Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
Man, if there were any day Ray could’ve used a beer, today was that day.
It had been a little less than two months since they’d started practicing with Zavier, and tonight, they were performing.
Ray hadn’t touched any alcohol since Kevin left, and he wasn’t about to go near a tall cool one with Carl milling around the band wherever they were in upstate New York.
Plus, it’d fuck up his voice. Instead, he sipped his lemon-honey tea and looked out over the venue.
A band was playing on the stage and people were scattered all over the place.
Some in the pavilion seating, others on blankets spread out over the lawn.
Not too long from now, Twisted Wishes would play right before Five Asylum, the headlining act.
Quite an honor, Carl told them. He’d been all smiles and kindness, kind of like he had been after they’d signed, back when Ray trusted him.
One of the bigwigs from the label had shown up, too, and Ray had to admit, it was gratifying to hear praise from the suit.
“Carl says you’ve been working really well with the new drummer. That you’re sounding better than ever.”
Ray put on his charm and smiled. “Yes, sir. Zavier’s incredibly talented and we’re lucky to have him.” Mr. Perfect was standing right there, of course, along with the rest of the band. Yeah, they’d come amazingly far.
Zavier shook the suit’s hand. “I’m the lucky one. This has been an incredible experience.”
Ray almost believed him. Zavier’s face was so sincere.
The suit did one of those clapping things bigwigs did when they’ve run out of things to say to peons. “Well, I should let you gentlemen—” he paused and glanced at Mish “—and lady get ready.”
“Of course,” Zavier murmured.
They were all smiles until Carl and the suit left. Mish snorted. “Women have been in the music industry how long? Played guitar how long?”
“Since the ’30s,” Dom said. “Or before.” He was dressed as Domino, all makeup, leather, tats, and boots, hair spiked to within an inch of its life. How he got that shit out afterward, Ray never knew. Not enough hot water in the world.
“I should have stomped on his foot for you,” Ray said.
Mish rolled her eyes. “Honey, I can take care of myself when it comes to men.”
Zavier laughed. “Probably better than the rest of us.”
“Oh,” Mish said, “somehow I suspect you’re more than capable of handling guys.”
A flush crept up Zavier’s neck. Unusual. “Well, I do have my ways, yes.” His smile was devilish and full of light.
Mish nodded. “Had a feeling you weren’t straight.”
“Me?” Zavier laughed. “Nowhere near.”
Ray could’ve told Mish that.
She and Domino went off to talk to the techs about their guitars, which left Ray with Zavier alone, and he didn’t want to deal with Zavier at the moment. So more tea.
The change in climate and the flight across the country had given him a scratchy throat he didn’t like. He always brought his own tea and honey, and the green room had hot water—perfect. A moment later, he was sipping the hot brew down.
Mish subtly asking about Zavier’s sexuality rolled around in Ray’s brain.
Zavier had been fearless in high school.
First time Ray had seen him in the halls was when one of the football players had shoved Zavier into a locker and called him a fag.
Zavier had turned around and punched the dude in the face, hard enough to bloody his nose.
“I’m queer, you fucking asshole. Get it right. ”
Second time he’d seen Zavier was about a week later behind the school, mostly hidden by some shrubs. Same football dude was with him, but this time on his knees, sucking Zavier off.
Zavier did most certainly have a way with men. And with women. Pretty much everyone.
While working on his tea, Ray headed outside to a spot between the backstage proper and the concessions area, where the VIP guests were allowed to listen to whatever band was playing currently.
They couldn’t see much of the stage, but that didn’t matter.
It was private enough, but gave him a glimpse of the amphitheater lawn.
There, staring out at the crowd through some fencing, he found Zavier. And fuck if he didn’t look a little pale. Nerves? Cold feet?
“Hey.” He spoke gently, because Zavier’s focus on the crowd was intense.
Zavier’s features smoothed over. “Hi, Ray.” He nodded at the cup. “Your throat okay?”
“Yeah. Little dry from the flight. This is mostly pre-gaming.”
“Lemon and honey.” Zavier crossed his arms. Behind his smile was something else. Yeah, maybe fear.
“What about you? Are you okay?”
Zavier started and dropped his arms to his side. “Yes. I think so.” He took a long look at the crowd before turning toward Ray. “This is different. This type of audience. The size.” He shook his head. “I’ll be fine when I’m behind the kit.”
“Those symphony concert halls have to be pretty big.” Last thing they needed was Zavier freaking out. Kevin had done that the first big concert. “You guys even did touring in Europe, right?”
