Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
F or Kit, the rest of the Las Vegas gig flew by. Between their performances and sightseeing — and spending time with Luka — he felt like there weren’t enough hours in the day. He and Luka were growing closer, but there was still a sort of gulf between them he couldn’t seem to cross. Part of it was his own hesitation to push for more when he’d already made so much progress with Luka, and the rest was a sort of hesitancy he sensed coming from Luka himself. There was still something that Luka was holding back, something that Kit instinctively sensed was different about the way Luka saw him now. He could sense it when he saw Luka sometimes watching him when he thought Kit wasn’t looking, or when they accidentally touched and Luka seemed to pull back or turn away. It left him uncertain of how to proceed, or even if he should. Did he settle for having Luka back in his life, and leave it at that, or should he risk everything by possibly pushing too hard and losing him completely?
By the time they reached Black Rock City, the site of Rocktoberfest, Kit still didn’t know what to do. But his time with the band was swiftly running out, and he might lose all the progress he’d made. Sure, they would still be friends, but it wouldn’t be the same once they weren’t together every day.
And it wouldn’t be what Kit really wanted.
He was distracted from his ruminations by a shout from Kris, who had been looking out of the front of the bus.
“Oh, wow, it’s huge!” she said. “Guys, you have to see this.”
Kit turned his attention from his phone to the window as they entered the area. Black Rock City sprang up temporarily every year, and he’d read that all the structures were put up and taken down every time, leaving no trace that anyone had been there. It was impressive, to say the least, the way the stages rose from the desert, and the absolutely mind-boggling number of vehicles of all types that housed the “residents” for the duration of Rocktoberfest. He saw everything from tattered tents to luxury buses and RVs, as well as some wooden structures that looked like they could either be places where people could stay or bizarre art projects. It was rather awe-inspiring, and he hoped he could lure Luka out to explore.
As for Luka himself, he’d been quiet and introspective ever since they’d left Vegas after the previous night’s show. Of course they’d all been tired, so everyone had been racked out in their bunks shortly after departing the MGM Grand, but Luka hadn’t seemed to be caught up in everyone else’s excitement about Rocktoberfest.
Kit had to squelch the part of himself that wanted to hover over Luka and make sure he was all right, because his old instinct to take care of Luka had come surging back full-force. But he was pretty sure he hadn’t earned back his hovering privileges yet, and so he settled for concerned glances while their driver maneuvered the bus into its designated spot. As comfortable as the bus was, it was still a bus , and Kit was ready to stretch his legs. Maybe Luka was too?
He made his way to where Luka sat and dropped down beside him. “Want to go look around after we’re finally stopped? I’ve heard about this place, and I’ve always wanted to see it.”
Luka glanced up from his notebook, where Kit could see he’d been idly writing descriptions and impressions. Kit saw notes about “empty spaces,” “endless plains,” and “vast, barren mountains,” and he knew Luka was probably going to have a song about his thoughts on the desert before long. “Sure, I’m game.”
Kit’s heart fluttered with hope, and he gave it a stern reminder that agreeing to walk around Black Rock City with him wasn’t a date. But it was another chance for Kit to connect with Luka outside of the demands of the tour, and Kit needed all of those he could get.
“Great!” Kit resisted the urge to bounce with all the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning, but his desire for the damned bus to get parked doubled.
Finally , the bus was parked and secured, and they were all cleared to leave. Kit stood up and stretched, and then he glanced down at Luka.
“Ready?” he asked softly, and before he could talk himself out of it, he offered his hand to Luka. He was not going to try to hold Luka’s hand like they were middle school sweethearts…but if Luka happened to not let go, well.
For a moment, Luka hesitated, giving Kit another of those searching looks he’d become familiar with over the last week or so. It didn’t seem to be mistrust, but more as if Luka was looking for something, or maybe just thinking about something he wasn’t willing to share.
But it was only for a moment. Then Luka reached out, taking Kit’s hand and letting himself be helped up. Unfortunately, he didn’t keep hold of it, but he didn’t drop it like a hot potato, either.
Dmitri and Andre had been the first off the bus, and Jo smiled at them as they passed where she was sitting in a recliner. “Have fun,” she said. “Once Kris gets my wheelchair, we’re going exploring too.”
“I’m sure we’ll see you around,” Luka replied, smiling at her before continuing to the door. He hopped down the steps, then came to a dead stop right at the bottom.
