Chapter Eleven
Bowie
I ached. It was crazy to burn like fire coursed through my veins after a few simple kisses, but it had been three years since anyone had touched me the way he had, let alone kissed me the way he’d kissed me back.
For a moment, I’d feared I’d fucked up, slamming our lips together, but I’d been consumed by need and a desperation I’d never felt before, not even the first time I’d fumbled around in the front seat of a car with someone.
It wasn’t just the kiss that had left me aching and needy though, it was the way he’d touched me.
Slowly, gently tracing my scars until he’d erased my fear bit by bit, brushed to the wayside by those sweet caresses and the words that accompanied them.
That he saw beauty where I only saw wreckage was a struggle to comprehend, but I’d learned young how to look someone in the eyes and take the measure of them, and there had been no lies in those brilliant blue depths, just heat, like he’d been waiting for the chance to put his hands on me.
I’d felt the same but never noticed him harboring the same urges that had plagued me since the day I’d been chosen as the band’s guitarist and almost convinced myself that he’d been flirting with me.
I’d almost made an idiot out of myself and tried flirting back too, something I hadn’t done since before my accident.
I was pretty sure I was rusty at everything and all points in between.
I’d rushed the kiss, nearly tackling him in the process, and I’d failed to use my words to make sure kissing him was okay before I’d done it.
I could have blown everything in that single moment that I’d been so desperate to reconnect again.
What he’d given me in response…did he even know how much it meant to me that he didn’t want me to hide my face to make myself and the world more comfortable, and what he’d said, about using the music and my presence up on the stage as a way of sending a message to others, to let them know that it was okay to just be themselves, well that resonated with me, especially when there were times when I could have used a dose of that myself.
Now, standing in the shower, thinking about that kiss and the way my body had lit up the moment he’d caressed my face, I found my hand drifting south, circling my length, giving a gentle squeeze and a tug, until I groaned, grateful for the water pouring over my head to help stifle it.
So what if I let myself drift completely into fantasy for several minutes?
These past three years I hadn’t even allowed myself to dream about someone wanting me, and now, well, my mind was alive with possibilities and images of getting down on my knees for him while his fingers carded through my hair as I sucked his length.
Didn’t take much to get me coming, just a few tugs and a very vivid imagination.
Panting, I leaned against the wall and took the time to collect myself before I finished my shower.
This time it wasn’t Pressley I ran into while crossing the hallway, it was Tony, who eyed me with the mother hen look he got sometimes when he knew I hadn’t been taking care of myself.
“You better not be planning to stay up all night again,” he cautioned me.
“And don’t even think about being up early tomorrow, it’s Saturday.
We’ve got two days to rest, recharge, and work out a game plan for Monday, with an emphasis on rest. The last thing we need is for you to wind up with a bout of insomnia again, not when the crash puts you out of commission for at least three whole days.
We had a deal, remember? Six hours minimum every night, eight on the rare times you skip a night like you did yesterday.
It’s past midnight now, I don’t want to see you in the kitchen before nine.
Don’t wanna hear you up and moving around either, got it? ”
“Yes mom.”
“You know I’ll call her too, don’t even try me,” he warned.
“I’ll get Pressley involved too. You heard what he said about keeping him in the loop.
You not getting the sleep you need constitutes a concern, so consider last night your one pass, okay?
I’m serious about this Bowie, you know how bad your nightmares get when you haven’t slept for a while. ”
“I know,” I replied, feeling sufficiently chastised and rightfully so.
There wasn’t a goddamned thing he’d said to me that neither my parents nor my doctors hadn’t constantly reminded me of, especially once I’d been able to go back to living on my own again.
Hell, I’d practically begged him to keep on my ass about those things after the last run of sleepless nights followed by near endless nightmares, which had driven me closer to the breaking point than I’d ever been.
It had taken some prescription-level sleeping pills and adherence to a strict bedtime regime to get myself back on track again.
I did not need that happening here, not when an issue like that could lead to a disruption in the practice schedule that had been laid out for us.
He appraised me from head to toe, then nodded.
“He touched my face,” I muttered, meeting Tony’s gaze across the hall.
“And not just for a moment either. He caressed my scars and called me beautiful and told me that he didn’t want me to hide anymore.
I-I kissed him. I was just so blown away by the whole moment.
One minute he was telling me that I didn’t need stage makeup or any other kind of prop, and the next, I was crushing our lips together like an overexcited prom date.
I don’t know what came over me. I haven’t been that forward with someone since before the accident.
I told him about it too. What happened and all.
Guess after he saw the wreckage firsthand the other night and didn’t run screaming, I figured that it would be okay to open up to him. ”
“Thank Jupiter for that!” Tony declared.
“I was beginning to wonder when you’d get your head out of your ass and see that the only thing he cares about is making sure that you’re settling in here and are mentally prepared for the upcoming practice sessions, which you wouldn’t have been if you’d kept on worrying so much about whether or not those scars were showing.
Whether you recognized it or not, that was a huge step you took tonight when you sat down at the table across from Claude instead of waiting to make sure I was going to be sitting across from you.
He needed to hear what you had to say to him.
You’ve been him, and I know you have regrets about the way you acted.
Getting him to nip it in the bud before we get rolling will only help us come together as a band.
You’ve got experience in that department.
I don’t, and you heard Tibby the other night, he’s never been in a band that lasted more than six months, so we’re going to be looking to you for leadership in Imminent. Our mentors can only do so much.”
