Syncopation Page 5

  Zavier gave off a rumble that fit somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and he flattened his hand against the table. “Carl’s not the record label.”

  “He might as well be,” Ray said. “He’s our only contact with them.” Their gateway to the stars, Carl sometimes said.

  Zavier arched his eyebrows. “Really? Is that typical?” Not a snide question—honest curiosity.

  God, Ray felt like shit—he wasn’t smart enough for this gig. Images of Kevin with his bottle of Jack flashed through his mind, and he rubbed his forehead. “Maybe?” They’d gone into this blind, happy to have a contract and a label and some money behind them. “This is so different than when we played in local bars and put out singles, you know?”

  But Zavier didn’t know. He’d been off getting a music degree and touring the world with symphonies.

  Ray pushed himself up. “I’ll go wait for lunch. I need some air.”

  He followed the same path Carl had taken, but unlike Carl, he couldn’t jump into a car and drive away. Hell, he was such a fuckup, he didn’t know how to drive.

  Ray stared up into the clear sky. Dom was right—this was shit, and he had no clue how to fix it.

  * * *

  As the days went by, Zavier watched Ray become more unraveled. When they played, Ray was fine, but as soon as music wasn’t flowing through the air, he turned moody and snappish, or still and silent—a statue sitting out on the deck, watching the sky.

  The few times Carl stopped by to listen to them practice in their makeshift space in the garage, Ray had gone from the Zen, perfect singer to a destructive asshole in no seconds flat.

  “Maybe,” Zavier murmured at Mish while they cleaned up a broken plate and glass, “we should switch to paper and plastic for a while.”

  “He’s really stressed,” she whispered back. “He’s a good guy.”

  “I know he is.” Ray was frustrated and scared. Only when he sang did he loosen up and breathe.

  The urge to tame that energy and calm those fears gripped Zavier like a vice. Ray was lithe, strong, and responsive to rhythm, exactly the kind of person Zavier loved to fuck. But he had seen how a wild temper could play out between sexual partners who had to work together, and he’d had enough items thrown at him this year.

  Maybe if Ray got his shit together...

  No. Not a wise option.

  “It’ll be better when we’re on the road. Less time to brood, and Carl’s happier if he can see results.” Mish dumped a dustpan of shards into the trash.

  “If Carl cared enough to pay attention, he’d see the results.”

  Mish grinned. “You’re starting to sound like one of us, Zavier, honey.”

  “Honey?” He raised an eyebrow at Mish.

  “Don’t fight me on it. You’ll lose. All you boys are honey.” She had a smile like Nadia’s, though years younger. So he gave in.

  “Fine—but only you.”

  “Somehow I don’t think either Dom or Ray would call you that, even if you let them.”

  “Which I wouldn’t.” He washed his hands in the utility sink by the laundry and dried them on his shorts. “I’m guessing we’re not practicing anymore today.”

  After a couple of weeks, they’d finally made it to the third album and had been polishing off a fast-paced track that had some heady rhythmic and seductive beats. Ray had sung nearly every repeat, eyes closed to listen, unconsciously moving and thrusting to the song. Zavier would’ve played that line all day long to watch Ray swing his hips so.

  Then Carl had walked in and informed them they had to pack up their gear after tomorrow, because they were heading east a half week early to play a gig they’d known nothing about at some music festival.

  They weren’t ready—nearly there, but not quite. Not enough to pack up tomorrow and drive across the country.

  Ray had held it together well enough until Carl had left...but then the cursing started.

  And here Mish and he were, cleaning up. Dom had followed Ray out of the garage, hopefully to try to calm him down.

  “We need to at least get through ‘Dark Dreams,’” she said.

  That’d been the band’s breakout song. Moody, angry, and fast. It had a sound that younger fans loved—but also hooked into something nostalgic in people a generation older. Twisted Wishes had tapped into the past and dragged it into the present.

  “That would be the smart thing.” Zavier studied the door both Ray and then Dom had rushed through. “I guess we ought to see what the damage is.” He wasn’t talking about glassware.

