Chapter Four
Carlos
The car dropped us off at the private wing of the airport–the same one the Knights had their plane at. The driver helped us get our snowboards and suitcases. Fatigue weighed me down, but fuck it, I could nap on the plane.
Hale, who once again wore a cowboy hat and boots, along with jeans, a band tee, and a snowboarding jacket, looked around at the hangers and jets.
“We’re taking one of these planes?” Hale blinked.
“We are. It’s an ultra-jet, too. Super fast. The festival is providing it. That’s why the flight time is weird. It’s what worked.” I looked around to see if anyone was here yet.
While Dusty was doing really well for himself, between his music and his novelty boxer shorts company Box Munch, he wasn’t private-plane rich. Neither was his family.
“Hey, Carlos!” Kace, Dusty’s assistant, waved at me. His husband, Tyrell, who was Dusty’s choreographer, stylist, and therapist was with him.
“Hey. Kace, Tyrell, this is Hale,” I introduced. We’d all gone to the same performing arts high school. Dusty and my ex had gone there, too.
“This all goes?” Kace asked, looking at our stuff.
“Yes, but please be careful with my suitcase? There’s precious cargo in it.” Two dozen of my mamá’s tamales so we’d have them for Christmas. Also, the makings for champurrado. Not to mention everyone’s presents.
“Will do.” He nodded.
“Lalo!” Dusty pulled up in a golf cart. He had a goatee that was almost a beard and wore a Nordic print hat with ear flaps and puffballs on strings over his short, light brown hair. His metal glasses slid down his nose. Even though it was December, he was shirtless.
“Dusty!” I hopped in.
“Hale-i-o-burrito, don’t sit on the pan dulces.” Dusty waved and started to drive.
Hale put the box on his lap. “They’re warm.”
“Oooh, did your amá make them?” I asked. His amá was to pan dulces what my mamá was to tamales.
“Yep.” Dusty grinned and we drove off toward where the plane was. “Can you believe I’m headlining fucking Winter-Fest?”
We’d literally started recording his songs in his shower back in high school. I’d been a roadie for him many times over the years. The fact that he’d exploded in popularity made me so happy. His new album was smashing it.
“I’m proud of you. You’ve worked hard. Fuck, maybe you’ll get to do Feral Ratville next.” That was the biggest of the summer European warehouse music festivals.
“That would be incredible,” Dusty agreed.
“Thank you so much for inviting me,” Hale said as we drove.
“Your race blew my mind. We’re going to have so much fun,” Dusty replied excitedly.
“I’m up for any mayhem you have planned,” Hale noted.
We stopped in front of a plane. It wasn’t as big as the team jet the Knights had, but it also wasn’t tiny. I waved to Dusty’s road crew. I knew most of them, too.
“Where’s your girl?” Dusty smirked, looking around. He told me to bring Fiona and Saoirse because he wanted to meet them.
Dusty and Hale were two of the few people who knew about them. Though I’m sure my friend and teammate Dimitri suspected, because he missed nothing.
I checked my phone. “Almost here.”
“Did you get the goods?” he whispered to me. “I did.”
“Yep. I did.” I got out of the golf cart.
While Fiona had booked some fancy-ass Christmas dinner for us at one of the ski lodges, we also planned to have our own. What we didn’t bring, Dusty would have delivered to our villa.
“How fast does this go?” Hale eyed the cart.
“Wanna see?” Dusty asked.
I took the box of pan dulces while they raced the cart around the plane. Would anyone notice if I ate one now?
“Carlos!” Fiona’s arms wrapped around my waist. I got a hit of candy canes and brandy.
“Sorry we’re late. Someone took a while to get ready.” Saoirse joined us, looking fresh and perfect–hair done, lips red, a trench coat over a smart black suit. One hand pulled a suitcase.
“Meanie,” Fiona grumbled. “My hair took forever to dry.” Her hair was in a messy bun, and she wore pastel green sweats with a matching hoodie and furry boots. A hat threatened to fall out of her pocket.
“You’re here, that’s all that matters.” I gave her a kiss.
“You can board the plane now,” Kace told us, taking Saoirse’s suitcase from her.
Dusty and Hale were still racing around in the golf cart, but now Hale was driving, while Dusty filmed it with his phone.
“Thanks.” I took Fiona’s gloved hand. “Let’s get some coffee and have these pastries.”
Fiona’s green eyes lit up. “I’d love that. And a nap.”
We boarded the plane. His road crew were already there in seats at the front.
“You are Mr. Woodrow’s guests? Yes? This way.” A flight attendant led us past the couple of rows of overstuffed reclining seats, and past a beautiful wooden partition.
This area had six chairs facing each other–four on one side, two on the other, with tables in the middle. Behind it was a couch, chairs, and TV, and beyond that stood another partition.
“The lounge and bathroom are behind the partition. The chairs in the lounge recline fully,” she told us.
