Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
The first person Ray saw upon stepping off the bus at the venue outside Detroit was Carl, who led with an insincere greeting. “How you doing, Ray?”
Ray buried as much of his irritation as he could and managed a noncommittal grunt. Great. Just what he needed.
Carl’s smile was fake. “That good, huh? Well, I hope your attitude improves before tonight.”
Ray ignored the jibe and followed the crew into the arena.
There’d be some kind of green room and dressing rooms. The crew would unpack the equipment and get it sorted and staged.
They’d run through a rehearsal, then there’d be the show.
Five Asylum had a whole VIP package thing going for their fans.
Meet-and-greets, photo ops. Someday, maybe Twisted Wishes would do something similar, but for now they stuck with signing autographs for whoever hung out after the show.
He made it as far as the green room before Carl’s voice sounded in his ear, way too close and far too loud. “Have you been drinking?”
Ray whirled around. “What the fuck do you think?” Only then did he notice the guy with the camera and the press pass standing in the room off to the side.
Shit, shit. He took a breath and stepped back.
“No, man. Just coffee, and not enough of that.” God, he needed to pay more attention to his surroundings.
Fucking thing was, that was one of the first pieces of advice Carl had given him.
The fucker chuckled. “I’m sure.” He sounded like he didn’t believe a word Ray said, which was pretty normal. “You know the deal.”
He damn well did. “Do you need a blood test?” He held out his arm. “’Cause all you’re gonna find is caffeine and a shitty truck stop meatball hoagie.”
The press guy raised both his eyebrows and Carl looked taken aback. “No, no. Of course not.”
Zavier breezed in. “I’d be afraid to know what’s in those meatballs.”
“Says the man who ate the chili cheese dogs.” Domino was in most of his getup, since reporters like the one furiously typing into his phone could be found everywhere behind the scenes at a place like this.
“Eh, cast-iron stomach.” Zavier flashed one of his perfect grins at Dom. “Product of my misspent youth.”
Mish grabbed a bottle of water. “Next time I’m buying stock in antacids.”
The best part of the whole tangent was the look on Carl’s face. Ray relaxed. Anything about his “drinking problem” would be buried under the crappy eating habits of rock stars.
The journalist or whatever he was cleared his throat and nodded to Zavier. “You’re the new drummer, right?”
Zavier straightened, his movements careful. Calculated. “Yes, I am. And you are...?”
“Gabriel McGinness, from MusicNight Online.”
A nod. “I do like knowing who’s writing about me,” Zavier murmured, and fuck, was it sexy. How the hell did he do that? It also raised quite a blush on the reporter—and that caused a bitter taste in Ray’s mouth.
The reporter recovered pretty fast, though the blush lingered. “How does a principal timpanist of a renowned symphony orchestra end up as a rock drummer?”
Less sex in Zavier’s voice now. “I answered a call for an audition.”
“After you were fired from Silverton?”
Zavier’s posture shifted in an instant. He didn’t tense up, per se. Ray couldn’t say what changed other than his grin dropping, but the temperature in the room fell about twenty degrees, or so it seemed. “I wasn’t fired. I resigned.”
Oh, there was a story there. Zavier’s voice was mild, but concrete—practically daring the reporter to refute him. For his part, Mr. Presspass McGinness or whatever stood his ground. “Dimitri Ferbran said—”
“Maestro Ferbran knows damn well I walked into HR and tenured my resignation before he had his little screaming fit at me.” Zavier’s smile was back, but unpleasant as hell.
“I can give you the number of the Human Resources director, if you wish to corroborate my story.” He paused.
“And I’m not the only musician to walk out on Ferbran. ”
Presspass got a curious look. “Really?”
“Mmmhmm. Look it up sometime.” Zavier shrugged. “Now if you’ll excuse us...”
Carl ushered the press guy out the door.
After that, he pulled a can from the fridge, then cracked it open.
Of course it was a beer. Ray resisted the urge to look at his watch.
He suspected the only reason Carl was drinking was to rub it in that Ray couldn’t.
Or maybe Zavier’s little previous workplace history had been a surprise.
Who knew? Interesting that Ray wasn’t the only one with a cloud hanging over him.
Once Carl had downed a few gulps, he smacked his lips, which meant the beer was about Ray and not Zavier. At least he was consistent. “So, Ray. Got a set list yet?”
Carl had never been interested in what they planned to play on tour before. “Of course I have. We worked it out last night.” He gestured to the band.
A nod. “Well, I saw a version of it from the crew, but given the opening song, I figured that couldn’t be right.”