Kit avoided colliding with Luka, and he instinctively steadied himself with his hands on Luka’s shoulders. Questions about why Luka had stopped so abruptly died on Kit’s lips when he followed Luka’s gaze — and saw Andre and Dmitri deep in animated conversation with Jett Turner. The musician Kit had been brought in to cover for.
Shit . Kit’s heart sank even though he saw Jett’s right wrist was still in a splint. What was Jett doing here? Had he been called back? Had Luka gotten so tired of Kit hanging around that he’d requested Jett’s early return? No, that was stupid. Jett couldn’t perform yet. Kit’s position was still safe. For now. But if Jett was already well enough to join the band on tour, how much longer would it be before he was well enough to take his rightful place? And where the hell would that leave Kit?
Belatedly, he realized he’d gone from steadying himself to clutching Luka’s shoulders, and he snatched his hands back with a muttered, “Sorry about that.”
Luka’s focus seemed to be on Jett, and he gave a distracted sounding “S’okay,” in reply to Kit’s apology. He turned to look back over his shoulder at Kit, then moved away from the base of the steps so Kit could get out.
“Hey, guys, look who’s here!” Dmitri, with his typical good humor, seemed to be delighted with Jett’s return.
“Hey!” Jett smiled, moving to give Luka a one-armed hug, before looking back at Kit with a huge grin, his brown eyes sparkling. “I can’t freaking believe that Kit Davies is subbing for me! It’s great to finally meet you. I’ve been a fan of yours ever since Sultana’s first album!”
Kit plastered on a friendly smile and approached Jett, offering his left hand for a handshake. “It’s good to meet you too,” he said. “I’ve heard all about you from these guys — all good, of course. You’ve been missed.”
Jett gripped Kit’s hand firmly. “If it’s all good, you obviously haven’t been talking to Dmitri. Either that, or he’s lying to protect the band’s rep.” Up close, Kit could see that Jett was younger than the rest of the band members, and he was looking at Kit with something close to hero worship. “I just had to come out and meet you in person, and with all the other great musicians here, I couldn’t resist.”
“How did you get here?” Luka asked. He seemed disturbed, and Kit saw him staring hard at Jett’s splint. “You didn’t drive with that wrist, did you?”
Jett shook his head. “Nah. I flew into Reno with my cousin Travis, then we rented a small RV and drove out. Travis is a huge fan of Midnight Hunt, so he was pumped when I told him I got band passes from Headcrash and he could get backstage. He’s gone out to stalk them and Hellsbane, but I wanted to see you guys first.”
Kit wracked his brain for a tactful way to ask how much time he had left with the band before Jett was ready to take back his place, but he couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound blunt or rude. Finally, he settled on a more neutral question.
“How’s your wrist doing?” he asked, trying to sound both casual and concerned.
“It’s okay,” Jett sighed, lifting it to show them the lightweight splint. “I have one more week in this, mostly as a precaution, but I still need a couple more weeks of physical therapy to build back up my strength. The docs said it’s up to me, but I’m already able to play a bit. I should be all set by the time you guys finish Canada in the middle of next month, and I’ll be able to do the west coast part of the tour.”
“That’s awesome!” Dmitri said, clapping Jett on the back.
A giant ball of ice formed in the pit of Kit’s stomach, and he forced the friendly smile to remain in place. He knew he should say something supportive like “Congratulations” or “Great news,” but all he really wanted to do was tell Jett to fuck off and let him finish the tour. The time he thought he had to wriggle his way under Luka’s walls had just dwindled to mere weeks, and he wasn’t sure that would be enough time for the slow and steady approach to work. But pushing too much too quickly was a risky move, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to make it.
Why the hell couldn’t Jett have stayed gone ?
By this point, Kris had brought Jo out, placing her carefully in her wheelchair before the two of them also greeted Jett, and the “good news” was repeated. Everyone seemed pleased, though Luka was standing back with almost a pensive look on his face. Then Kit was distracted as Jett looked at him with a hopeful expression.
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m kicking you out,” he said. “And I definitely hope we can perform together before you have to get back to Sultana. It’s been great knowing someone like you was filling in for me, but I heard Sultana would be making a new album in the spring. I bet you’re excited about that!”
