Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
“ H ey, Luka! Let’s go! Are you ready?”
Luka pushed back his headphones as someone shook his shoulder, and he looked up from where he was playing on his electric cello, seeing Dmitri with his own instrument standing next to him. Greg was over by the greenroom door, all but tapping his foot with impatience.
Rising to his feet, Luka frowned in confusion. “Is everyone else out on stage already?”
“Yeah, we’re the last.” Dmitri rolled his eyes. “You were so absorbed that no one wanted to rush you, but we need to get out there now.”
“Right, right. Sorry! I guess I lost track of time.” He threw his headphones down on the chair he’d been sitting in, then hurried to pick up his cello and bow before following Dmitri out of the room. Once they were past the soundproofed door — really, the MGM Grand went all out on the spaces for their performers — he could hear the roar of the crowd, and he shook his head. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night, and the words for a song had been spinning around in his head for hours. He’d become so focused on getting the melody right that he’d almost forgotten they were about to perform.
As he stepped onto the stage, he stole a glance at Kit, who was fiddling with the tuning knobs on his bass, but Kit glanced up to smile at Luka and give him a thumbs up. Luka ducked his head in acknowledgment, then took his seat beside Dmitri.
The show, their Vegas opener, went off without a hitch. Luka knew it was discipline alone that was keeping his head in the game, but he was grateful for it, especially when it was time for the Duetto with Kit.
He was hyperaware of Kit standing beside him during the song, something he’d never really paid much attention to, or at least not since the days of his adolescent crush. This felt similar: his awareness of every time Kit smiled at him, every time Kit stood close enough for their arms to brush together. He thought he could feel the warmth of Kit’s presence, even over and above the heat of the spotlights, but that must have been his imagination.
All because Andre had called their outing the night before a date .
It hadn’t been, of course. It had just been a nice evening where he and Kit reconnected as friends. Kit had been his best friend for so many years, and he seemed to be working his way back into that spot, just as he’d said he wanted to all along. There was nothing romantic in the way Kit saw him.
Was there?
No, it couldn’t be, and that it was distracting him from what he needed to focus on wasn’t helping at all. Especially since the song that had been spinning around in his head was all about questioning what everything meant and how to keep going when things didn’t make sense.
After the show ended, Luka grabbed his electric cello and one of the portable amps, deciding to carry them up to the room so he could continue to work on the song. While he could have asked one of the roadies to haul them upstairs for him, it was faster and easier to just do it himself. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he got the song out of his head, so, tired as he was after a performance, he was going to have to stay up until he finished it.
“Hey, let me help with that.”
Kit was suddenly beside him, reaching out to take the handle of the amp from Luka’s hand.
“Aren’t you going out with the others?” Luka asked, gesturing with his chin to where Dmitri, Andre, Kris, Jo, and Greg were gathered. Dmitri had his phone out, and they were all in deep discussion about something — undoubtedly where to go out for an after-show meal.
“Nah, I’d rather stay in with you.” Kit bumped his arm playfully against Luka’s. “We could all tell from earlier that you’re deep into composing, and I want a chance to hear your latest before everyone else. If you don’t mind, that is.”
Kit’s words brought to mind all the times Luka had rushed to Kit to play him his latest composition. “Sure, if you’d like. Not completely sure where I’m going with it yet, but I’ll figure it out.”
“You always do.”
They were quiet the rest of the way to the room, riding up in the private elevator. Again, Luka was aware of Kit’s every movement and the warmth of his body as they stood together in the small space.
They reached the room, and Kit gestured toward the bedroom they shared. “Why don’t you have the first shower, and I’ll order something to eat? Maybe some finger foods that are easy to munch on while you work?”
Luka nodded. “Sounds good. I won’t be long.”
With that, he took himself off to the bathroom. Again he was struck by the scent of Kit’s toiletries, and he told himself sternly to ignore it. He didn’t know why he was in this strangely aware state, as though everything was more intense than usual. He wasn’t sure he appreciated it, either, since it was a distraction he didn’t need. So Luka hurried through his shower, then donned sweatpants and a t-shirt before heading back into the living room of the suite.
Kit was sitting on the sofa, going through something on his phone, though he looked up with a smile as Luka entered the room.
“Your turn.”