  They found Dom sitting on the couch in the living room, head in his hands. “He’s being himself again.”

  Mish rolled her eyes. “Oh, lord.”

  That didn’t sound good. “Where is he?”

  Dom gestured up. Upper deck, then. That had been Ray’s sulking spot as of late. Zavier climbed the stairs, and yes, Ray was in his favorite lounge chair, eyes closed, hands curled into fists.

  “I’m very sorry to have wasted your time, Zavier.” A detachment to those words. “But I don’t think we’re going to need a drummer much longer.”

  “Don’t fucking start with that shit.” Zavier settled into a chair next to Ray. “I’m not in the mood and we have work to do.” He put his feet up on the footstool.

  Ray stirred. “For what? We can’t play that festival.”

  They really had no choice. Saying no to the label wasn’t an option, even if angry, snarky Ray thought it was. “Tough shit. We’re playing that festival, so we might as well prepare the best that we can.”

  Ray practically choked on his laugh. “We don’t even have a playlist! I have no idea what songs or—anything!”

  The terror of failure was so clear in his expression, in the play of his muscles. The overwhelming fear that they’d step on stage and blow it.

  These practices with Twisted Wishes proved that wouldn’t happen. Zavier knew the band, and he knew Ray. “Bullshit. You have a list. You’ve been crafting it in your head since the day I played ‘White Hot Midnight’ for you.”

  Ray let out a sigh and his fists uncurled. “I know what songs sound the best so far, and there’s some I think will bleed well into each other and—” He stopped talking.

  Zavier huffed a laugh. “You’re really fucking good at what you do when you put your mind to it.”

  “And you’re a complete asshole, Zav.” Anger there. “Fucking shithead.”

  “Shithead me or Shithead Carl?” Because there wasn’t anyone else he thought Ray would pin that on.

  He was quiet for a while, eyes open now. He met Zavier’s gaze. “Me. I’m the shithead.”

  Now there was something Zavier liked: Ray’s self-awareness when he calmed down. “Mish thinks we should work on ‘Dark Dreams.’ We have today and tomorrow.” If they got that song worked up, they’d be free to pick and choose from the other albums.

  “I guess I could put together a playlist for the festival.” Ray took a breath. “They’re usually shorter sets, aren’t they?”

  “I have no idea.” Conventional wisdom from having attended a few said yes, but fuck if Zavier’d claim something he didn’t know.

  Ray rubbed his face. “I’ll have to ask Carl.”

  Ah, now maybe he could help there. “Or I could. Parlay my ignorance into usefulness.”

  The look Ray gave him seeped into Zavier’s bones. A man with that kind of expression deserved to be turned over a knee.

  “I wouldn’t call you ignorant. Full of yourself? A grade-A fuckwad? Sure.” Ray smiled.

  Zavier laughed. Couldn’t help it. Ray wasn’t the first to use him to play Pin the Tail on the Jerk. Wasn’t wrong, either. He rolled over on his lounge chair and dropped into his most seductive voice. “Why, Ray, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you like me!” If only he could spank that smirk off his face.
>
  The shudder that ran through Ray was a thing of delight, like a sip of fine liquor, and warmed Zavier the same way.

  Ray’s arousal was painfully obvious from his sudden flush, the way he licked his lips, and the impressive bulge in his shorts. “I—should go downstairs.” With that he rose and tried in vain to get up in such a way as not to show Zavier his hard-on. Failed.

  A moment later, Ray was thumping down the stairs and Zavier was alone. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. Ray lusted after him. Probably had for years, but seeing it so close—that was temptation incarnate. Zavier pressed a palm against his hardening shaft. Yeah, he’d be indulging in that fantasy tonight, once he was alone and could jack off in private.

  But for now? The band had work to do. Physical lust could be satiated. Musicality took time and energy. Zavier hauled himself up from the chair and headed back down to join the band.

  Chapter Six

  Man, if there were any day Ray could’ve used a beer, today was that day. It had been a little less than two months since they’d started practicing with Zavier, and tonight, they were performing. Ray hadn’t touched any alcohol since Kevin left, and he wasn’t about to go near a tall cool one with Carl milling around the band wherever they were in upstate New York.