“It should be interesting,” Kit said in as light a tone as he could muster, choosing a neutral response. What he wanted to say was that he wasn’t excited about the new album or about returning to Sultana. He was far more excited to hear the new music Luka was composing, and he practically ached to play it, much like he had with the first Sultana album. “We’ll make sure we have a performance together before I have to go.”
He noticed motion out of the corner of his eye, and when he looked, he saw Luka quickly heading back into the bus. A few moments later, he came back out, holding his acoustic cello and a bow. He turned quickly and headed off, away from the group, and Jett followed him with his eyes.
“I swear, if I wasn’t used to Luka when he’s composing, I’d probably think he was one of the rudest people I ever met,” Jett laughed, then shook his head. “But I owe him. If he hadn’t grabbed me off the street to be in the F-Holes, I don’t know where I’d be now.”
“What do you mean?” Kit was curious enough about that statement to tear his gaze away from Luka’s retreating back and focus on the people around him.
“What, you haven’t heard the story of the F-Holes, or Luka’s Lost Waifs?” Kris asked, shaking her head. “The music scene in LA is crazy. All of us were struggling, either looking for work or dealing with something. Sometimes both.”
“Yeah,” Jo chimed in with her quiet voice. “I had just become wheelchair bound due to my illness, and Kris was dealing with that and working and trying to get a break as a singer. Luka heard Kris at an open mic night at a club, and he immediately asked her if she wanted to be in a band.”
“I was tossed out after coming out to my dad. I’d just turned 18 and hadn’t even graduated yet,” Jett said. “I was playing on the streets for spare change, hoping to get a spot in a gay friendly shelter. Luka heard me one day and pulled me into the F-Holes.”
“You already know about me.” Dmitri shrugged. “Let’s say I wasn’t happy with the direction of my life, and Luka convinced me to follow my heart instead of my head.”
Andre looked more hesitant. “I wasn’t doing great either. Playing session gigs part time, working in a crap hole restaurant just trying to get by. We wouldn’t be together if it wasn’t for Luka.”
Kit smiled wryly. Of course, the F-Holes were Luka’s little found family. Luka had been searching for a place to belong and people to belong with ever since his father died and his mother laid down an ultimatum. A twinge of guilt shot through him at the thought that perhaps Luka had hoped Sultana would be that found family he sought, but instead, he’d felt rejected all over again.
“That sounds about right,” he said. “I’m glad you all found each other.”
And I hope Luka will let me back into the family one day.
“We are, too,” Kris agreed. “Hey, are we going to see what there is to see around here or what? We can talk as we walk.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Dmitri said, glancing around the area.
Several bands had arrived already, and while they were in a special area set aside for performers — and Kit could see there was security around the area, keeping an eye on things — there were still a lot of people walking around and heading toward the area where a huge tent was set up. Greg had explained the setup, that there would be catering for the performers, as well as on-site medical staff in a central area.
As curious as he’d been about exploring Black Rock City, all Kit wanted to do now was find Luka. He had no idea what — if anything — he might say or do when he did, but the urge was too strong to ignore.
“You go on ahead,” he said, making a little shooing motion with both hands. “I’ve got a couple of things I want to check on first.”
The others seemed to accept his words at face value, so they waved at him and set off, melting into the mass of people walking down the bus-and-RV lined area. More vehicles were pulling in every few minutes, so Luka had probably set out to find somewhere quieter where he could play. Though it was interesting he’d grabbed his acoustic instrument, rather than his electric one.
He headed off in the direction Luka had gone, though he figured the easiest way to find him was to listen, rather than to look. As he moved away from the main area where the band buses were parked, he found a sparser area, maybe where the roadies had their vehicles. It was definitely quieter out here and hotter, too. There was music coming from several directions, but it was easy enough to catch the distinct tones of a cello, especially since Luka was grinding out Shostakovich as though his life depended on it.
A short time later, Kit rounded a bus and saw Luka using the big vehicle for shade. He’d found a large crate to sit on, and now he was sawing at the strings as though possessed. The ferocity of Luka’s performance let Kit know this wasn’t a good time to interrupt. He had no idea what Luka was trying to either process or exorcize, but either way, Luka was in his own world of music right now, and no one, even Kit, had a place in it.
Instead of approaching, Kit hung back and listened, peering around the corner of the bus just enough to let him watch and admire Luka’s intensity.
