Chapter 23 #3
He appreciated the headspace Zavier had given him with the kink and the sex and the friendship, but in the end, Twisted Wishes was his to lead.
He’d built the band from high school. It was only fitting that he take them into whatever lay in the future.
He’d also taken the brunt of Carl’s shit.
Yes, he’d consult Dom, Mish, and Zav, but he would be the leader—and a better one than before.
Sadly, showering, dressing, and ruminating didn’t take that much time, even when done leisurely.
Still no sign of Mish or Dom, and he wasn’t about to text either of them.
They deserved their sleep. None of this, especially his medical crisis, had been kind to them, and he’d be a fool to think that it hadn’t affected or stressed them out.
Which left him alone in two big rooms with very little to do.
He glanced around his room until his gaze lingered on his tablet.
Shit, well, he was kind of curious about how the media was spinning this.
Hell, he had no idea if Zav had managed to slink out of town unnoticed, and if he hadn’t, how was that being talked about?
With trepidation in his soul, he approached the device and picked it up. Only one way to know for sure. Ray flopped down in the nearest chair, turned the thing on, and started the rounds on the usual sites.
In the end, the press wasn’t that bad. Interesting in places, too. Lots of confusion and speculation. No mention of Zavier leaving, so he must have managed to avoid the reporters and the paparazzi.
Ray was gonna grill Zav about how to do that. Fucking magical. He wanted that skill.
Of course, there were the awful photos of him unconscious on a stretcher being worked on and moved to the ambulance, and ones of Domino climbing in, in his full persona.
Speculation as to why it wasn’t Zavier, ranging from them having broken up—which very few people believed—to Zavier being held for questioning by the police—which was closer to the truth.
There were also photos of Zavier, from when he left the club to head to the hospital. Fuck, he looked tired in those. And grim, his mouth pulled into a tight line. Worry carving deep fissures around his eyes. Anger when he spotted the press photographing him.
But he hadn’t said a thing, only gotten into a cab bound for the hospital.
The pictures of Carl getting hauled away in handcuffs were something else. Ray was glad he hadn’t put anything in his stomach yet because his gut fucking rebelled. Sick and hot and angry—it hit him all at once, leaving him breathless and heaving.
There was the man who’d nearly killed him.
The man who’d been supposedly shepherding them through stardom, and working for their best interests.
Carl looked wild and desperate and utterly guilty in those photos, and once the initial shock had worn off, the only thing in Ray’s heart for that bastard was contempt.
The speculation about why Carl was arrested was all over the map, everything from gay-bashing to being enamored with Ray or Zavier or both, to being some kind of spy for another band.
What bothered Ray the most was that he still didn’t know the reasons behind Carl’s actions. He shook his head and searched on. And rammed up against pages upon pages of text and photos and tweets that made his eyes water and his throat tighten. He set the tablet down and got up to pace.
Get-well messages. Outpourings of love and concern. Photos of signs and cards and little vigils with candles and lights, entire Instagrams worth of messages. It was everything and far more than he deserved.
I’m just a guy who sings.
He could almost hear Zavier’s laugh and the words he’d probably say. You’re so much more than that, Ray.
On the one hand, his lawyer said to lay low. On the other hand, he probably should say something to the fans. They did have an official Twitter account for the band, but Dom managed that. Ray headed back to the tablet and called it up.
Nope. No statement at all.
Well, something to talk to Ms. Gonfaus about. He was about to flip over to his personal email when his phone buzzed with a text. He scrambled for it. Could be Mish or Dom, but it could be Zavier, too, now that he had Ray’s number.
Dom’s name was blazoned across the top of the phone.
Yo. You up?
Ray let out a sigh of disappointment.
Yeah, come on over.
He sent the message, then headed into the adjoining room.
Wasn’t just Dom, but Mish, too. They ordered breakfast, two pots of honest-to-god coffee and not the room brew stuff, and more breakfast food than three people could probably eat.
But when it came, they all dug in as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks, sitting at a round table that barely held all the dishes.
Once Ray’d stuffed his face with enough pancakes, he sat back. “I got online to check out the spin.”
Dom gulped his coffee. “Some of it’s really weird, huh? Like the theories and all.”
“Yeah.” Ray soaked a piece of bacon in syrup. “But the fans are amazing. Did you see all the messages?”
Mish chuckled. “The fans have always been there for us, and for you.” She had her well, duh look on.
He nearly told them he didn’t deserve it, but Zavier’s voice loomed in his head, as did his touch in a simple leather strip around his ankle. “We should probably make an announcement on official social media or something.”
Dom scratched at the stubble on his neck. “I’ve been thinking about that. Wanna talk to your lawyer about it.”
“She’s the band’s lawyer, Dom. All of ours. Whatever we do, I want you guys to be comfortable with it, you know?”
Mish nodded slowly. “You call the shots, Ray. We’ll back you up.”
“What about Zavier?” Dom was chewing on his thumbnail again, and Ray wondered how he managed to have any nail at all sometimes.
“I called him last night. He’ll be back today. And yes, he’s part of the band, no matter what the contracts actually say.” Ray wanted Zavier in his bed and life and in the band. He suspected both Mish and Dom understood that, too. But he wasn’t gonna voice it out loud.
They both were, as he figured, completely down with that idea. They loved Zavier just as much as Ray did, albeit differently.
Polishing off the remnants of breakfast killed a little more time until the next phone call—and this one still wasn’t Zavier. It was Ms. Gonfaus.
He answered. “Hey, I have Mish and Dom here, can I put you on speaker?”
“Of course.”
