Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
Felix
I turn over the vinyl case of Hollow Pointe ’s most popular album. At least, according to the record store clerk, their debut Lovin’ On The Run was the most popular —but in his opinion their third album, Shot In The Dark , was the best.
I bought all four Hollow Pointe albums, if only because when I tried to search the band on Spotify nothing came up.
Seriously, what artist isn’t on Spotify?
That’s highly suspicious.
The sound is unmistakably very eighties, but it isn’t terrible.
The lead singer, Isaax Peregrine, has an almost operatic voice that seems well stated to heavy drums and blaring guitars.
I swivel back and forth in my lush, red hand chair—it’s one of my favorite items in my house—with my cat, Samson, purring away in my lap.
I swear he’s the only cat on Earth who can sleep through the loud music playing in my home studio.
I stroke his soft, warm fur as I scroll through my search results on my phone.
Isaax swoons about the loss of his greatest love, wailing like a dying cat as Duncan’s heavy drums and screaming guitars frame his vocals.
I get the drama of what he’s trying to do, but the way he’s trying to portray it doesn’t hit the way I think it is supposed to. He just sounds... whiney.
A quick search of Hollow Pointe reveals that Issax is on his fourth wife now, and the remaining members of the band are also notoriously divorced.
Except for Duncan McKay.
I stop on an article written in the early 80’s, talking about how the famous drummer “left it all” to settle down and start a family.
The photograph shows a much younger and somewhat leaner version of the drummer who’s taken Sully’s place.
Though the muscles are still there, visible in his biceps as he stands there grinning in a sleeveless shirt, sans beard.
A part of me envies the smile on Duncan’s face. He looks genuinely happy.
Samson shifts in my lap, his tail curling around my wrist.
How anyone could leave this good little kitty is beyond me, but I’ll be damned if Sully actually tries to come back for him.
I will fight for custody of this purr factory if I must.
He is one of the only things that actually does make me happy.
Isaax’s whiny power ballad descends into another high-octane song, and I can’t help but focus on another photograph of Duncan and his exposed biceps, his sideways dark glance full of intrigue.
My memory fills in the gaps, recognizing the same dark look in the eyes of his youth from the steadfast gaze I’d seen earlier.
Though the man playing stand-in is not quite as toned as his former photo, and he’s definitely gained a few pounds, I can’t say he isn’t still attractive.
It’s just... different.
Then I see the search results related to the article below the one about him leaving it all to start a family.
Marci McKay Death.
My heart stops for a moment, and I fight the urge to click it.
Morbid curiosity blooms in me, because I want to know what happened, but I also feel like it’s not my fucking place.
I don’t know much about relationships in general, hell, I’ve never been close enough to anyone to want to go the fucking distance like Duncan has, so I can only imagine losing someone like that.
But I don’t have to decide whether or not to click on the ominous headline, because Samson meows, distracting me from my momentary lapse of thought and my stomach growls.
“Fucking ay,” I mumble as I move, Samson springing out of my lap onto the floor and down the hall within seconds, just as a text dings with the shrill, saccharine “I’ll tell ya what I want!” sample from the Spice Girls ’ #1 song.
There’s nothing Jinger hates more than being tormented about how her name is so close to Geri Halliwell, the infamous Ginger Spice.
I sigh as I bring up the notification, the sounds of Hollow Pointe blaring down the hall as I walk toward the kitchen to look for something edible.
Heyyyy Lixy...
I roll my eyes, knowing from the excessive use of y’s, she’s probably already at least a little buzzed.
Plus she only calls me Lixy when she wants something. Just like Sully.
The fact she doesn’t even wait for my response before engaging in a response is telling enough.
Does Lixxxy want to come out and play? This place is so fucking boring...
I stare at her text as I lean against my kitchen counter.
Hollow Pointe ’s “ Loose Canon ” echoes down the hall as a voice I don’t recognize as Issax wafts through the chill air.
You’re a loose canon, and baby, I’m the fuse
You’re a match, and baby, I just want to be used
Go off the rails and explode like a cherry bomb
I’m a loose cannon, baby, and you’re a loaded gun.
The words are heavy, thick with a growl that makes my cock twitch. The voice is darker, smoother than Issax. Must be a feature of some up and comer who never made it big.
Samson twists his furry body around my legs as I stare at the screen, at Jinger’s photo that accompanies her text.
She gazes up at me from beneath thick lashes, pouting her cherry-glossed lips.
Maybe if I wasn’t solely into dudes, and she wasn’t constantly trying to lie to herself about her own sexuality, it could have worked out between us.
For a sliver of a moment, I want to say yes.
Yes, let’s fuck shit up and cause a riot. Let’s drink until we can’t remember who the fuck we are, until we forget who we’re supposed to be.