After several minutes, Luka reached the end, dragging out the last note and closing his eyes. Before Kit could even react, there was the sound of applause, and a man who’d been standing just out of Kit’s line of sight stepped toward Luka. Kit let out a soft annoyed huff, but he remained where he was, not wanting to barge in on someone else’s conversation with Luka.
“Wow, love your Shostakovich!”
Luka started in surprise, then looked up, obviously coming out of his little world at the words. The man looked to be a little older than Kit or Luka, of average height with light brown hair.
“Wait, you recognized that?”
“Well, yeah, his second concerto isn’t exactly obscure.” The man seemed to hesitate. “I didn’t realize you played classical, too.” He stopped, again seeming uncertain. “You are Luka, right? From the F-Holes. I love you guys.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I’m Luka. And until you said something, I would have thought Dmitri and I were the only two people here who’d recognise it. You’re in one of the other bands?”
“Yeah, umm, hi.” The man sighed in apparent relief. “I’m Owen. I play fiddle with Flightless.”
“Oh? Sorry, I’m not familiar.” Luka tilted his head to one side. “Not American, I take it? Though I can’t place your accent.”
“No worries.” Owen shrugged. “I’d be surprised if you have heard of us. We’re a Kiwi band… New Zealand, hence the accent.” He laughed. “World famous in New Zealand… and probably only just. Sorry, local joke. Umm, not placing your accent either.”
“Famous anywhere is better than nothing.” Luka’s lips twisted. “At least that’s what I tried to tell my parents.” He waved his hand dismissively. “My family was from Macedonia, but we came here when I was a kid.”
“This is my first time out of New Zealand. And my mum’s only just coming around to accepting what I do. She’s spent years trying to convince me I needed to get the band out of my system and pursue a real career in music.”
“Shit, really?” Luka gaped at him. “Me too! Only my parents never accepted what I prefer to play or anything else about me. Shostakovich was only barely acceptable to them.” He scowled. “Too modern.”
Kit grimaced at the mention of Luka’s parents. Those controlling assholes were the main reason why Luka still struggled with insecurity and trusting others, and Kit hated them for all the ways, big and small, they’d damaged Luka.
“That sucks, and I like Shostakovich. Their loss.” Owen lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Though I must admit I’m not so fussed on some modern composers.” He gave a theatrical shudder. “Too much mucking around with key and time signatures.”
“I don’t either.” Luka shook his head. “But the folks were horrified I would rather shred my bow on Rammstein than Rimsky-Korsakov.” He rolled his eyes. “They told me I’m wasting my education.”
Owen snorted. “Yeah, and then it’s followed by the reminder of how they’ve supported me to get that education, and had such high hopes for my future.” He echoed Luka’s eye roll. “My brother did the ‘right thing’ and plays flute with an orchestra. Worse when there’s a comparison right there. My parents said all the right words when we’d had a gig, then I’d wait for the but….”
“Exactly.” Luka waved his bow in the air. “Only with mine, it was my damned scholarship that paid my way. But when your grandfather was in the USSR Symphony Orchestra, you’ve supposed to ‘aspire higher than the lowbrow cretins around you’.”
Kit muffled a snicker behind his hand at the thought of Luka’s mother clutching her pearls over the other bands in attendance here, much less the fans. No doubt she’d consider Black Rock City beneath Luka — beneath her — even though it had been a career-making event for some groups. It almost might be worth dragging her out here to see if the sight alone was enough to make her keel over from shock and horror.
“Ouch.” Owen winced, then was quiet for a moment. “I found out recently that Mum wanted a career as a violinist, but it didn’t work out, so she was determined that I should have what she lost. I spent a lot of years knowing she wanted the best for me and trying to pull myself in two directions.” He held up his hand. “I’m not saying that’s what you’re going through. But yeah, family expectations get you with the guilt because deep down, there’s always that thing that they love you and have the best of intentions.”
“Intentions?” Luka laughed bitterly. “I could almost understand if one of my parents had a dream they couldn’t fulfill and wanted to help me fulfill mine. My folks didn’t have a musical bone in either of their bodies. So it was all about me being the only child and ‘carrying on the Petrov legacy.’ Not only did I want to play Metal, I wasn’t about to marry and give them the grandchildren they so desperately wanted, so.…” He shrugged. “You’re lucky your folks love you. Mine only loved me when they thought I was what they wanted me to be.”
