Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
Five words into the first verse of “Lightning,” Ray knew he’d been right about opening with this song.
The thrum of Mish’s bass and the growl of Dom’s guitar were a counterpoint to the growing threat of Zavier’s drums. The crowd—oh, the crowd.
He knew most of them were here to see Five Asylum, but there were Twisted Wishes fans out there, too.
A whole hell of a lot of them, because they screamed when they realized which song was being played and sang along.
Those in the front strained their arms out to touch Ray’s fingers
This was what he’d hoped for, what the band needed.
What that fuckass Carl didn’t understand.
It wasn’t about the publicity or the gossip rags or schooling or any of that—it was about the fans.
The music. The energy. Give your soul over in words and notes and beats, and the fans gave you their souls right back in tears and screams and outstretched hands yearning for a single touch.
Fucking glorious, every second. Mish moving like sin and Dom grinding across the stage like he owned it.
Behind the large kit, Zavier pounded out the rhythm like he was their heart.
Might well have been. Where Kevin had been superb while sober, Zavier was magnificent, embellishing on the fly, adding little syncopated beats that made Ray’s heart stutter and swell.
He sang all the harder, hitting notes, throwing himself out into the crowd, and running and dancing up the aisles.
The fans erupted, but no one was too disrespectful, thank goodness.
Getting back up on stage was a trick, but the next few songs were the acoustical ones, so he hoisted himself up and sat on the stage edge until he caught his breath and everyone else in the band switched instruments.
Security handed him water, and he drank before rotating and standing up on the stage. Mish had her upright bass, and Dom looked slightly ridiculous in his spiked collar with his delicate wooden guitar, but so much himself that for a moment Ray glimpsed Dominic behind the Domino persona.
Zavier had come out from behind the kit sans shirt, his tattoos shining from sweat.
He was encased in those sinful leather pants, and Ray’s breath caught.
It caught a second time when Zavier grinned at him.
The purple lipstick, those fucking blue eyes, and the way those pants hugged every inch of him.
Unfair.
Ray spun back around to the audience. “How ’bout something more classic?” The fans cheered, and with Zavier tapping out the beat with his sticks, they were off again.
The night seemed to last forever and no time at all. They finished the set, moved back to their normal instruments and soon, too soon, they were bowing after their encore, the crowd, at least under the venue pavilion, on their feet and cheering.
Mish and Dom threw picks and Zavier tossed his drumsticks. Someone in the front row yelled, “What about the pants?”
Zavier laughed and called back, “Want to keep playing, dude! They’d kick me out for that.”
Sure, the venue, maybe the label, but right now? Ray really wanted to see what was under those pants, too.
But they were being ushered off and the house lights were flickering on for the intermission before Five Asylum took the stage.
The moments after they stepped off the stage blurred into a kaleidoscope.
Slaps on the back. Zavier’s sweat-soaked body so close to Ray’s, and his grin.
Dom’s makeup was a mess, as was Mish’s. Zavier’s purple lipstick was somehow still perfect, and Ray wanted those lips on his.
Someone shoved a bottle of water into his hands, and he cracked the cap off and downed half in one gulp.
Gregor from Five Asylum was there, clean and fresh and ready to take the stage. His gaze was shrewd. “Once again, a tough act to follow. You’re turning heads, Van Zeller.”
“Hope you don’t mind.” His voice was rough, and he gulped more water. Five Asylum was renowned and Gregor Daye almost a legend—a bona fide rock star. Ray was tickled at the thought of upstaging him.
A chuckle from the star. “God, no. It’s good to see someone stepping up.” Someone behind Gregor tapped him on the shoulder, and he grunted. “Gotta go.” With that, Gregor vanished into a sea of techs and maybe a bodyguard or two.
More water, a protein bar, a change of clothes, some cleaning up, and they were heading out toward the parking lot, where the buses were waiting.
One of the security people from the venue strode next to him, ear protection dangling around her neck.
“There’s a lot of fans waiting for you guys.
We set up some lines. I’m not sure how you want to handle it. ”
Usually they signed everything they could. “How many is—” The words died in his throat.
Apparently, many was a whole fucking lot. The line snaked around the walkway to keep the fans from milling in the lot or around the buses, looping back twice. Way more people than normal. This was only their second concert of the tour. “Holy shit.”
She gave him a glance. “You want us to clear them out?”