  Plus, it’d fuck up his voice. Instead, he sipped his lemon-honey tea and looked out over the venue. A band was playing on the stage and people were scattered all over the place. Some in the pavilion seating, others on blankets spread out over the lawn. Not too long from now, Twisted Wishes would play right before Five Asylum, the headlining act.

  Quite an honor, Carl told them. He’d been all smiles and kindness, kind of like he had been after they’d signed, back when Ray trusted him. One of the bigwigs from the label had shown up, too, and Ray had to admit, it was gratifying to hear praise from the suit. “Carl says you’ve been working really well with the new drummer. That you’re sounding better than ever.”

  Ray put on his charm and smiled. “Yes, sir. Zavier’s incredibly talented and we’re lucky to have him.” Mr. Perfect was standing right there, of course, along with the rest of the band. Yeah, they’d come amazingly far.

  Zavier shook the suit’s hand. “I’m the lucky one. This has been an incredible experience.”

  Ray almost believed him. Zavier’s face was so sincere.

  The suit did one of those clapping things bigwigs did when they’ve run out of things to say to peons. “Well, I should let you gentlemen—” he paused and glanced at Mish “—and lady get ready.”

  “Of course,” Zavier murmured.

  They were all smiles until Carl and the suit left. Mish snorted. “Women have been in the music industry how long? Played guitar how long?”

  “Since the ’30s,” Dom said. “Or before.” He was dressed as Domino, all makeup, leather, tats, and boots, hair spiked to within an inch of its life. How he got that shit out afterward, Ray never knew. Not enough hot water in the world.

  “I should have stomped on his foot for you,” Ray said.

  Mish rolled her eyes. “Honey, I can take care of myself when it comes to men.”

  Zavier laughed. “Probably better than the rest of us.”

  “Oh,” Mish said, “somehow I suspect you’re more than capable of handling guys.”

  A flush crept up Zavier’s neck. Unusual. “Well, I do have my ways, yes.” His smile was devilish and full of light.

  Mish nodded. “Had a feeling you weren’t straight.”

  “Me?” Zavier laughed. “Nowhere near.”

  Ray could’ve told Mish that.

  She and Domino went off to talk to the techs about their guitars, which left Ray with Zavier alone, and he didn’t want to deal with Zavier at the moment. So more tea.

  The change in climate and the flight across the country had given him a scratchy throat he didn’t like. He always brought his own tea and honey, and the green room had hot water—perfect. A moment later, he was sipping the hot brew down.

  Mish subtly asking about Zavier’s sexuality rolled around in Ray’s brain. Zavier had been fearless in high school. First time Ray had seen him in the halls was when one of the football players had shoved Zavier into a locker and called him a fag. Zavier had turned around and punched the dude in the face, hard enough to bloody his nose. “I’m queer, you fucking asshole. Get it right.”

  Second time he’d seen Zavier was about a week later behind the school, mostly hidden by some shrubs. Same football dude was with him, but this time on his knees, sucking Zavier off.

  Zavier did most certainly have a way with men. And with women. Pretty much everyone.

  While working on his tea, Ray headed outside to a spot between the backstage proper and the concessions area, where the VIP guests were allowed to listen to whatever band was playing currently. They couldn’t see much of the stage, but that didn’t matter. It was private enough, but gave him a glimpse of the amphitheater lawn.

  There, staring out at the crowd through some fencing, he found Zavier. And fuck if he didn’t look a little pale. Nerves? Cold feet?

  “Hey.” He spoke gently, because Zavier’s focus on the crowd was intense.

  Zavier’s features smoothed over. “Hi, Ray.” He nodded at the cup. “Your throat okay?”

  “Yeah. Little dry from the flight. This is mostly pre-gaming.”

  “Lemon and honey.” Zavier crossed his arms. Behind his smile was something else. Yeah, maybe fear.

  “What about you? Are you okay?”

