eating against Tex-Mex and Cali-Mex. Luka allowed himself to relax and let go of his worries for a bit. He knew he needed an escape from his own head, and so he smiled at Dmitri trying to outdo Andre in proving who could eat more tortilla chips. It helped to have something outside of himself to focus on for a while.
By the time they made it back to the Crown, he was feeling more centered, but it was hard to look at Kit. Every time he did, he was reminded of how close they had once been, of all the things they’d shared, and it made him ache with a different pain. Instead of betrayal’s knife, he now had the cold, hollow emptiness of regret and loneliness.
Luka didn’t want to dwell on the realization that he had been lonely, despite the near constant presence of his bandmates. It wasn’t their fault, either, but his — he’d always kept a part of himself aloof and hidden from them, fearing that they would one day turn on him as well. He missed the comradery, but that he could fix, at least. The loneliness he felt for Kit’s presence was a much harder thing to deal with.
Fortunately, the need to perform kept him from spiraling back into the dark hole of his thoughts, and he was able, for the first half of the set, to sink into his playing and give every song his all.
Then it was time, just before the break, for the Rossini. Kris and Dmitri left the stage, while Kit exchanged his electric bass for the acoustic one. The illumination on the stage dwindled down to just two spots, bathing them each in golden light. Kit was standing behind the bass, and he looked at Luka, smiling in a way that stole Luka’s breath.
Time slipped away as Andre sounded the beat, and they began to play. Luka couldn’t seem to look away from Kit, remembering all the times they’d jammed together in high school and college. It was so familiar that Luka felt almost dizzy for a moment, but his skilled fingers never stopped their dance along the neck of the cello, and his right hand didn’t falter as the bow seemed to rip the sound from his instrument.
Kit met and held his gaze. Now they were both playing, it seemed, by sheer muscle memory, and the pounding of Luka’s heart in his ears was louder than Andre’s drumming behind him.
The song seemed to go on forever, one of those perfect moments that Luka wished he could catch hold of and keep. They were totally in sync, their instruments extensions of themselves, singing a wild, eerie rhythm as the movement built toward a climax. Then, suddenly, it was over, as the last crash of drums and wailing crescendo from the strings sounded through the theater, the reverb carrying back to them in echoes from the superb acoustics of the hall.
Luka was still looking at Kit, feeling a connection with his friend that he hadn’t experienced in years. He smiled as something almost like joy flowed over him, giving him back so much of what he’d missed about music without even realizing it.
Suddenly a crash of applause sounded, startling him so much that he jumped and almost lost his grip on his cello. He’d somehow forgotten about the audience, so caught up in as close as it was possible to get to a sublime moment. He saw Kit blink, apparently equally startled, and then they were laughing at themselves.
Laughing together .
For a moment, it felt like old times, and Luka felt a stab of pain for the loss of the easy comradery they’d once shared. A part of him wanted that back, to talk to Kit as he once had, sharing things that mattered. Kit had said at the start that he wanted Luka’s friendship back.
And maybe, deep down inside, Luka was wanting it as well.