CHAPTER SIX
ROYCE
Gary, our stage manager, is pacing back and forth impatiently when we finally arrive at the venue.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Ava! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
I give him a pat on his protruding belly as I walk by. “Sure you’re directing that question at the right person, Gary? Might want to ask the next cashier who takes your order at Jack in the Box. See what they say.”
He makes a face and grumbles something, then he sees Hudson. “Whoa, hey now. Who’s this dude and where’s his pass?”
“Relax, Gary. He’s cool.”
“He still needs a goddamned pass,” he huffs, but it’s directed at Ava, so I just keep walking and gesture for Hudson to do the same.
“Keep your panties on. I’ve got some in the dressing room. Just haven’t made it back there yet.” Ava gives Gary a quick kiss on the cheek. “His name’s Hudson by the way. He’ll be with the band until further notice, so no giving him shit if you spot him without a pass again. Just pretend he’s wearing one, got it shoved in his back pocket or tattooed to his chest. He’s legit. Part of the team, got it? ”
Gary nods. “You’re the boss. Now can we get this fucking soundcheck going before the arena fills up?”
“We’re on it.” Angel waves his drumsticks in the air, which is the equivalent to a thumbs up for him, and we all follow Gary down through the long hall leading out to the stage.
Even without turning around, I can feel Hudson walking right behind me. Well, smell him is more like it. His cologne has been slowly torturing me ever since I got close enough to him to pick up on it. A few times I thought I recognized the scent as being the same one Derek wears, and maybe it is, but it has other tantalizing traits to it that make me want to inhale him in ways I’ve never once considered doing to Derek.
The moment I step on stage, I know he’s no longer behind me. I turn around to look for him before I can stop myself and just catch a glimpse of him as he walks off with Ava, probably to get that pass Gary was bitching about.
“Relax, he’ll be back.” Angel again. He twirls his drumsticks in his fingers, thoroughly amused at my expense.
“Fuck you.” I pick up my bass and let my fingers strum the strings. Instantly, my whole body relaxes, and I realize how tense I’ve been. It’s crazy really, how stressed and anxious one man can make me while the prospect of standing on a stage in front of thousands of people can actually put me at ease, but it’s the truth. I’m at home up here. Playing my music. It’s the one thing in my life I know I’ve mastered. I’m not the best by a long shot, but I’m well on my way to being among them one day.
I close my eyes, listening for Angel’s beat and the chords from Derek’s guitar. We’re in our element and we fly through our soundcheck with just enough time to change and freshen up before the show starts .
Isn’t until Blaise goes to close the door to his dressing room that he realizes I’ve been walking right behind him the entire time.
“What the fuck? What are you doing, dude? You just walked right past your dressing room.”
“I know that, jackass. I can read my own fucking name.” I push the door open again. “I’m looking for Ava.”
I see her head poke up from behind her laptop. “What’s up? You know, I’m pretty sure Hudson’s in your dressing room waiting for you.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Why? Is that where you ordered him to go?” Her eyes go wide, and she looks genuinely hurt. Even Blaise comes around to face me, a definite disapproval in his expression. He isn’t one to fight Ava’s battles for her, mostly because she can hold her own, but I know damn well he’ll knock anyone the fuck out if they cause her pain. I am in no way an exception to this policy.
“Why would I order him to go anywhere?” Ava stands up and walks toward me.
“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re his fucking boss now and ordering people around comes with the title.” It’s a completely unfounded accusation and I have no idea why I’m throwing it out there. Maybe I’m angling to get punched by Blaise. Maybe I think a little physical pain will be a nice distraction and aid me in trying to forget the ache twitching at my soul.
“Oh, I didn’t realize. Well, in that case, maybe I should order you to go fuck yourself.”
Blaise takes a step closer, inching his way between us.
“I’ll be glad to, right after you tell me what the fuck you were thinking hiring me a boyfriend!” Despite my anger, my voice remains steady. I gave up yelling a long time ago. Doesn’t make people listen anyway.
In the midst of my own emotions, I somehow miss where Ava’s do a complete one-eighty. Before I can stop her, she has both arms wrapped around me, one pressing against my shoulder blade and the other gently running through the hair on the back of my head, bringing me down close to her face and pressing my forehead to hers.
“You’re an idiot,” she whispers. “I hired him to take pictures. He just happens to like you. I don’t know why you have such a hard time grasping that concept.”
“Ava.” All of my anger dwindles down to nothing and is replaced with a new set of emotions, leaving me feeling far more uneasy and vulnerable. Vulnerable. I hate that word. Almost as much as I hate the feeling.
“Royce.” She just stares back at me, waiting. In the background I can see Blaise watching us, not even a hint of discomfort. That’s how fucking overbearing we all are with one another. He’s used to this shit. We all are.
“I just...I’m going to let this one go. I’m glad you hired him. He takes amazing pictures, and you’re right, he’ll do a great job...but please stop pushing us together. It’ll only make things uncomfortable.” I pull back and kiss her forehead, then slip out of her embrace completely.
“I know I’m right. I’m always right.” She places both hands on her hips, a clear sign that manager Ava is taking over. “Which is why you should listen to me when I tell you that Hudson working for me, has nothing to do with you.”
I nod and turn toward the door. “So, let’s keep it that way. ”
I’m about to walk out when she adds, “He would have turned down the job if it did.”
“What?” I let the door fall back into place and wait for her to elaborate.
“I said, he would have turned the job down if it had anything to do with you. Apparently, everyone around here is very confused about my job description.” She makes a face. “Anyway, he likes you. Told me himself. Said he wouldn’t take the gig if it would in any way fuck up his chances to get to know you better. Hudson’s not in it to bang Finding Nolan’s bass player. He’s not some stupid groupie. He’s for real. And you like him too, so I really don’t see what the problem is.”
