A Kind of Truth (18 page)

“Listen up, Guitar Hero. We didn’t work this hard to have you fuck it up. I don’t care what you drink, what you snort, or who you screw until it affects this band. You better hope you can stand on your own two feet and play without sucking as usual. Get your mind on the music and keep it there. Got it?” When he gave a short nod, I let go of his throat and stepped back, ignoring the shocked, open-mouthed stares of the others before turning back to add one more thing. “By the way… I’m the fucking fag, asshole.”

Terry cocked his head and looked at me with the oddest expression before he stumbled back a step and collapsed in a heap on a metal chair next to a small table.

I watched as my friends scrambled around the slumped form in the chair, calling his name and lightly smacking his cheek.

“Jesus, is he dead?” Tim asked as Cory lifted his wrist to check his vitals.

“No, he’s passed out cold.”

We stared at each other helplessly for what felt like twenty minutes but was probably closer to twenty seconds. Typical club noise invaded the small backroom: clinking glass, pieces of conversations and laughter, and the incessant bass from what sounded like a Nine Inch Nails classic. It was surreal. I could hardly process the calamity unfolding around us. I was all for the age old adage “the show must go on,” but I wasn’t sure how to bounce back from losing our lead guitarist minutes before the lights went down with hundreds of people in the club and… oh yeah, a fucking record exec from LA.

“I hope he wakes up with a bigass hangover.” Benny shot Terry a disgusted look as he sashayed toward the door.

I barely heard Benny as panic warred with nausea. I had to take over. I hoped I could remember some of what Will taught—

“Benny, where’s Will?”

Three sets of eyes turned to me with varying degrees of concern. “He’s out there. Why?”

“We need him.”

Benny stared at me, then shook his head mournfully. “He won’t do it, Rand. He’s shy and—”

“I know, I know.” I shoved my hands through my hair in frustration. “What’s he wearing?”

“Huh?”

“I know him. He didn’t come here in his khakis.”

Benny cocked his head curiously. The corner of his mouth lifted on one side, and his eyes lit up. “That doesn’t mean he’ll—let me see what I can do.”

He flew out the door just as Michelle returned. She surveyed the room before pointing at Terry.

“What happened to him? Never mind. I don’t want to know. You’re on now.”

“Uh, yeah. We’re going to need a minute or two,” Cory said.

“You don’t have a minute. You have now. If you’re not out there within five minutes, we’re pulling your act. You are not Maroon fucking 5. Figure it out!”

The door slammed shut, leaving an echo of muted music and laughter. I chuckled without humor and gave my friends what I hoped passed for a smile. “Let’s do this.”

“How?” Tim picked up his sticks and joined me at the door.

“I’ve got no fucking clue. But we have to try.”

We walked out together onto a darkened stage at Freddie’s House of Music to the sound of thunderous applause, the likes of which we’d never heard before. This was a maximum-capacity crowd of fifteen hundred excited fans. Their cheering and wolf whistles had an anticipatory tone, as though they’d come specifically for Spiral. The idea alone was enough to lift my spirits. If the extra enthusiasm had anything to do with Leah’s networking efforts, we owed her big-time.

I looked over at Cory with a cocky grin that actually felt sincere and gave him a short nod. I had no idea what to expect, but as the first familiar bass riff ripped through the air, I felt fire rush through my veins. This was where I belonged. I didn’t need a script for this part. I knew how the music moved, and I was a master at riding the spaces between the notes. It was time to let go of what I couldn’t control and do my thing.

“Hey Brooklyn,” I called out with the flair of a seasoned leader who was accustomed to playing much larger venues with my band’s name in bright lights. The audience’s resounding cheer was the spark I needed. A burst of energy quaked through me as Tim joined in on his drums. The steady lively beat coupled with the quirky bass signaled the beginning of a song I’d written years ago, “Tonight.” The song was three chords. The lyrics were catchy and playful. It was a fun, feel-good way to start the show. The real zinger would come from a superior guitarist who could bend the notes and take off with a crazy solo, but we’d work with what we had.

