Sycopation

Chapter 22

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

Waking up in a hotel room was far easier than it had been in the hospital. Awareness seeped into Ray like it normally did. The sound of a minifridge and an air conditioner. The soft sheets and too many pillows. No lights being turned on at odd hours or that strange antiseptic hospital smell.

He stretched and opened his eyes. The room was dim, but the brightness of the light around the curtains told him it was day—which meant he’d slept through the night.

He was also alone in bed. Alone in the room, too. Worry gnawed at him like hunger. He’d expected Zavier to be here. Maybe...maybe that wasn’t right. Except they’d not been too far apart since the start of the tour and rarely out of sight since they’d started their kinky relationship.

Then again, had the situation been reversed, he’d probably have given Zav space to sleep and recover. He threw back the sheets, and stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom.

There was nothing but hotel shampoo, lotion, and soap on the counter—Zavier’s toiletry bag was missing. The shower was dry. Hell, the toilet paper roll still had those folds the cleaning staff put into them. The gnawing inside Ray turned sharp and painful.

Zavier wasn’t here.

He could, however, be in the next room. No need to panic.

Once Ray’d washed his hands, he made his way back into the bedroom, found his own luggage, and pulled out a pair of sweatpants.

The door to the adjoining hotel room was open, and the other door cracked—an invitation. He pushed it open, hoping to find Zav.

But it was Mish curled up on the bed with her laptop. When she looked up, Ray’s heart dropped to the floor and he gripped the doorframe. Words didn’t come, not with that mixture of relief and worry and sadness flowing through Mish’s expression.

Oh god.

“Hey, hon.” Soft words. “How are you feeling?”

“Where’s Zav?” His voice was a mess. Too dry, too full of agony. He watched her like a hawk.

Shoulders dropped. “He went out for a while.” Same concerned voice. “He left a note.”

Fuck. Ray’s legs wobbled and the world wanted to crash down. “A note?”

Mish could move fast when she wanted to, because she was off the bed in a heartbeat and wrapping Ray into a warm hug before he could even turn and flee into the room behind him.

“Sweetheart, no. No. It’s not like that.” She drew him into the adjoining room, and there were Zavier’s bags. Seemingly untouched, but there. “He was really shaken up by you—” She cut herself off.

He sat when Mish pulled him down to the bed next to her, and memories came back. Not of that night, but of waking up in the hospital and of Zavier’s explanation of what had happened. “He was shaken up by me nearly dying.”

A nod.

Ray closed his eyes. Yeah, that made sense. Couldn’t have been easy—and imagining himself in Zavier’s position only drove his pulse higher. He’d have been a fucking wreck. Zav, at least, had control and poise.

Ray flicked his eyes back open. “I don’t even know what time it is. How long has he been gone?”

That was when Mish bit her lip and flushed, and all his fears poured back into him.

“Mish.” He didn’t quite recognize his own voice, because there was an edge he’d never managed before. “Don’t you fucking coddle me.”

She took his hands. “I’m not. I’m just as worried about him as I am you. You take the world on your shoulders, but you have us, and Zav. He... I don’t think he has anyone.”

“Except me.”

She nodded. “And he’d fight the world to keep you safe.”

Ray struggled with his heart and mind and soul. “How long, Mish?”

“Since just after he brought you here. He grabbed a shower and said he needed to think and he might be a while. He left you a note in case he wasn’t back before you woke.”

That was awfully like Zavier. Thinking ahead. Knowing how Ray might react. Ray rubbed his temples and glanced over at the clock next to the bed. Nearly three-thirty in the afternoon. Which meant Zavier had been gone almost an entire day. “I should check my phone. See if he called.”

Mish shook her head. “We turned it off because it was ringing off the hook. And if yours is anything like mine and Dom’s, your voicemail is full.” She rose, picked up an envelope, and handed it to him.

Too much to take in at once. He turned the envelope over in his hands. It was obviously the hotel stationery, and bore his name, written in precise, beautiful cursive. Who the heck wrote in cursive anymore?

Zavier, of course. Ray set the letter next to him on the bed. “Why...wait. Who’s been calling?” Then it hit him—the memories. The information Zavier had told him the day before in the hospital. Carl had drugged him. Their band manager had nearly killed him. “Oh my god. The press.”

“Yeah. The press. The record company. Lawyers. Your family. The cops—they came in person, and security let them in. But you were still asleep.”

Ray rubbed his shaking fingers over his arms. “I—I don’t know what help I’ll be to the cops.”