That talk went well. A couple of key things had happened, the largest of which was that Carl had confessed to trying to drug Ray. But he’d wanted Ray out of control, like the drunkard they’d originally painted him as. He hadn’t expected Ray to have a severe allergic reaction.
Ray had been pacing, but he found the nearest flat surface, the bed, and sank down onto it. “But why?” The question tore out of him painfully, taking a bit of his throat and the sound of anger with it.
“I can send you the files,” she murmured.
“Part of it was he thought you’d unfairly gotten ahead somehow, but most of it was, according to Carl, at least, that the label had an idea to market Twisted Wishes as a bad boy—and girl—rock band, and your fight with your former drummer played well into that idea. ”
Ray was glad he was sitting, because he was shaking too hard to stand and his fury was burning a hole in the top of his head. “They...what?” His voice was too loud, too angry. Both Mish and Dom flinched.
Ms. Gonfaus was diplomatically quiet.
He reached down to his ankle and pressed Zavier’s bracelet into his flesh, and counted to five. “Shit. Sorry. It doesn’t matter going forward, but I’m livid.” He ground the word out.
“As well you should be,” Ms. Gonfaus said.
“They could have at least told us,” Dom said. “I mean, if that was their angle, we could have worked with them to use it? Rather than getting used by them?” He got up and took Ray’s place, pacing. “What a half-baked marketing plan!”
A chuckle from the phone. “But one that gives us quite a bit of leverage. I believe we’ll be able to negotiate with the label in a very beneficial way.”
They went over those details again, and both Mish and Dom agreed.
“What about Mr. Demos?”
This time Ray stood. “Well, Zav’s not here at the moment...and he’s technically a session musician with a separate contract with the label.” He paused. “But he’s joining the band. Has joined, for all practical purposes.”
“I see.” The sound of pen scratches. “That’s good, since I suspect now that you’re not touring, Mr. Demos would have found himself cut loose from the label.”
Ray stopped moving. “I don’t care about the legal tangles. He’s part of Twisted Wishes.”
“Understood. But I will need to speak with him about his contract and how he wishes to deal with that.”
Made sense. “Okay. I’ll ask him to call you when he’s back.”
A few more scribbling noises. “Good.”
They wrapped up a few more items, including drafting several simple social media statements for Dom to post, which he did.
“Hey, is that stuff about Carl in a police report?” Dom asked.
“Yes,” Ms. Gonfaus said.
“I want to see it,” Ray said. “As soon as possible.”
Dom made a sour face. “Bet they’ll be on some website, soon.”
“That’ll be a media field day.” Mish poured herself the remaining coffee.
So they drafted a statement about that, too, so Dom could post it later.
When they finished the call, Ray didn’t really want to think about Carl, but he couldn’t stop doing exactly that. “Fuck. That asshole.”
“Fuck the label to hell.” Mish stood. “And they smiled at us and praised us and got on our case for stepping one foot out of line.”
Yeah, that was the short and long of it. Ray scratched his head and dropped his gaze to his ankle, to that little strip of leather. He took a breath and straightened. “Doesn’t matter anymore. I mean, it does—but we gotta look forward. This is an opportunity.”
To decide their own fate. To be wiser about partnering with labels.
Mish chuckled, came over, and wrapped her arms around him. “Hey, hon, when did you get to be the levelheaded one?”
He laughed. “I had help.”
Over Mish’s shoulder, Ray caught Dom rolling his eyes. “Hey, he’s a good man!”
Dom held up his hands. “No argument with me. He’s good for you, but you’re way the hell sappy for him.”
Mish pressed a kiss to Ray’s forehead. “Let him be. Zavier knocked some sense into him. I’ll take that with sappy any day.”
Heat rose to Ray’s cheeks. “I’m standing in the room with you guys.”
“But drummer boy isn’t.” She stepped back. “Where is he, anyway?”
There was a tightness in Ray’s chest, half from the unknown, and half from anticipation. “I don’t know. I think his walk turned into a drive.”
“He was pretty strung out about the whole hospitalization thing.” Dom picked up the book he’d been reading and flopped onto the bed. “You really need to add him to all the power of attorney stuff, I mean, if you two are gonna keep...” Color touched Dom’s face.
“Fucking.” Mish’s smile was wide. “If you and that boy are gonna keep fucking so damn hard as to wake the neighbors, and if you’re gonna run through life together like nothing in the world can stop the two of you...you really should look into the paperwork.”
Like nothing could stop... Ray laughed. “Sorry if we kept you up.”
Dom was more than red-cheeked now. “Anyway, I’m gonna read.”
Mish’s turn to roll her eyes. “What I really want to do is lounge by the pool, but I guess here is still the safest place to be.”
After reading and talking and getting annoyed with each other, they eventually ended up playing gin rummy on the bed until Ray’s phone buzzed. This time it was a text from Zavier:
I’m 30 minutes out.
Ray read the text out loud for Dom and Mish, and Mish tapped Dom’s arm. “Come on. That’s our cue to get out before we get run over by Zavier’s libido.”
“Jesus,” Dom muttered, and his blush sprang back, but his smile was warm. “Enjoy.”
Oh, in the end, Ray would. He was sure of that. But right now? He was nervous as hell, which didn’t make sense. Except it was Zavier, so that tingle in his blood and quickness in his pulse did make sense in a way. A good kind of nervous? Maybe.
He headed back into the adjoining room. Another shower would help. As he peeled off his clothes and glanced around the room, a plan formed in his head. Something Zavier would understand, an action that had meaning. A way for Ray to show Zavier that he understood.