“Thanks.” Kit rose gracefully to his feet and tossed his phone on the table in front of him. “I ordered a sort of charcuterie thing with meat and cheese, plus some pizza bites and loaded fries. And soda. I noticed you’re still a Dr. Pepper fiend, so they’ll send up several cans. If you want anything else, just call the concierge and let them know. The guy on the phone made it clear that if we wanted it, the MGM would make it happen.”
“Nah, I think you got plenty.” Luka moved toward where he’d left his cello, as much to have something to do as because he was eager to get back to composing.
“Okay, then. Out in a few.”
Kit started off toward the bedroom, stripping his t-shirt off over his head as he walked past Luka. Luka’s mouth went dry at the sight of Kit’s bare chest, then the flexing muscles in his back and upper arms as Kit stepped past him. Kit might not have the bulkier physique of their college days, but he was toned in all the right places, buff and tan and lightly but pleasantly furry. He’d seen Kit’s body before, of course; it was unavoidable when they’d been roommates throughout college. But this was like seeing Kit in an entirely different way — a way that reminded Luka for the first time in years that he was in possession of a fully working libido.
No, no, no , he told himself firmly, making himself turn away and take a seat on one of the straight-back chairs, placing his cello between his legs to mask any tell-tale bulge. You aren’t sixteen anymore. This is one complication you sure as fuck don’t need right now. Not with anybody, but especially not with Kit .
He closed his eyes, taking several slow, deep breaths to get himself back in full control. It had begun to work when there was a knock at the door of the suite. Muttering under his breath, Luka moved the cello and went to answer it, opening it to admit a room service server pushing a large cart.
Fortunately, the young man was all business. He made quick work of setting up the food on the bar in the kitchen area before presenting Luka with the receipt to be signed. Luka did so, adding a generous tip, then reached for a can of soda, which was so cold it had frost on the outside. Popping the top, he took a long drink, letting the cold, fizzy beverage cool him off in more ways than one.
The scent of the food reached him, and abruptly, his stomach rumbled. Luka welcomed anything that would distract him from the direction his thoughts had been going in, and he lifted the covers from the serving dishes to reveal the promised pizza and fries. Maybe he was just lightheaded from hunger and something to eat would keep ridiculous thoughts at bay.
The server had also delivered plates and napkins, so he filled a plate and carried it to the sofa, making himself focus mentally on the lyrics he’d been working on while his hands were occupied with eating.
Don’t know where I stand,
Don’t know what to do,
Don’t know if I stand alone,
Or if I stand with you.
I can’t see the riverbank,
While learning I can’t swim,
The water tries to pull me down,
The light is getting dim.
Reaching out, reaching down,
Can’t feel what’s real or true,
Can’t feel the sun ever shine again,
Don’t know if I can trust in you.
He knew the song was as dark as anything he’d written years ago when still battling the pain of his parents’ rejection. He heard them in his head, growled out in Kris’s sultry alto, and suddenly the melody that had eluded him was there with it. Driving beat, harsh, dissonant chords, and he knew he had to get it down before he lost it.
He abandoned his plate on the coffee table, snatching up napkins to wipe the grease from his hands before tossing them down. He slid into the straight-back chair again, grabbing up his cello and bow, then beginning to play the almost eerie, atonal chorus, not caring that it was almost screaming from the amp.
He went through it twice, then wove the melody in, this time in softer, more harmonious notes that seemed to echo the longing for acceptance that he’d felt his entire life. Once he finally got it all out with a last repetition of the chorus, he leaned down over his cello and breathed in deeply, feeling drained but relieved that he’d finally gotten it all out.
“Wow….” The word was barely above a whisper, but it was loud enough to get Luka’s attention in the now-quiet room, and he glanced up to see Kit leaning against the bedroom doorway. “That almost sounds more intense than your Sultana songs.”
Luka let out a breath. “I guess. It was just there in my head.” He was relieved that Kit was fully clothed in flannel sleep pants and a t-shirt. At the moment, he didn’t know if he could have taken the temptation of Kit half-dressed again.
Kit studied Luka before heading over to the sofa, where he took up a lounging position with his legs stretched out in front of him. But if his body looked relaxed, his expression didn’t.
“Does it go with the lyrics you’ve been working on?” he asked, watching Luka with intense curiosity.
“Yeah.” Luka looked up at him, feeling like the lyrics were almost too personal to share, especially given they concerned Kit. But having heard the music, Kit would find out eventually when the song turned up on the F-Holes next album. And it would have to be on it; Luka felt it was one of the best things he’d ever written. “Do you want to hear them?”
