Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
Ray waited for the other shoe to drop from Carl, but it didn’t come.
Not at their Chicago show and not today, though he’d finally received the spreadsheet from Carl in his inbox overnight, and he’d spent the better part of the morning on the bus poring over the numbers.
Sadly, the information was limited and he had no way of knowing if any of it was correct, especially since the sheet was something of Carl’s own making and not an official royalty statement.
Man, he wished he had his contract so he could see when and how he was supposed to get those, but it were tucked into a lockbox back in a storage unit in New Jersey. Stupid not to have it, or at least electronic copies. He wondered if asking for it directly from the label would cause waves.
Probably. He wasn’t supposed to be bothering the label with shit like that. He rubbed his forehead and tossed his phone to one side. Trying to make heads or tails of a spreadsheet on a smartphone was an odious task, and he needed to focus on their next concert. He rose to fetch his notebook.
In Chicago, they’d played an amphitheater and had rocked that show harder than they’d played Detroit.
Zavier had gotten his wish—another concert, but even better.
Same screaming audiences, and a larger line of fans waiting for autographs.
So many had wanted selfies, including with the hot new drummer.
The press was pretty jazzed, too. Twisted Wishes had gotten a decent write-up in the Detroit area and the gossip blogs were even being somewhat kind, though too many still wondered when Van Zeller would lose his mind again. Truth was, he always hovered near his breaking point.
Ray sank back down on the couch where Zavier was stretched out. He had to figure out some way to get the band out from under the pile of red numbers in Carl’s spreadsheet.
“Meeting time?” Dom looked up from his book, one of his well-worn Oscar Wilde tomes he read over and over.
“Not yet. I wanna look over things. Think about what we’ve done.”
They’d used nearly the same playlists for both shows. Some changeups in the middle, to make sure they kept their hands in all the songs. Different outfits, too. Ray wasn’t sure whether Zavier looked better in tight leather or flowing black linen that hung nearly off his hips.
Zavier had kept the purple lipstick. He’d also been keeping quiet when not on stage, though it was pretty darn obvious he was watching Ray when not studying the screen of his tablet. Pity? Concern? Ray had no idea what was behind those looks. Didn’t care. Couldn’t care.
Carl had made every waking moment like walking on cracking ice, so Ray bottled up his feelings.
It was the only thing he could do and remain together.
But too often there were moments when his stomach rolled and his head hurt and he thought he might hurl if he focused on all the ways Carl could screw the band. The ways Ray had already screwed them.
All Carl had done in Chicago was smile at Ray, and that had been enough to force Ray to hit the bathroom to splash cold water on his face before boarding the bus. He’d stayed up to celebrate with the band—albeit with water—and everyone, including Zavier, seemed to have bought his cheerful demeanor.
Not so much now, from the set of Zavier’s lips when his eyes flicked up from the tablet.
They were on their way south to St. Louis, then on to Oklahoma City, then Houston.
They’d have a break after the show in Houston, two nights in a hotel before they hit the road again.
God, he couldn’t wait. Privacy. A shower that wasn’t a shoebox.
No rumble of an engine. Maybe he could find someone to fuck the tension out of his system and gain a piece of oblivion—at least for a while.
He shivered. Oblivion was what Kevin had sought. At least the occasional tumble wasn’t quite as bad as crawling into a bottle...he hoped, anyway.
Ray flipped open the last written pages of his notebook. Tight but messy handwriting. Playlists. Thoughts. Worries. Little snatches of lyrics, most of which were terrible. But it got them out of his mind.
When blue shades to violet
And agony encompasses the moon
Will I find my heart or abandon my soul?
He traced a finger over the words and felt the weight of Zavier’s stare. Of all the people to become their drummer, it had to have been the one guy he never ever had a shot with. Worse, he was so damn grateful to Zavier for pulling them from disaster.
He looked up and met Zavier’s gaze. “Other than ‘White Hot Midnight,’ what’s your favorite song?”
Zavier folded the cover of his tablet over to turn it off and rested his hand on top. “You’ll laugh if I tell you.”
Was that...embarrassment? “Promise I won’t.”
Zavier rolled his eyes. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Ray shrugged. “Come on. I can’t think of any song that—” Oh. Oh. He sucked in a breath because he was about to burst out laughing, despite what he’d said.