Zavier nodded and leaned back against the fence. Open. Honest. The sunlight shone against his black hair.
It occurred to Ray that Zavier wasn’t that much older than him—two years, maybe two and a half. Hell, Ray was nervous, too. This concert might make or break them. “Can’t be that different.”
Pursed lips, then a smile. “It’s—there’s more chaos here. The symphony was very organized, even during outdoor performances. The air’s different here. The vibe. This is like walking on a live wire.”
“Welcome to the rock-and-roll life.”
Zavier pushed off the fence and the headed toward backstage. “Can’t say I’m in the life until after we play.”
Ray clapped him on the back, and left his hand there while they walked. “You’re the one who’s spent days telling me we can do this, that I can.” The songs were ready, everything was as done as it got.
Zavier slowed to a stop and Ray’s hand fell away. They stood close, inches apart. The air sparked, especially with Zavier looking at him like that. “We can do this,” he said. “You’re going to walk out onto that stage and blow them away.”
Zavier believed in him. Really believed in him. The realization was a physical shock. “I—”
“Will blow them away.” Zavier’s hand clasped Ray’s hip, and he spoke each word clearly, like he wouldn’t accept any other answer, as if there were no other answer.
Maybe there wasn’t. “Yeah. All right.”
“Good,” Zavier murmured. “Very good.” He slid his hand away from Ray. “I need to stretch out my back.”
Ray lifted his now-tepid tea. “I should finish this.”
Zavier nodded. “And remember what I said, Ray.”
He couldn’t forget. “I will.”
Like walking on a live wire. Every second with Zavier was that. Ray should have been turned on—and he was, in a way. Heat surged through him and yeah, he was hard, but more than anything he wanted to get on stage and do what Zavier had said.
Blow them away.
He finished the tea and hurried backstage to start his vocal warm-ups.
Zavier had been on stage at Carnegie Hall in New York City. He’d played in Geneva, Rome, London, and Berlin. None of those concerts had ever made him as nervous as this one. None of those had been as important.
The festival crowd gave off a strange energy—both excited and apathetic. They weren’t headlining, but there were still fans here. He’d seen the T-shirts, heard the cries of Ray’s, Domino’s, and Mish’s names.
He wasn’t Kevin. Better? Yes. But not the drummer those fans had known and loved. If Zavier screwed up tonight, he’d take the whole band down with him.
That would destroy Ray. Cement in his mind that all those fears were true, that Carl’s asshattery was correct.
Zavier wouldn’t let that happen. They’d worked too hard in the past two months.
Lived on top of one another. Played more music in that time than he’d ever played at once, even at Julliard, even on tour with the symphony.
He closed his eyes and focused his breath.
Remembered the songs, the rhythms. Ray moving to the music. Yes. There. They’d be fine.
When cued, they headed out onto the stage, Domino and Mish first. He followed, climbing onto the platform and behind the kit. Everything was set exactly as he liked. Thank god for competent roadies following instructions.
Domino started, ripping out a low chord and working it upward.
Bathed in red light, with his spiked hair, leather pants, and tattooed glory, he looked entirely a rock god.
The crowd nearest to the stage cheered and clapped.
Then Mish joined in. A sultry and low bass line, blending in with Domino’s jamming, lights shining on her now, too.
Tall, proud, unbeatable. Their combined notes screamed through the air and floated high, then dropped down and faded as the crowd got louder.
Electricity raced through Zavier. This was it. His turn, his time. One, two, three...
He hit the kit hard and fast, pulsing out the opening to “Diamond Fever.” Not their usual opener, but Ray wanted to mix it up. I want to start with your drumming, if you’re up to that, he’d said. Let the fans know you’re here and good, and that we’re back.
Of course he’d said yes. Now he surged out those rhythms and Domino replied. Mish fell in, complementing perfectly. Glorious. Achingly wonderful. The song was missing one thing.
Ray.
Then he was there, leaping out onto the stage, mic in hand, and his voice soared over them all.
Every word, every note like a firework of sound that went on and on and on over the crowd.
The air changed, the vibe shifted. Zavier couldn’t see much beyond the edge of the stage, but energy charged the air and when they finished, the eruption of noise ripped through him like a standing ovation at the end of a concert. Only they’d just started.
Fuck, if he’d known this was how it felt, he’d have said yes to Ray all those years ago. The thrill in his body as the music poured through him, the sheer joy of watching Ray sing.