Chapter 11
“Next stop, Black Rock City!” Kit whooped as the band bus pulled out of the parking lot in Salt Lake.
The wide grin on Kit’s face would make anyone think that Rocktoberfest was his favorite concert on the planet.
While it was beyond a doubt the most unique and exciting event the F-Holes would play, Dmitri knew that the venue was also where Kit and Luka had gotten together the previous year, and he had a feeling his bandmate was looking forward as much to celebrating a certain anniversary as playing on the stage.
“Now, will you try to top what happened last year?” Dmitri asked, his eyes wide and his tone innocent. Andre, sitting across from him at the dinette, snickered.
“That’s the plan,” Kit said smugly, and then he leered at Luka. His husband only rolled his eyes, but Dmitri caught the heated gleam in Luka’s glance.
“Sheesh, how juvenile can you get?” Kris teased. She reached out to grasp Jo’s hand and squeeze it. “Men.”
“Hey, I resemble that!” Dmitri shot back good-naturedly.
“It’s okay,” Jo said, tossing a grin over her shoulder at the four guys. “We’ll keep you around, not for your lowbrow humor, of course, but for your ability to get things off high shelves. Well, except Dmitri. Why do we keep you around again?”
Sticking his nose in the air, Dmitri sniffed. “Because I’m still the cutest member of the band. Of course, I used to be the only blue-eyed blond pretty boy, too, and I will hold it against you until your dying day, Kit Davies!”
Everyone chuckled, which sounded like music to Dmitri.
Once the weeks of discomfort between him and Andre had finally ended in New York, he had been dismayed to discover how much strain the tension between them had caused their bandmates.
No one had complained or even said anything — other than Luka — but once he’d gotten his head out of his own ass, he’d noticed the lack of teasing and joking that had been part of the band dynamic since the beginning.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the easy camaraderie and laughter until it was, mercifully, back.
Andre seemed far happier, too. He’d admitted to Dmitri in the times they’d been alone over the last week that Derek was really a godsend.
Derek apparently stepped in to handle most of the interactions with Andre, which kept the tension on that front down and didn’t provide Sibila with any opportunity to continue her push about adoption.
Andre had slowly revealed more of the things he’d been going through, his doubts about his worth as a parent and his guilt for the things in Miguel’s life he had missed, and Dmitri had done what he could to bolster him on that score.
“It’s not like this is some ‘Cat’s in the Cradle’ scenario,” Dmitri had assured him.
“There are plenty of fathers who have to travel for work, and their kids turn out fine. Think of guys in the military on long deployments. Spending time with him is important, sure, but it’s emotional closeness that matters the most. The tour won’t last forever, then you’ll be back with him, and in the meantime, you just have to make sure he knows you love him. ”
He’d also learned that Andre had come from a broken home, and it gave Dmitri clear insight into why Andre put so much pressure on himself to be some kind of super dad.
So he tried to be as encouraging as he could, and had even mentioned to Andre that he might benefit from finding a therapist. That was a role Dmitri, while qualified, wasn’t willing to step into.
He was too emotionally involved with Andre to be objective about certain parts of his situation.
Which was probably for the best, considering that a small, shameful part of him would have happily done Andre’s ex a mischief.
As happy as he was for the return of normality, there was a part of Dmitri that still yearned for more between them.
Memories of the kiss they’d shared and the explosive potential it had revealed still haunted him.
But the desire had become more of a wistful yearning that he pushed away when it arose.
Maybe, someday, if things with Sibila were finally settled, Andre would feel ready to explore what they could share.
In the meantime, Dmitri would simply have to be content that the yearning for connection had faded back to a level he could manage.
Ten hours later, the bus was pulling up to the chaotic mass of RVs, tents, and temporary buildings that was Black Rock City, the site of one of the largest annual music festivals in the country.
“Damn, I think it’s bigger than last year!” Kris said. Everyone had moved to the windows as they approached, because the sheer audacity of the massive, if temporary, mass rising out of the bleak, barren desert was definitely impressive.
“I think you’re right,” Dmitri replied. He pointed at a particular bus that was already parked as they waited for their turn at the security checkpoint. “Hey, Queen Anne’s Revenge beat us here! I thought they were coming in from that festival in Edmonton tomorrow!”