I drop my face into both palms, running my hands over my eyes and through my hair. “The problem is, I’m scared, okay? This isn’t like with you two.” I lift my head again and wave my finger at them both, a certain amount of disgust to go with it. “I’m not walking into something with someone I know inside and out. I’m not guaranteed unconditional love, no matter how much I fuck up. There’s no acceptance of my flaws or understanding of my fears. I’m going in blindly.”
Ava shrugs. “Yeah. But so is he.”
Touché.
I ball my fists and attack an imaginary punching bag at my waist because all of this fucking anxious energy has to go somewhere. Then, I take a deep breath and reach for the door one more time. “If this shit backfires, it’s on you two.”
Blaise throws his arms up at me. “What the fuck did I do to get roped into this?”
“It’s not what you did, it’s who you do on a regular basis.” Naturally, Ava’s only response to any of my pre-exit ramblings is to smile smugly, already assuming that she’s right about something even if none of us know exactly what that will wind up being yet.
It takes three attempts, but I finally manage to open the door to my own dressing room and walk in. Thank God, no one else was in the hall. It’s enough having to face myself after that.
“Hey, Ava said I might find you in here.” I smile, or at least, I hope that’s what I’m doing.
“Yeah. She said it was okay. Wasn’t sure where else to hang since I don’t really know the others that well yet.” Hudson repeatedly moves his hands out of his pockets and then shoves them back in. Good. So, I’m not the only one coming completely undone here. And it can’t be a star struck thing, unless it’s seriously delayed, because he was way chill this morning when he first realized who I am. God, that sounds so arrogant. Who am I? Fucking Royce, that’s all.
I nod, probably more often than necessary, on my way to the rack of clothes along the wall. If I stay in the same button-up shirt from dinner, I’ll be melting underneath the stage lights in no time. “Totally fine. Feel free to hang in my dressing room anytime.” I pause, replaying the statement in my mind. Was it inappropriate? Suggestive? Weird?
“Thanks. I’ll definitely be taking you up on that offer. You know, since I guess I’m going to be around for a while.” He laughs softly. “Tell you the truth, I still can’t believe Ava offered me a job. This whole fucking day, man...I couldn’t have dreamt this shit up if I’d tried. ”
I pull a Tom Waits t-shirt from its hanger. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Then I hear the words as I say them. So does Hudson.
“You do?” He chuckles. “What was so out of the ordinary about your day?”
Fuck it. I turn around to face him and spit it out before I can swallow the words back down and my balls along with them. “Meeting you.” Then, to keep from having to face him, I skip unbuttoning the front of my dress shirt and simply peel the whole thing up over my head, temporarily taking refuge in my cotton enclosure.
HUDSON
Fuck, it suddenly got hot in here. Thank the Rock Gods Royce can’t see me, because I am definitely enjoying seeing him. His torso isn’t just a mass of lean muscles, but it’s entirely covered in tattoos. I knew this already, of course, but damn, in person is so much better than on the cover of Rolling Stone. Mostly because here, there aren’t any big breasted lingerie models posed with their hands all over his tight, toned abs. For a moment, I almost consider reaching out and having a feel for myself, but then his shirt comes all the way off and I can see his face again. More importantly, he can see me.
I clear my throat, trying to remember the last thing he said. “What could possibly make meeting me so significant? I mean, I know I make a fantastic cup of coffee.” I’m fishing for a fucking compliment. I don’t care. I want one. Need it. Something, anything to let me know what I’m experiencing is being reciprocated, and that it’s more than just a hook up with some random groupie for him. I’m no goddamned groupie.
Royce tosses the shirt onto a chair and reaches for the Tom Waits one he’s putting on in its place. Only he doesn’t...put it on. Just holds it in his hands while I try to keep my eyes lifted above his collar bone and away from the muscles that continue to dance under his smooth skin with each move he makes.
“I’m not good at this,” he admits, but I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about. I’ve yet to see him do anything he isn’t stellar at.
“Not good at what?”
His gaze meets mine, that same hint of insecurity I saw before is back. “This. Meeting men. Connecting. Dating.” He grimaces.
“You’re joking. You’re fucking Royce Lemmi! Sex on a motherfucking stick with musical talent coming out of your ass.” My rational mind tells me this is his thing, his game, his line, but my gut tells me something completely different. Behind all of that rugged rocker exterior, is someone broken. And lonely.
“Yeah, I’m fucking Royce Lemmi alright.” He shakes his head. “Some days it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m on the road more than I’m not, and when I actually stay put, I’m holed up in the recording studio. I live in a bubble, surrounded by four of the most fucked up individuals you’ll probably ever meet, all of which I would die for in a heartbeat, because that’s the kind of love we have for one another. Aside from them, the only great passion in my life is my music. And the harsh truth is, anyone else coming into the picture will likely never top either one of those on the list of what’s most important to me. That is, of course, provided anyone can even get through the thousands of horny women throwing themselves at me night after night, because I’m a gay man living in a public closet with mirrored walls I can’t seem to find my fucking way out of.” He stares down at the T-shirt still in his hands. “So, yeah, I’m not good at this...but after today, I kind of wish I was.”
I have no fucking clue what comes over me. Maybe it’s the sight of Royce being so vulnerable. Or maybe it’s a more primal need to feel his skin against my own, but I take several steps toward him and reach my hand up to his face, cupping his cheek, the soft stubbles of his five o’clock shadow brushing against my palm.
“I think you’re better at it than you know.”