But Duncan’s words reverberate in my psyche, like a spell.
You want to stop feeling like a piece of shit? Stop treating yourself like a piece of shit.
Samson meows as he moves away, leaving me to my devices.
I swipe off of my messages, opting instead, for take out.
It’s not like anything good happens when Drunk Spice and I are together, anyway.
I’m sure if I give it five minutes, she’ll be on to some other asshole.
Instead, I turn off the record, order some sushi from Sake Star, and turn on my TV.
The sun sets through my floor to ceiling windows, bathing my living room in shades of ochre and red as I curl up on my couch. Samson lounges on the coffee table, barely even inches away from my box of sushi, as if one distraction will land him some salmon.
I grab my box, sinking back into my cushions as I browse the programs, when I come across a Behind The Music special on fucking Hollow Pointe .
Intrigued, I can’t help but put it on.
Samson mewls in protest as I stuff some salmon sashimi in my mouth.
When the band comes on screen, I almost have to chuckle.
Isaax and his long, silky black hair amid his glam makeup make him look like some cross between Tommy Lee and a lost member of KISS. But I guess he was going for a birds of prey schtick with all the black and feathers.
The host drones on about how Hollow Pointe was discovered on the strip, and signed a record deal when the members were only sixteen and seventeen.
I blink, stunned as the camera pans to a young, seventeen year old Duncan McKay.
Black eyeliner lines his chocolate eyes, accenting rosy, contoured cheeks. His face is clean-shaven, all the angles sharp and pronounced from the glitter on his face, against his shaggy black and red, teased hair. His arms are leaner, but those dreamy biceps are still on display.
Like Issax and the rest of the band, he’s dolled up in tight black leather pants and a similar black leather vest.
With the eyeliner, his rosy blush, glitter, and wait... is that a lip ring ?
I nearly choke on my salmon as Samson meows loudly.
Jesus Christ.
Duncan in makeup and leather... with a piercing... He was fucking hot.
My cock twitches with confirmation, as I focus on stuffing my face with more sushi as the host drones on about drama behind the scenes.
Apparently Issax was a bit of a hothead.
A loose canon, I realize.
As if fate has a disturbed sense of humor, they show the band in the studio, recording the tune.
And I’m surprised to see the vocals aren’t some one hit wonder.
Isaax and Duncan stand side by side, headphones smashing their hair to their heads, singing.
Those growly, deep vocals... fuck.
Duncan can sing, too.
I reach for my phone, Samson swatting at me as I do so.
“Oh shush!” I chastise him. He mewls in defeat, and I can’t help but rip a piece off the corner of one of my tuna sashimi pieces.
“Okay, that’s it, though!” Samson purrs as he devours the small piece of fish in one bite.
I pull up Hollow Pointe ’s discography. I peruse every article on Duncan McKay specifically that I can find as the host drones on about Issax and his antics.
Drugs, sex, and of course, fucking his bandmates girlfriends behind their back.
Typical shit. Why anyone thinks this kind of crap is groundbreaking is beyond me.
My search only lists Duncan on one track. Loose Canon .
A failed solo album comes up in the results.
Apparently, like the rest of his band mates, my stand-in drummer tried to launch his own singing career, but according to Rolling Stone, the release of Duncan McKay’s Heartbreaker was canceled before it could debut. Issax released his own solo album, and not long after the band called it quits.
I drop my phone, grabbing my box to finish my dinner, noting the sun has officially gone down.
I watch intently as the host of the show continues to show off footage of Hollow Pointe in their prime.
Of Duncan in his prime.
When I’m done with my sushi, Samson jumps into my lap, creating a furry ball of warmth as he purrs away.
Sated, warm, and comfortable, I close my eyes as the sounds of Hollow Pointe on VH1 lull me into darkness.
The unmistakable melody of Lovin’ On The Run echoes in the darkness, and there is only the spotlight.
I’ll take my lovin’ on the run
Across the great divide
Bring you to the finish line just to make you come
Then I’ll take my lovin’ on the... on the run
The light is bright, almost blinding as I saunter toward it. The closer I get, the warmer I feel.
When I finally reach it, I can see that the stage is not empty.
There sits Duncan, jeans strained against his thick thighs, microphone between his legs. My gaze settles on his knuckles, on the way he holds the mic. The spotlight casts shadows on his face and he grips the handle of the mic, his dark gaze burning into mine.
I’m frozen in place as he opens his mouth, captivated by the one man show.
I get lost in his deep, growl of a voice, in the curve of his delicious bicep, in the prowess in which he commands my attention as he sings.
The steady beat of drums echo in the darkness as he sings. Somewhere in my psyche I know I’m dreaming, the music echoing in my brain likely the result of Hollow Pointe binge, but it’s strangely soothing.