“No, no.” He turned to the rest of the band. “You up for this?” Both Mish and Dom had ear-to-ear grins.
Zavier hung back. “I’m not really part of the band.”
Mish grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. “Shut up, Demos. You’re coming with us.”
Joy bubbled up in Ray. Yeah, he was, and it was perfect.
Turned out, the fans took to Zavier as much, or maybe more, than they had to Kevin.
Understandable. Talented, stunning—what more could you want, other than a tumble headlong into bed?
Not that Ray could have Zavier, but like the fans undoubtedly had, it was a pleasant daydream. Hell, they had more of a shot.
A young woman with short dark hair and that nervous, happy, dazed look fans got was next for an autograph as he worked his way down the line.
Ray had already had so many selfies taken, so he was grateful that she only clutched a CD case.
It was scratched to hell and back, and who had CDs these days anyway?
Her eyes were wide and dark, even under the bright venue lights. “Mr. Van Zeller?”
“Ray,” he said, and held out his hand for the CD case. “What’s your name?”
“Mel. Melissa, but everyone calls me Mel.”
“What do you want me to call you?” Names were important and personal. He’d learned that from Mish, and a few others.
Her face lightened out of the nerves. “Mel. I like Mel.”
“And you have our CD...?”
Mel seemed reluctant to give it up. “Yeah, it’s... My mom didn’t want me to buy this.” Wetness at the corner of her eyes. She offered the case to Ray.
Their very first album, before they signed with the label. They’d sold a bunch at concerts, a few online, and had put the MP3s out there, too. He took it gingerly, because this was a precious item to her. “She doesn’t like rock?”
The young woman shook her head. “She likes rock. Her stuff, you know? Her bands. She didn’t want me listening to—to—” She hiccupped a laugh. “Gay people.”
Yeah, there were people who said they wouldn’t listen to Twisted Wishes when the band hadn’t kept quiet about their sexualities.
But damned if they were going to hide who they were.
There were so many people in the industry who were queer.
You’d think the critics and the population would be used to it by now.
Chances were, her mom listened to queer people without even knowing it. “I’m sorry she’s like that.”
Another nod. “I had it shipped to a friend’s house. My mom was so mad.” Her eyes were brimming. “But you understood how I felt. The lyrics. The music. Saved my life.”
Oh. A cool wash of gratitude mixed with a touch of wonder flowed over Ray. “I’m so very glad.” He paused. “Should I sign the CD? Or the booklet or...?” Sometimes people had very specific ways they wanted items signed.
“The CD,” she whispered.
“To you?”
The nod was almost imperceptible, but there.
He signed, leaving space for Mish and Dom, too. “To Mel,” he said, and handed it back.
She blinked a few times at the disk, as if not believing it was really there, then she looked up, right at him. “My mom took it from me when she found out. She listened to it...and gave it back.” A smile broke out. “Changed her, too.”
Then Mel was gone, off to talk to Mish...and Ray was left breathless.
That moment and so many others—that was why he did this. Not for the fame, but for Mel and Bryan and Sami and all the others he’d met so far. He turned and greeted the next fan.
He’d no idea how long it had been by the time the lines finally dwindled down to nothing—only that Five Asylum was playing and his hand hurt, but the post-concert buzz still poured through his body.
Mish gripped him on the shoulder, her expression as exuberant-looking as he was. “That was something!”
Even Zavier looked dazed, and that purple lipstick wasn’t so perfect now. Ray still wanted to kiss it off of him. Unfair. “Let’s get back to the bus.”
“Van Zeller.” Carl’s sharp voice cut through the night, and they all flinched. Zavier turned toward the asshole, his face a mask, lips pressed thin.
Nope. Ray wasn’t going to let Carl ruin Zav’s first real show. He strode toward their manager. Better he take whatever licks were coming. “Yup. What’s up?”
“A word.” Carl had his tablet on hand and gestured back toward the venue’s building with the other. Ray dutifully followed him inside and to a small room that looked like it could be an office.
Carl shut the door and leaned against it, neatly trapping Ray.
Shit. This was going to be one of those discussions. Carl hadn’t imposed on Ray like this before, but Ray knew the intimidation game. It was a high school move. He crossed his arms. “Were you disappointed in the concert?” That would be rich.
Carl snorted. “You know I can’t fault your performance. Even your idiotic choice of an opening song was a hit.” He shook his head. “Lucky break for you.”