She patted his thigh. “You don’t have to talk to them. And you probably should get a lawyer first. We all should, I think.”

Yeah. Yeah. And this was when he really needed Zav, because his mind was rocking and his body burned and all the chaos threatened to close in around him again.

He swallowed. “Where’s Dom?” Because he needed to know where everyone in his little musical family was, especially now.

“Sleeping. He spent the night here, in case you woke up.”

Because everyone bent over backward to take care of Ray when he screwed up. “Fuck. I’m so sorry I’ve put this all on you.”

Mish rolled her eyes. “Ray, honey, none of this is your fault, so you just stop that shit now.”

He was already so tired and he’d just gotten up. Cops. Lawyers. How was he supposed to deal with all this? He pulled at his hair. “I know.”

He did. Logically. He nearly started in on the rebuttal anyway, but his gaze landed on his ankle and the leather bracelet—Zavier’s leather bracelet—tied around it. That brought different memories: Zavier’s touch and voice. The press of his fingers against Ray’s lips.

Shh. Stop. Breathe.

He did. Inhale, exhale. By the fourth time, his head quieted enough that he let go of his hair. “Yeah. Okay.” He didn’t know if he was talking to Mish or himself or both. “I should get dressed and figure all this out.”

She bumped his shoulder. “You do have us, you know. You’re not alone.”

Yeah, he wasn’t. He stared at the leather around his ankle, picked up Zavier’s envelope, and opened it.

The note inside was brief, and written in that same beautiful hand.

I’m not leaving. I’m not. Read those words again. Call me when you’re ready.

—Zavier

Beneath that was Zavier’s cell number. He hadn’t had it—they’d never exchanged numbers. Hadn’t needed to. Ray brushed a thumb over Zavier’s name.

“‘When you’re ready,’” he muttered. “That’s so fucking Zavier.”

Mish chuckled. “He loves you.”

“He cares about me.”

“What’s the difference?” She rose and kissed him on the top of the head. “He’s not a robot, Ray. He’s a lot like you in a way—so damn passionate it overflows onto everything he touches.”

“He’s got more self-control.”

“Or more fear.” She smirked. “You boys are something else, you know?”

He had no idea what she meant “What?”

But Mish only laughed again. “How ’bout I get you coffee that’s not the hotel room stuff?”

His stomach grumbled. “Um. And a bagel? With cream cheese?”

“Anything your heart desires, sweetheart.” She headed for the door.

When it clicked closed, Ray rose. Mish couldn’t give him his heart’s desire, not really. What he wanted most was Zavier.

He fingered the note, then set it on the dresser when he crossed back into his room. When you’re ready. That was a double-edge command. Ray wanted to call Zavier now—but he also knew he wasn’t ready. Not in the way Zavier meant.

He had shit to dig through before he would be ready to call. Best to get started now.

Ray took off Zavier’s leather bracelet before showering, but tied it right back onto his ankle when he was done. He liked it there and he needed the reminder that Zavier wasn’t gone gone, even if he wasn’t here at the moment.

The A/C in the hotel room cooled his damp skin when he plodded out of the bathroom.

The shower had helped clear his head, but not enough.

Too many questions and fears swam like sharks around him.

Problem was, he didn’t have nearly enough information to even start to chart a course. So, first things first.

He got dressed. Comfortable clothes. Loose jeans and an old T-shirt from the Wildwood Boardwalk—a little memory of home.

Mish had left coffee and a bagel on the dresser, next to his phone and a business card. He took his time eating and letting the coffee work his magic. Next, he turned on his cell. The business card was from the police, and had a case number scrawled on the back.

Yeah, he’d have to talk to them, since he’d been the victim of a crime.

Ray shivered. Why why why why did Carl hate him? He couldn’t work it out. Even jealousy didn’t make sense and not having a reason—a legitimate reason—baffled him more than anything else. He could have died that night.

Mish had suggested getting a lawyer, but who knew how the fuck he was going to find one of those? He wasn’t about to trust any who called him, since he had an inkling of what this whole series of events could mean.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to go through the pain and drama of suing the record label. Yeah, it might mean big bucks, but what would it do to him and the band?

Shit.

Once he turned on his phone and sifted through the messages—text and voicemail and email—he didn’t have many more answers, either.

The label wanted to talk; there were several messages, both from execs and label lawyers.

The underlying theme—the unwritten thought—was that they wanted to work things out without lawsuits.

How complicit had they been, though? Did he want to keep making albums and money for the company that had given him Carl Roberts as an advocate?