“Could we have some coffee, please?” I set the box on one of the tables.
“Of course.” She also took our breakfast orders, then left.
“Are any of them jelly filled?” Fiona opened the box and blinked at the brightly colored pastries.
“One of Dusty’s moms made them.” I handed her a bright pink concha. It was round and looked a little like a seashell.
“Is this gingerbread?” Saoirse picked up a pig-shaped maranito.
“Not quite. It’s not gingery, but they’re really good. They’re Dusty’s favorite,” I replied.
The flight attendant brought us coffee.
“Thank you. Just what I need.” Fiona put a lot of cream and sugar in hers. Saoirse added nothing.
I grabbed a crescent-shaped cuernito and took a bite, letting the sweetness explode over my tongue. “So good.”
“I like this.” Saoirse nodded as we sat around the table.
Fiona, who was still standing, took a bite of Saoirse’s. “Oooh. I like it.” She leaned over and took a bite of mine. “Also like.” She ate more of hers. “So good. You and Dusty have been friends for a long time, right? You met on a telenovela?”
“Yep. I was eleven, he was twelve. My sister Anita was already doing telenovelas. Sometimes they needed kids, and she’d get me work.
I met Dusty on set–we played brothers. We worked so well together that over the years we’ve played brothers many times.
We became good friends and both went to the same performing arts high school.
Dusty was already really into music. I went because they had a hockey team and I wanted to see if I could make them good.
” I grinned and finished off my cuernito.
“Did you succeed?” Fiona asked.
“We did well enough.” I was noticed by a scout and drafted by the Knights. While I could have played for a big university, I chose to play for a local community college with a strong program, kept playing for my junior team, and hoped the Knights signed me.
Just because you were drafted by a team didn’t mean you ended up playing for them.
Saoirse's dark eyebrows rose. “Performing arts high school? Why did I not know this? Do you sing or dance?”
Oh, Saoirse was never finding out that I’d been in musicals.
“I was a working actor. A performing arts high school doesn't care as much if we missed class for work. A lot of people don’t know that a shit-ton of telenovelas are filmed here in New York. I don’t really do much anymore other than Monstruo Lane.
Though Dusty still does guest roles.” I picked up a concha with a little Christmas tree on it.
Sometimes Dusty appeared on Monstruo Lane with me.
“Are you eating them without me?” Dusty bounded over, Hale behind him.
“Yes.” I took a large bite. “This is Dusty, behind him is Hale. This is Fiona and Saoirse.”
“Good to see you again, Fiona.” Hale gave her a really silly smile. “Howdy, Saoirse. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi. Wow, Hale, I didn’t realize how tall you were,” Fiona replied.
Hale was tall. Especially compared to me and Dusty. Dusty was short for an alpha.
Her eyes fell on Dusty. “Wait… you’re…” Fiona shoved me. “You didn’t tell me Dusty was BroKen.”
I grinned back. “You never asked. I kept expecting you to ask me how Dusty got tickets.”
Dusty’s eyes went right to Saoirse who suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Cici! I didn’t know you were coming. My day has been made.”
He did a little happy dance in the aisle.
“As I’ve said many times, it’s Saoirse. I didn’t know your name was Dusty. Where is your shirt?” Saoirse didn’t seem nearly as excited to see him.
Dusty and Saoirse knew each other? But Dusty knew a lot of people.
“Clothes are overrated. Did you think my name was Ken? A lot of people do. And of course you’re Cici. Carlos is Lalo. Hale is Hale-i-o-burrito. I would call Fiona-fair Fiona-licious, but that might be an overstep, so I shall call you Fifi, because it rhymes with Cici.” Dusty nodded sagely.
Fiona laughed. “I’d be honored, Dusty. Plenty of people call me Fifi.” Her eyes focused on Saoirse. “You know him?”
Hale reached over us, grabbed a cuernito, and plopped down in the seat across the aisle. “Fuck, I haven’t had these in forever.”
Saoirse sighed. “Do you remember the hot air balloon race? Also, do you recall me telling you about the job that was interrupted by a flash mob of people in inflatable dinosaur costumes? And the remote control car race? And the cosplay dance battle. Oh, and the one where the naked guy was rappelling down a building?”
“Oh, yes.” Fiona cocked her head. “They were all him?”
Dusty took a coffee from the flight attendant. “I was not naked, thank you. I was wearing a skin tone bodysuit.”
I paused. “Dusty’s interrupted your jobs?”
“Yes. Every job that’s been interrupted by chaos? They were all him. Six times. Five jobs. Three continents.” She shot Dusty a frosty look.
“You know you love it. I’m irresistible. And I make it up to you. I don’t mean to interrupt them. It’s not like I do it on purpose.” Dusty turned on the charm.
“Hmmm.” Saoirse’s look stayed chilly.
“What do you do?” Hale asked, as he grabbed a maranito.