Kit sat up, all pretense of casualness gone, and nodded, his curiosity replaced by eagerness. “I’d love to.” He paused, then added, “If you’re comfortable sharing them, I mean.”
“Sure.” Luka looked down at his hands, still clutching his bow, and recited them quietly. Part of him hoped Kit wouldn’t realize how much they were about Luka’s current inner turmoil about their friendship.
Kit remained silent for what felt like an eternity, and when he spoke at last, his voice was quiet. “I know it’s difficult to believe, but my hand is there, ready for you to grab it. If you do, I swear I won’t let go this time.”
Luka didn’t want to meet Kit’s eyes, afraid he wouldn’t be able to believe the words if he did. But after a moment, he forced his gaze up. Better to know now if he could ever really trust Kit again, right?
But when his eyes met Kit’s, all he saw was sincerity. Kit had never been a good liar, in part because he’d never really had to lie, at least not about important things the way Luka had. Kit’s family had accepted him completely, so he’d never had to do the things Luka had done just to be accepted. Luka could lie to his parents, and even to himself when he had to. But he couldn’t lie to Kit.
“I believe you.”
The smile that bloomed on Kit’s lips was a blend of relief and joy, and his eyes looked suspiciously shiny. “Thanks.”
Luka was surprised Kit seemed so happy. “Sure,” he said, giving Kit a searching look. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I just….” He paused, then looked away. He wasn’t sure he could explain the things he felt in a way that wasn’t part of a song. “Sometimes it’s hard to think that if I’d just listened back then, maybe things would have turned out different.”
“Maybe.” Kit inclined his head to acknowledge the point. “But it’s not all on you. I didn’t exactly use my words to communicate clearly either,” he added with a wry smile. “Please don’t pile guilt on yourself. Your parents did more than enough of that already.”
Luka snorted, then looked up again. “Didn’t they just. I try not to think about it too much, not anymore. I got a lot of my anger out in the Sultana songs.” He shrugged. “Pain is a little harder to deal with, you know? But I’m not going to let my mother hurt me, not ever again.”
“ Good .” Kit seemed on the verge of saying more, but instead, he gestured at the cello. “I really do like the new song. No matter what feeling is behind it, your music always has an edge. Sultana tried to measure up to the first album, but the new music isn’t as powerful without your heart in it.”
Luka felt his cheeks heating up. He hadn’t listened to any Sultana music since he’d left the group, but he’d seen the various reviews of both the first and second albums. “Since we’re being honest here, I guess I should admit to a feeling of vindication that the critics preferred the songs I’d written to your new stuff. It was stupid, immature schadenfreude, but.…”
“But the critics were right,” Kit said with a little shrug. “Sultana hasn’t been the same band without you.” He released a sharp breath and glanced away. “It hasn’t felt right .”
“Well, the fans obviously love you.” Luka didn’t want Kit to feel bad — and besides, there really wasn’t anything that could be done about it now. Even though he’d made up with Kit, and they were friends again, the F-Holes needed Luka in a way that Sultana no longer did. “I can only dream that the F-Holes will make it as big as Sultana has. But it’s a different band with a different sound, even if I’m writing the music.”
“I think you will.” Kit looked at Luka again, his expression open, and Luka didn’t pick up any dishonest or pandering vibes.
“We’ll see,” Luka replied. “I’ve learned not to count on anything in this industry. I know we were lucky you stepped in for Jett. I don’t even have to ask Greg about audience numbers to know that we’re drawing more people because of you. That wouldn’t have happened if we’d gotten a session musician. So… thanks.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Kit said softly.
Luka nodded. He looked down at his cello, suddenly confused by the way Kit looking at him made him feel. In order to distract himself, he blurted out, “Hey, do you want to hear the other songs I have for our next album? If you don’t mind telling me what you think.”
Kit scooted to perch on the edge of the couch, his whole face lighting up at the offer. “Sure, I’ll give you some feedback.”
Pleased, Luka took up his bow again. “Get some food and something to drink, and I’ll serenade you,” he said, pleased that Kit wanted to listen. If there was one thing he’d really missed, it was having Kit critique his songs.
Luka knew that eventually Kit was going to have to go back to Sultana, but for now, he was here. Maybe in the future, they could zoom call or something if their schedules permitted. It wouldn’t be as good as being together, but at least it would mean Kit was back in his life.
If there could never be more, he was simply had to accept that it could be enough.