I hummed the opening bar as I made my way across the small stage with one arm raised like a crazed orchestra leader striking up the band. I took a deep breath and was about to sing the first line when an electric guitar reverberated behind me. I literally jumped in surprise, and I could tell by the raucous hoots from the first few rows, the audience assumed my reaction was an act. I turned to face the source of the music. And nearly dropped the microphone.

Holy shit.

It was Will. Except it wasn’t. He’d morphed into the guitar god I’d always insisted he was. The spiked short blond wig, tight black jeans, and Doc Martens paired with a red sequined top, a ton of eyeliner, powder, and glittery lip gloss in no way diminished his vitality and presence. He looked like a cross between David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust and his own creation… Billie. His over-the-top appearance juxtaposed with the band’s basic jeans, dark T-shirts, and copious ink looked interesting and sexy as fuck. I couldn’t keep my smile from taking over my face as I signaled I was ready when he was. He nodded tentatively, then strummed the first few notes of the song, luring me in and inviting me to lead. To move, to sing, to do what I’d set out to when I landed in Manhattan months ago… take this fucking city by storm.

And so I did.

Song after song, Spiral built up a steady frenzy until every single person was on their feet dancing, singing along to Rolling Stones and Howlin’ Wolf covers or swaying to original songs they didn’t know the lyrics to yet. I’d been practicing with Will for a few months now. He knew our material, but better than that, he knew how to coax a superior sound from an instrument he’d mastered at a very young age. He was a maestro. I doubted anyone noticed his obvious panic or how stiffly he stood at the beginning, because by the end of that first song, he was gone, carried away by the music. The wacky getup that initially added interest became hard to see when he let go and lost himself. He played with a soulful beauty that could convince anyone he played for them alone. He brought an intimate layer to each song that challenged me to give my best. Together we were electric.

And so was the audience. Initial enthusiastic applause soon gave way to ardent cheering. The four of us fed off the crowd and each other with an infectious joy that comes from doing something you really love. It was evident to anyone paying attention we were in our element. I didn’t stop once to think about important record execs or our drunken band member passed out in the back. This was all about living in the moment.

Near the end of our last set, I stopped with the microphone inches from my mouth and smiled. The crowd went wild. I was overcome with an impulse to thank Will somehow. He was brave and fearless and utterly amazing. He’d set aside his anxiety just to come here tonight. Jumping onstage defied expectation. I turned sideways and locked my gaze on his. My adrenaline level was already through the roof, but I swear my heart flipped in my chest when he smiled at me. I grinned and inexplicably sang the chorus to the first song that popped in my head. Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean.” Will looked confused, and my bandmates no doubt wondered what had gotten into me, but the audience fucking loved it. The juxtaposition of singing along to an old pop song after rocking out to the blues was silly and fun. I switched to Pharrell’s “Happy,” and the crowd sang along without music and with only a little guidance from me. The jubilant, festive mood in the room was palpable. This was why I was in a band. Not for money, fame, or fortune. But for moments like this when music became a communal experience. Something never to be forgotten.

I turned sharply at the pealing sounds of an electric guitar. Will lifted his instrument like a rock superstar from an eighties music video and took over. I laughed outright and theatrically fell to the ground as though he’d slayed me. Just as I was about to spring to my feet, Will set his boot on my stomach and looked down at me with a confidence and charisma I’d never witnessed before. I felt dizzy with lust. The desire to pull him down and take him then and there was strong enough to let me know I was in trouble.

Maybe everyone noticed, maybe not. I only knew everything had changed. Again.

I WAS
the last to leave the stage, right behind Will. When we were out of eyesight, I grasped his hand and pushed him against the wall. We stared at each other for a heated moment before coming together in a fierce, demanding kiss. I ground my pelvis against his as our tongues dueled frantically.

Tim coughed and smacked my shoulder. “Romeo, you’re gonna need to find a more private spot than this to make out.” He extended a hand to Will. “You must be Will. You were fucking incredible. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Will shook Tim’s hand and nodded. I listened to them muddle through introductions without my help, but when I saw Cory turn back toward us, I wanted out. Holly, Leah, Mike, and a host of others, including Terry would be back soon. I didn’t want to deal with introductions. Or try to explain things I couldn’t quite get my head around. Like what had happened tonight.