They’d been joking around one night, Mish, Dom, and him—Kevin had been out somewhere—and they’d written a pop song: “Sprinkles on Top.” It was kitschy and came complete with an upbeat but utterly metronomic rhythm and cute lyrics about ice cream.
Kevin had hated it. Refused to play it, and really Ray couldn’t blame him for that.
The rest of the band had only recorded it on a whim and it was one of the infamous session songs that maybe a dozen people had heard before someone—they never found out who—had put it out on the internet.
They’d never played it in public. Hell, they hadn’t practiced in ages.
“You are completely messed up, Demos.” Mish shook her head. “Fucking hell. That song?”
Zavier leaned forward. “It’s fun. And frivolous.
And there’s so many interesting things you could do with it.
” He tapped out the bass rhythm. Then another rhythm, then another that wasn’t at all 4/4 that somehow worked.
Then a couple more. “Or slow it down and put a kind of swing beat to it.” He hummed the melody to a new time signature. “Would be a fun acoustical piece.”
Ray stared at Zavier, his brain already whirling. The fog he’d been carrying around all day lifted, but caution niggled at his wild heart. “We haven’t practiced it.”
Dom had set aside his book. “That’s what sound checks are for.” Yeah, he was eager and all smiles. Mish, too.
He could see the notes and the beats Zavier still tapped out like a pulse, or the swing and rhythm of bodies moving together. Dancing. Fucking.
Yeah, he wanted this, but for one problem. “Carl will have a fit.”
“Does he need to know?” God, Zavier’s voice could make stone do his bidding. “We can put down TBD for one of the acoustical songs, fuck around at sound check, and go for it.”
Carl would still have a fit. It was so not walking the line he wanted Ray to walk. Instinct told Ray that, but his soul told him Zavier’s idea would be a fucking massive hit.
“Okay. Let’s do it.” He’d take the lumps that came with his decision.
Guess it had been meeting time after all.
He jotted down some notes and the proposed set list—and the words Zavier Demos is too fucking perfect.
Felt a little like high school. He’d probably written something similar in a spiral-bound notebook back in the day, not his pretentious but well-loved Moleskine.
Zavier stretched out his legs and bumped Ray’s thigh with his toes. “I believe in you,” he murmured.
Fuck, the sparks and light went up his spine and down into his dick. Nothing like that ever happened back in school, mostly because Zavier was hardly ever within ten feet of Ray, let alone sharing a couch.
Whatever else, it did push away the fear. He pulled out his phone and typed an email to send to the record label requesting a copy of his contract.
Yeah, maybe they’d been screwed by Carl, but contracts went two ways. Perhaps the band could do some screwing of their own—if they had more leverage. If they made a name for themselves and more money for the label, Carl would have less hold over them.
Ray drew a little picture of an ice cream cone with sprinkles right under Zavier’s name, then closed his book. Maybe it was also time to open up to everyone, not just Zavier. “I’m sorry I was so out of it last night. Zavier was right—it was Carl, and I want to tell you what he said.”
They all looked at him. Mish and Dom wore worry, but Zavier was nodding in encouragement. Well, okay then. Ray took a breath and started talking.
Zavier couldn’t help watching Ray’s lips as he explained the run-in he’d had with Carl.
The news that the band might owe the label a shit-ton of royalties wasn’t the most upbeat thing, and both Mish and Dom reacted as Zavier expected them to.
They were dismayed, then angry, then skeptical that Carl was even telling the truth.
They both reminded Ray that they’d signed too, so he couldn’t take all the blame. Of course, Ray did anyway.
“I emailed the label to ask for a copy of our contract.” Ray leaned back. “Maybe if we put our heads together, we can figure this out.”
Heads. Bodies. His and Ray’s. Zavier indulged in those thoughts before setting them aside. No more crawling into bed on the job, even when the job didn’t feel like one.
Ray’s mouth showed the emotions he so desperately tried to hide. There was a quiver of fear and the angry press of his lips and the way his jaw rocked back and forth when he wasn’t talking.
Oh, to take those lips and soothe them with his own. Ray reacted to touch. To heartfelt praise. Most of all, Ray reacted to friendship and trust and that was, admittedly, catnip to Zavier.
There was a bond between Ray, Dom, and Mish. They were a family, that was easy enough to see. They’d embraced Zavier, too—at least Dom and Mish had. Sometimes he wondered if Ray would ever consider him a friend or if he’d always be on his guard against Zavier.