Fuck. Carl was going to give him grief about that? “If the opener is ‘Lightning’, then yes, it’s the correct list.”
“Are you mental?”
“Hey!” Mish slammed down her water. “Don’t be a fucking ableist—”
“Yeah, Carl, I am. I’m a foolish, ignorant piece of shit.” Ray snapped the words out. Carl’s attention swung away from Mish and back to him, where it belonged.
Carl stepped forward. “You don’t start a concert with—”
The whole room erupted into an argument, Mish and Dom trying to be heard over Carl as Ray agreed with every shit-talking thing that poured from that asshole’s mouth.
“Stop.” Zavier’s voice thundered over them all. And fuck, there was anger in it. Ray’s heart ticked up several notches, but Zav wasn’t focused on him. No, he was staring daggers at Carl. The room fell silent. “Ray knows music. You even said that.”
Carl stammered out something unintelligible.
Zavier shook his head once. “The band agreed on the set. We talked it over. Yes, it’s unconventional, but that’s what gets people noticed. Ray’s idea is a good one.”
“You wanna bet on that?” Carl folded his arms.
Zavier laughed. “Yes. But you wouldn’t like my price.” There was that smoldering, sexy glare again, one that turned the whole conversation into something entirely inappropriate.
Carl paled. “I’m not gay. I’m not touching your dick.”
Wow, way for Carl to jump to a conclusion and be the panicked hetero guy. Though even thinking about Carl on his knees in front of Zavier turned Ray’s stomach, enough that he looked away. He ended up meeting Dom’s wide-eyed gaze.
“You don’t need to be gay.” Zavier’s voice was velvet smooth. “Just heteroflexible enough.”
Too much for Carl, apparently. When Ray looked back, he was glowering at Zavier, fists clenched. “Fine. Start with that song, but when it blows up in your face, don’t come crying to me.” He stormed out.
“Would you really fuck that asshole?” Mish took another swig of water. “I mean—”
Zavier snorted. “No. I have standards.”
“Since when?” Ray didn’t even know why he said it. Maybe the memory of Zavier face-fucking that quarterback.
“Ray.” There was a softness to Zavier’s voice. Ray stared back at him. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
For a moment, it seemed like they were the only two people in the room, and the years fell away, leaving Ray young and vulnerable.
“Yeah, well.” He didn’t know what was going through the mind behind those blue eyes, but he hated the thought of Zavier fucking Carl or Presspass or anyone, because it drove home how little Zavier wanted him.
“Try to keep your dick in your pants and your mind out of the gutter.”
Lo and behold, that earned him a blush, and Zavier actually looked hurt. Would wonders never cease?
“Hey, guys. Let’s not snipe at each other.” Mish settled down on a couch. “Gotta stick together.” Dom nodded and plopped down next to her.
Ray pushed his hands through his hair. Last thing he needed was to alienate Zavier and lose another drummer. Heat rose to his face. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to get on your case.”
Zavier waved his words away. “Part of that was my fault.” He focused on the direction Carl and Presspass had gone. “I shouldn’t cause you guys trouble with my mouth.”
Ray wanted Zavier’s mouth...and that was trouble too. “Do you think we should change the set list?”
“No.” All three of them answered almost in harmony. That teased happiness from Ray. They might get on each other’s nerves, but at least they were on the same page.
Ray sprawled down on another couch, content to relax—until Zavier sat down next to him.
He’d been in the berth above Zavier for hours.
In the middle of the night, when Ray had inevitably woken because he could not sleep soundly on the road, he’d strained to hear Zavier over the sounds of the road.
His breathing, a movement, anything to feel the closeness he’d been denied all those years ago. Now here he was, inches away.
“So what happened with the orchestra?”
Zavier shifted, brushing his leg against Ray’s in the process. “Personality differences with the conductor.”
“And you walked before he could fire you?”
An affirmative grunt. “Yes. Though, in reality, he couldn’t have fired me. He’s as much a member of the orchestra as anyone else, even if he’s more famous and better paid.”
Silence settled between them as the obvious question nagged at Ray’s mind—but he’d already told Zavier to get out of the gutter, so he shouldn’t be asking about Zavier’s sex life. “Why not another orchestra?”
A soft chuckle, one he felt through the shaking of the couch rather than heard. “I was wondering when you’d ask that,” Zavier murmured. “Dimitri has better connections than I do, and there are only so many timpanist positions available at any given time.”
Dimitri. Ray’s turn to shift uncomfortably on the couch. First-name basis. “So you’re slumming it with us.”
Mish rolled her eyes. “Ray.”