“You ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Will’s smile was incandescent. He looked young and carefree in a way he never had before.

“Hey! You can’t go. What about Mike and the Hollywood guys?”

“You deal with them. We’re outta here. And remember… quiet.”

“Rand!”

I grabbed my jacket from the empty back room and noted there was no sign of Terry. I’d have to fire him in the morning, I thought as I led the way to the exit.

THE CITY
lights blurred and blended from the taxi window as the Manhattan skyline came into view. I wanted to revel in the sight of the majestic skyscrapers and the lights dotting the many bridges over the East River. I wanted to bask in the glory of a job well done in a town that enjoyed chewing you up and spitting you out. But I could barely focus on my surroundings. Every sense was in tune to the man at my side. I watched his hands resting on his thigh and the way his chest moved as he breathed. His gaze wandered out the window, but instinctively I knew he was in the same condition as me. He caught my stare and offered a lopsided grin, then laced my fingers through his and squeezed.

A rush of emotion threatened to overtake me. I was always more impassioned after a gig, but this felt different. I wanted to give my turbulent thoughts a name and a label so I could put them aside to examine later. If I could assure myself I was experiencing a spiked high due to a successful live performance, I might be able to sink into the feeling and simply enjoy the ride. But I couldn’t lie to myself. Everything felt different because of Will. More significant, more intense. I closed my eyes and willed myself to relax as I clung to his hand and felt the hum of the city move around us.

When the taxi turned onto Will’s street, I’d never been so happy to reach a destination in my life. I paid the driver, then hurried to meet Will as he opened the lobby door of his building. Every step felt like shedding skin. Need and desire fueled my movement. I was dangerously close to doing something that might get us arrested. I had to hold it together.

Once we were safely inside, all bets were off.

We hurried up the stairs and burst into his studio, barely remembering to close the door and turn on a light before we launched at each other. Our mouths fused as we pushed away fabric to finally reach skin. Will slid my T-shirt up my chest and pinched my nipples hard. I winced and had started to back up when he bent over to lick the sensitive nub and suck it.

“Fuck, that’s good.” I soothed my hand over his head and tugged at his wig. “Take it off. Please.”

He unbuckled and unzipped my jeans before glancing up at me with a funny smile. He sank to his knees, pushing the fabric over my ass and around my ankles so fast my head spun. He brushed his chin against my balls and sighed deeply as though he were lost in the moment. I watched him closely and willed myself not to guide him. His glittered eyelids closed as he breathed me in and licked the tip of my dick. I let out a sigh and reached for his head. His mouth was warm and inviting. He swirled his tongue lazily, then looked up at me with a beguiling expression. Will’s eyes sparked with lust. He stroked my shaft slowly, then leaned forward to lick me from base to tip and back again.

“More.”

“Take what you want,” he commanded in a strong voice.

“Wha—what do you mean?”

“If you want me to suck you hard, show me how you want it.”

I did my best to let the haze of desire clear before I answered. “You aren’t ready for anything rough, baby. I like this. Just suck… don’t lick. Okay?”

“Don’t tell me I’m not ready. Don’t tell me what I want. Show me.”

“Fuck.” I grasped his head and guided him back to my dick forcefully.

He shivered slightly, obviously turned on by the promise of something a bit raunchier. I tried not to move my hips, but it soon became obvious that his stubborn, repetitive licking was meant to push me to demand more of him. He wanted wild and naughty. Something he wouldn’t dare ask for if he was dressed as himself. Tonight he wanted to let go.

“Look at me,” I commanded in a husky tone. Will lifted his gaze but let his tongue rest on my slit as he waited for instruction. I gulped at the sight of the clear precum glistening on his bottom lip. “Open your mouth wide. Wider. Now suck.”

When I swayed my hips to meet his hot mouth, he was ready. He sucked the wide head and twirled his tongue tentatively at the tip before hollowing his cheeks to take as much of me in as possible. He alternately stroked, licked, or sucked like a madman, raking his nails over my ass to spur me to move. My best intentions to set a moderate pace soon fell apart. My head fell back as I snapped my hips forward, fucking his mouth relentlessly. He hummed as he tilted his head. The deeper angle and added vibration sent a tingle up my spine.