Kit knew all of this, of course, but hearing it anew made him long to rush over, pull Luka into a tight embrace, and assure Luka that he was good enough exactly as he was — no parental approval required.
“Oh fuck, I’m sorry.” Owen looked sympathetic. “My parents didn’t have an issue with me being bi, once they got what it meant. That’s one hell of a lot of unreasonable expectations. At some point, you’ve got to live your life for you. Easier said than done, though. Your dreams, not theirs. And you sure as hell don’t need me saying all that either. Sorry.”
Luka ran a hand through his hair. “No, look, I’m sorry. You’re fine. You didn’t need me dumping that on you. It’s been kind of a shit day, and I get in a mood when I feel like I have no control over anything.”
Kit’s eyebrows climbed at that. He assumed Luka would be excited by Jett’s return, and he didn’t understand why that made Luka feel less in control rather than more. Having Jett back would mean a return to the status quo, and Luka always seemed more content when things remained steady and unchanging.
“You’re not dumping on me, and it’s fine. I escape into music when I get like that. It helps.” He gestured to Luka’s cello. “Guessing that’s what the Shostakovich was. I find Beethoven good for that.”
Luka chuckled. “Yeah, or some Metallica. You should bring your fiddle over sometime this weekend, we could totally thrill the unwashed masses with some of the Ariel Quartet. I could even get Dmitri to play violin. He’s a switch in more ways than one.”
“Seriously?” Owen stared at him, open-mouthed. “That would be amazing. I had no idea Dmitri plays violin as well.” A thought seemed to occur to him, and he smiled a bit shyly. “You know what’s crazy? When I play with the band, I think of my violin as a fiddle. When I play classical, it’s a violin. I really need to get over that.”
“Yes, I’m serious,” Luka confirmed. “And Dmitri will deign to use a ‘tiny cello’ on occasion. As long as you don’t go making bets with any devils with your instrument, call it whatever you’d like.”
Owen chuckled. “Not really any devils around our way, so I think I’m safe.” He turned as another man approached them. “Hey.”
Owen introduced Luka to his boyfriend, Jared, and after a few more pleasantries, Kit saw Luka pick up his cello and start toward his position. Kit backed up a bit and then began walking forward as if he’d just arrived. Luka hadn’t revealed anything that Kit didn’t already know, but he still didn’t want to make Luka feel like he was spying.
Luka stopped when he caught sight of Kit. “Hey… is anything wrong?”
Kit did his best to look startled, and he blinked innocently at Luka. “Oh, hey! No, I just wanted to poke around on my own for a bit.” He studied Luka, taking in the slight signs of stress on his expressive face. “I could ask you the same question.”
“Me?” Luka looked down at his cello, then sighed. “Just feeling a little overwhelmed, I guess. Thoughts going around in my head, so I was trying to get rid of them.”
Kit decided to risk putting out a cautious feeler. “If there’s anything you’d like to talk about, I don’t mind being a sounding board,” he said, watching Luka hopefully.
Luka looked almost panicked for a moment before he shook his head. “No, nothing you can do about any of it. I, um, appreciate the offer. I really do, Kit. It’s just something I need to work through on my own.”
Luka’s response didn’t surprise Kit, given the newness of their second-chance friendship combined with Luka’s innate reticence, and so the smile he offered in return was easy and genuine. “I get it,” he said. “But the offer stands if you change your mind.” He paused and gave Luka another concerned once-over. “I can fuck off if you still need to be alone.”
“No, don’t. Please,” Luka replied quickly. “I’m okay now. I let off some steam, and I can deal with things.”
“Let me guess: Shostakovich?” Kit felt a little bad for using his eavesdropping advantage, but to be fair, he would’ve guessed that anyway, knowing Luka as he did.
Luka flushed. “Yeah. It helps, at least a little.” He looked up, meeting Kit’s gaze, almost shyly. “Look, if you’re just walking around, mind if I come with you? I need to put the cello away, of course, but I’m probably better off distracting myself at the moment.”
“Sure!” Kit probably sounded too eager, but he couldn’t help it. Luke requesting his company felt like a significant step forward, and Kit wasn’t about to squander the opportunity.
He didn’t care where they went or what they did as long as he got to spend time with Luka while he still could. Hell, Luka could suggest they walk straight out into the desert toward the distant horizon, and Kit would willingly follow him there too.