Luka shrugged. “Perks of being a megaband. Jett told me that QAR and Sultana both sent their buses ahead, then flew down to Sacramento last night. Maybe by this time next year, if the third album does as well as I think it will, the F-Holes will be in the position to do something like that.”
“I think I’d rather take the bus,” Jo chimed in. “I hate flying.”
Dmitri looked over his shoulder to smile at her. “I don’t blame you. We’ll let the jetsetters deal with the TSA and crowds and kids kicking the back of their seats, and I’ll happily ride along with you.”
“Hey, stop trying to flirt with my woman,” Kris scolded him. “I don’t want to hear you talk about riding and Jo in the same sentence!” Dmitri just batted his lashes at her playfully.
The line of buses moved swiftly, and soon they reached the checkpoint.
They received their lanyards and were parked in a space near Midnight Hunt and right next to Queen Anne’s Revenge, which had Dmitri ready to turn into a screaming fanboy on the spot.
He’d been a fan of the band for over a decade, and while he’d been to many of their concerts, he’d never gotten to meet them in person.
The moment the bus parked, Dmitri was ready to jump out. He grabbed Andre by the hand. “Come on! I have to see if Devon Bailey is out and about.”
Andre laughed, but he accepted Dmitri’s hand and let himself be pulled along out into the glare of the Nevada sun. “Geez, I’d forgotten how bright it is out here! Maybe we should go back and grab our sunglasses.”
“You’ll adjust,” Dmitri told him. He noticed that Andre didn’t release his hand once they were off the bus, which pleased him more than it probably should have.
As they skirted around the front of the bus, Dmitri almost ran full tilt into the very person he’d been hoping to spot as Devon rounded the other side. Startled, Dmitri stumbled back. “Uh, hi! Um… you’re Devon Bailey!”
Dmitri’s embarrassment at his ridiculous observation was suddenly cut short as he was dazzled by the patented Devon Bailey Smile.
There were people who had charisma that could be turned up to eleven, and Devon was one of them.
With his Black Irish looks, a killer smile, and natural charm, QAR’s frontman was even more devastating in person.
“That’s me!” Devon replied in a friendly tone.
There was another man behind him, tall and dark-haired, who subjected Dmitri to the most penetrating look he’d ever encountered. The man’s sharp green gaze seemed to assess him as instantly and thoroughly as a targeting laser, before moving on to Andre.
“Um… I’m Dmitri….”
Before Dmitri could finish his rather clumsy introduction, Devon chimed in. “Dmitri Martin, right? And Andre Lucena. Kit described you both perfectly. Oh, don’t mind Michael. My husband has never recovered from years of bodyguard paranoia.”
Dmitri looked back at Michael, offering a rather weak smile and hoping he’d passed muster.
“Yeah, that’s us. I’m a big fan of QAR.” He didn’t mention that he still had the big poster of Devon that he’d bought as a teenager to hang in his dorm room on campus.
That just seemed a little too much information.
“So am I.” Andre didn’t seem nearly as gobsmacked to meet the superstar as Dmitri was.
He told himself it was just running into Devon so unexpectedly, and he drew in a deep breath, hoping he didn’t sound completely ridiculous. Then again, Devon was probably used to it, if his easygoing manner was any indication.
“Well, I’m happy to meet you both,” Devon told them. “I was actually just on my way to say hi to Kit. Sultana was our opening act on one leg of our tour several years ago, so we keep in touch. I’m a big fan of the F-Holes, by the way. Your music is brilliant.”
“Wow, thanks!” Dmitri was still a bit dazzled, and he heard Andre chuckle.
“Don’t mind our fanboy here,” he told Devon. “You should have seen him when Kit joined the band. The heart-eyes go away after a while, and then he can speak in complete sentences.”
Turning to glare at Andre, Dmitri felt a flush rising on his cheeks and damned his fair complexion, certain he was glowing like a stoplight.
“Gee, thanks for that, Dre.” It was a good thing he loved Andre, because at the moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d rather kill him or just die of embarrassment himself.
Devon gave a huff of amusement. “Don’t worry about it. You should have seen me the first time I met Mick Jagger years ago, when QAR was on our second tour. I was so star-struck that I introduced myself as Bevon Dailey, and Keith Richards still calls me that, the bastard.”
Dmitri couldn’t help but laugh, which eased his embarrassment, though he promised himself he was going to pay Andre back somehow. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Devon. And Michael,” he added. “We won’t keep you. I’m sure Kit will be happy to see you.”