He'd hit that nail on the head, and eloquently too. “I know. I think I recognized that at the barbeque this past weekend. He was the best drummer of the lot, not by a large margin, but I could still see it, even if his attitude totally put me off. I could see his passion too, he loves beating away on those skins and takes a lot of pride in his playing. I got the impression, for just a moment, that he’d been hoping for a crumb of praise and was hurt when he didn’t get it. ”
“Man, looking at the way Diamond handled things today, I think a guy has to be next level exceptional to get even a good job out of him. Like, seriously, he doesn’t look like much impresses him, though I doubt it takes much to trip his pissed-off button.
That glare he shot Claude for crowing like a fuckin’ peacock, that’s not a look I’d ever want directed at me. ”
“Dude, if he ever looked at me like that, I’d just start digging my own grave and be done with it,” I admitted. “And would probably try and drag the dirt back over myself too. No need for him to go stomping me down an extra three feet just for annoying the piss out of him.”
We snickered at that, because Diamond had seriously been intimidating, then said goodnight, with plans for nothing but vegging out and strategizing for the weekend to come.
Too bad Monday morning blew in like a hurricane, complete with a bit of an alarm fiasco and a coffee pot disaster to boot.
Not only had we abused the snooze buttons on our alarms come morning after a Sunday night jam session where Tony and I shared some of the songs we’d written together with Pressley and Wolf, who’d popped over to enjoy beautifully grilled steaks and baked potatoes with us, but Pressley had also forgotten to turn his coffee mug right-side up and wasted a whole Keurig pod and several cleaning wipes, dispensing his coffee all over the bottom of the mug.
Snarly didn’t even begin to describe his mood by the time we’d hurried to get ready and piled into his truck, though me riding in the front seat with him seemed to mellow him out a bit. At least until we hit traffic.
“Where did you get your license, a Cracker Jack box!” Pressley snarled as the car in front of us started with the left turn signal on, then midway out of our lane, switched directions without switching the directional, and shot into the opposite lane, forcing a smaller car to brake and the driver to lay on their horn.
“Probably got it in lieu of a participation trophy just for showing up to drivers ed,” Tony grumbled from the backseat.
I chuckled at that, while Pressley shot a guy the bird for talking on his phone while going well under the speed limit, backing up a lane of traffic while drawing the ire of more than just our manager, who I was learning did not like to be late.
In fact, not being early seemed to be the same thing as being late in Pressley’s eyes, and something I was not about to forget anytime soon, not with the way he was scowling out the windshield.
“Turn signals were invented for a reason, asshole,” Pressley cursed beneath his breath. “I swear Monday mornings bring out the idiocy in people, especially when they get behind the wheel.”
It was hard not to snicker, and a few did slip out, from me and from Tony, several times before we pulled up to the building.
Apparently two minutes early did not qualify as early enough in Pressley’s book, so there was a bit of a dash getting inside, with me lugging my favorite practice guitar as we headed in.
Tibby was there, sitting in a chair, checking the tuning on his bass, while Claude finished taping the setlist we’d put together in our group chat to the back of his drum kit.
I was glad to see he’d come in early enough to have it ready on time.
I’d tuned my guitar last night, which meant it only needed a few tweaks after I’d plugged in before we were ready to try out our first song together.
Mark another point in the win column for Joey and Stoli when it came to being on-the-ball mentors, because the advice they’d given us had allowed us to handle all our preplanning before we walked through those doors.
Only there Claude was, one fucking song in, showing off all the things he hadn’t been able to show off at the audition, and yeah, dude could play, better than we’d even recognized, but seriously?
Thinking back to what Tony had said in the hallway on Friday night, I did the only thing I could think to do, and that was put my guitar in the stand and approach the fucking drum kit.
“Okay,” I said, keeping my tone calm and even.
“You’ve made your point, you’re good. Every one of us got here because we impressed somebody.
That’s in the past. This is today. Today it’s not about making an impact; it’s about being cohesive, which is what we need to be before we can even think about creating our own music together.
Now, I’m certain Diamond has Slade on speed dial, and I’m willing to bet he’d jump at the opportunity to have a second chance, especially if all he had to do was follow simple instructions, so here’s your challenge for the day, let’s see if you’re up to it.
Play the songs the way they’re written, nothing more, nothing less.
Forget about trying to be flashy, forget about trying to make a point, just keep the fucking beat for us so we can all find a rhythm together. Can you do that, Claude?”
I’d done something today that I hadn’t done for any of the previous auditions: I’d worn my hair back in a ponytail, and I’d let the goddamn scars show.
The elastic wasn’t tight, I’d deliberately put it in loose enough that I could tug it free if I started to feel too self-conscious.
In this instance though, it actually seemed to work to my advantage.
Maybe because the hair wasn’t there to detract from or partially obscure the fierceness of my stare, or maybe he was busy trying to figure out if those scars were the result of one hell of a brawl.
Either way, he nodded solemnly and didn’t even open his mouth to try and offer up a bunch of feeble excuses I didn’t want to hear anyway.
“Alright then,” I declared as I strode back to my guitar, “let’s take it from the top.”
This time, when we launched into Pantera’s Walk, Claude kept to the classic tempo and didn’t lay a stick out of line.
He took direction, yippee, but I still wasn’t sure how this was all going to work out for us.
On one hand, I could tell that he truly did want to be here, on the other, I felt, deep down, like he truly believed he had something to prove.
What he hadn’t figured out yet was that he’d be able to do that if he toed the line and worked with us to bring this band together into a cohesive unit.
Until we could function as one, no one, not even me, would be able to freelance.
I got it, I did, the temptation was right there beneath my fingertips.
What musician didn’t want to shine on their chosen instrument, but patience and practice were key.
Still, that little burst of improvement Claude had displayed had shown me something that truly called to my creative side, and I found myself wanting him to keep it together and conform, because I could see the possibilities he could unleash in a song once we started creating together, and damnit all, I wanted to get there with him.