I approach Duncan, slipping between the open space between his thighs, the microphone disappearing.
His dark gaze flashes to my lips as I set my hands on his thighs, feeling the thickness of the muscle there.
I’m well aware that my placement puts me front and center, and I have the understanding that if I wanted to let this man devour me, he could.
He could swallow me up whole and I wouldn’t be able to resist such an escape.
“I’ll take this lovin’ on the run,” I sing along with him, as our voices tangle together in a dark, unchained melody.
“Your carnage is mine to take,” he croons, the syllables causing my damn cock to twitch.
I slide my hands up and down his thighs, gripping them tightly as I stare up at him from under my lashes.
“I’m a loose canon, and you’re a loaded gun,” I whisper, my lips only inches away from his scruffy beard.
My gaze falls on his lips, on the sliver of silver pierced through his bottom lip. The man before me isn’t the Duncan McKay I know, but yet he is.
He’s some cerebral amalgamation of past and present, and uncertain future.
“Yes, you are,” he growls out, his hands sliding around my waist, holding me in place as he gazes down at me with an intensity that is both unnerving, and dare I say, intoxicating.
And as his words settle on me, as his large hands settle along my sides, holding me in place, I think I am more than fucking doomed.
“You’re early,” Lou snaps as he shuts the studio door.
He isn’t wrong. I’m not usually an early riser by any means, especially on studio days, but after falling asleep at damn near nine pm last night, and that weird fucking dream, I feel strangely... revived.
Which was why I decided to go for a ride on my bike, which I haven’t done in months. Sully despised my bike, not because he hated motorcycles, but because he said with all the money I have, I could have afforded a new bike. That I didn’t need the bike I clung to like a baby blanket.
Even now, his words make my blood boil. I bought the damn thing with my first paycheck from the record company. I didn’t have a driver’s license yet, since I got signed only ten days after my sixteenth birthday.
“Yeah, well, I wanted to go for a ride. Beat the traffic, you know,” I chirp as I continue to tune my guitar.
Lou raises an eyebrow. “Palo and Co. won’t be in until nine,” he says nonchalantly.
I nod as I strum out a test, making sure everything is good to go for my warm ups.
So, I’ve got an hour until Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass show up. Good to know.
I grunt my understanding as he leaves me in the studio and I put my headphones in.
I strum out the beginning strings of Loose Cannon since I can’t seem to get it out of my mind.
I relax, plucking away at the strings, following along with his words that echo in my psyche, remembering the pattern until we hit the part with the major guitar solo.
Which is not as difficult for me as it should be, being as I grew up glued to my guitar. Friends weren’t something I had a lot of, and most of my time was spent in my room jamming out or sending queries to agents.
When I finish the song, I roll into Lovin’ On The Run .
I have to admit, it is actually kind of fun to play. I’m just wrapping it up when I look up and see Palo dropping his shit off in his chair, followed by Corpse, Eddie and... Duncan.
I pull out my headphones, feeling almost sort of embarrassed, though I’m not sure why.
I stop the music, shaking off the weird vibes as the boys enter, Duncan casting me a stoic, steady look that I can’t deny makes my entire body stiffen.
Suddenly, I feel more than alert, almost hyper-aware of his gaze, my brain trying to adjust to the reality of the here and now.
His gaze is not judgmental, but it’s knowing enough, and I have to wonder if he heard me jamming out to his music.
Why did I care if he heard me?
Music is meant to be consumed and enjoyed, so why do I feel so on the spot all of a sudden?
Eddie and Corpse take their spots, grunting their greetings at me. I can tell by the bags under Corpse’s eyes, he’s had a long night, but no one seems to give a shit if he gets fucked up.
No, they only seem to give a shit about me, because I make headlines when I fuck around.
Eddie tunes his guitar as Duncan nods at me with a half-smile.
“First one in the building. Gotta say, I’m impressed.” He nods.
I shrug, clutching my guitar in front of me, if only to provide a modicum of space, lest I want a repeat of yesterday.
I glance up at Duncan, taking in his present-day features.
And for a moment, it’s almost as if I can see the familiar bright-eyed drummer from all those years ago.
My gaze settles on his lips, and a part of me wonders what he’d look like with a ring today, amidst his scruffy beard.
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of shit you don’t know about me, Duncan,” I reply, followed with a scoff, if only because I fear being this close to Duncan, he might actually see through me.
Past all the bullshit, all the things I keep hidden.
I worry for a moment that Duncan McKay might actually see the truth, that somehow, someway he could discern my chaotic thoughts and recent semi-obsession with Hollow Pointe .
Because as far as I’m concerned, it’s just good business practice right?
Certainly, I’m not obsessed with a man I just met who I barely know.
That would be crazy, right?