  Zavier started and dropped his arms to his side. “Yes. I think so.” He took a long look at the crowd before turning toward Ray. “This is different. This type of audience. The size.” He shook his head. “I’ll be fine when I’m behind the kit.”

  “Those symphony concert halls have to be pretty big.” Last thing they needed was Zavier freaking out. Kevin had done that the first big concert. “You guys even did touring in Europe, right?”

  Zavier nodded and leaned back against the fence. Open. Honest. The sunlight shone against his black hair.

  It occurred to Ray that Zavier wasn’t that much older than him—two years, maybe two and a half. Hell, Ray was nervous, too. This concert might make or break them. “Can’t be that different.”

  Pursed lips, then a smile. “It’s—there’s more chaos here. The symphony was very organized, even during outdoor performances. The air’s different here. The vibe. This is like walking on a live wire.”

  “Welcome to the rock-and-roll life.”

  Zavier pushed off the fence and the headed toward backstage. “Can’t say I’m in the life until after we play.”

  Ray clapped him on the back, and left his hand there while they walked. “You’re the one who’s spent days telling me we can do this, that I can.” The songs were ready, everything was as done as it got.

  Zavier slowed to a stop and Ray’s hand fell away. They stood close, inches apart. The air sparked, especially with Zavier looking at him like that. “We can do this,” he said. “You’re going to walk out onto that stage and blow them away.”

  Zavier believed in him. Really believed in him. The realization was a physical shock. “I—”

  “Will blow them away.” Zavier’s hand clasped Ray’s hip, and he spoke each word clearly, like he wouldn’t accept any other answer, as if there were no other answer.

  Maybe there wasn’t. “Yeah. All right.”

  “Good,” Zavier murmured. “Very good.” He slid his hand away from Ray. “I need to stretch out my back.”

  Ray lifted his now-tepid tea. “I should finish this.”

  Zavier nodded. “And remember what I said, Ray.”

  He couldn’t forget. “I will.”

  Like walking on a live wire. Every second with Zavier was that. Ray should have been turned on—and he was, in a way. Heat surged through him and yeah, he was
hard, but more than anything he wanted to get on stage and do what Zavier had said.

  Blow them away.

  He finished the tea and hurried backstage to start his vocal warm-ups.

  * * *

  Zavier had been on stage at Carnegie Hall in New York City. He’d played in Geneva, Rome, London, and Berlin. None of those concerts had ever made him as nervous as this one. None of those had been as important.

  The festival crowd gave off a strange energy—both excited and apathetic. They weren’t headlining, but there were still fans here. He’d seen the T-shirts, heard the cries of Ray’s, Domino’s, and Mish’s names.

  He wasn’t Kevin. Better? Yes. But not the drummer those fans had known and loved. If Zavier screwed up tonight, he’d take the whole band down with him.

  That would destroy Ray. Cement in his mind that all those fears were true, that Carl’s asshattery was correct.

  Zavier wouldn’t let that happen. They’d worked too hard in the past two months. Lived on top of one another. Played more music in that time than he’d ever played at once, even at Julliard, even on tour with the symphony. He closed his eyes and focused his breath. Remembered the songs, the rhythms. Ray moving to the music. Yes. There. They’d be fine.

  When cued, they headed out onto the stage, Domino and Mish first. He followed, climbing onto the platform and behind the kit. Everything was set exactly as he liked. Thank god for competent roadies following instructions.

  Domino started, ripping out a low chord and working it upward. Bathed in red light, with his spiked hair, leather pants, and tattooed glory, he looked entirely a rock god. The crowd nearest to the stage cheered and clapped. Then Mish joined in. A sultry and low bass line, blending in with Domino’s jamming, lights shining on her now, too. Tall, proud, unbeatable. Their combined notes screamed through the air and floated high, then dropped down and faded as the crowd got louder.

  Electricity raced through Zavier. This was it. His turn, his time. One, two, three...

  He hit the kit hard and fast, pulsing out the opening to “Diamond Fever.” Not their usual opener, but Ray wanted to mix it up. I want to start with your drumming, if you’re up to that, he’d said. Let the fans know you’re here and good, and that we’re back.