A red tainted Silence (4 page)

I swallowed, embarrassed, and blurted out, “What are you doing here?” Suave, Brandon. Then exactly what was going on filtered through my jangled brain. Wild hope coursed through me. He looked up, not letting go of me when he could’ve, his hand cradling mine, and only then did I realize how weird my question must’ve sounded.

“Saw your advertisement for a singer. New group?” A Red-Tainted Silence

17

“No. Ours had to quit,” I said.

He glanced at the other guys standing around watching, and let go of my hand with a quirky smile. “Sorry I was late. Had to fill in at the record store for an hour or so after school.

Work there part-time.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t matter anyway, now his hand’s hurt,” my brother said. “Shit, Brandon. Why’d you faint? You getting sick again or something? Now how are we going to finish?”

“Maybe if you get him some ice, at least his hand won’t swell,” Nicholas said. “And some for his head, too.” My brother glared at him, then sauntered off. Nicholas turned to me and smiled shyly as he brushed his bangs behind his ear. I’d come to adore that gesture later, at least until he cut his bangs off. I hated it when he did that. But right then, I feared I’d never see him again, not after seeing Adam’s disgust.

“Sorry about that. But you do need to get ice on it. Think you can stand up?” I nodded. This time, I didn’t freak so bad as his arm wrapped around my shoulders, then slid to my waist. He was shorter than me, but he was strong and held me up easily. My head began to spin and I closed my eyes and leaned into him -- I couldn’t help it, honest.

Then the nausea really kicked in.

“Are you going to faint again?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“I ... I don’t think ... I don’t know. I must be getting sick,” I said, embarrassed now by my weakness. I’d fainted. Fuck. One of the other guys grabbed a chair, and I sat heavily in it, my hand still cradled to my chest. Adam reappeared with a couple of bags of ice, glaring at Nicholas again.

“Here,” he said, tossing the bags at me.

Nicholas grabbed them out of the air and then placed one in my unhurt hand, his fingers grazing mine. The other bag he held up to my head and cocked one eyebrow, seeking permission. I swallowed hard and said, “Thanks.” I couldn’t look him in the eye.

“No problem.” He stood close to me then, close enough where I could smell leather and the faint hint of soap, that smell that was uniquely male and Nicholas. He gently placed one hand on my shoulder, the ice bag to the back of my head. I hissed, and he squeezed my shoulder, removing the ice. “Want me to stop?”

I tried to shake my head, but that hurt too much. “No,” I whispered, closing my eyes again as he shifted against me, his thigh brushing my arm. My eyes shot open as I felt his body’s warmth through the leather, and I began to shake. Please let him think it’s the ice, or from hitting my head. Please, please, please ...

He moved against me again. Was he oblivious to what he was doing to me? Or did he know?

I panicked, looking around to find Adam staring at me, an annoyed look on his face. I saw his gaze flicker in distaste at what Nicholas wore, a red t-shirt and black leather jacket 18 Carolyn Gray

and pants. Adam thought leather was “gay,” not the image he envisioned for Ashwood. I hadn’t dared point out how many of his favorite, quite straight rockstars wore leather. He scowled at Nicholas, turning to the others. “Come on, then. We’ll just have to do this without you, Brandon. Who was next?”

Nicholas moved away from me a little and the auditions continued. I sat in the chair with my leaky bag of ice, my head pounding and my heart pounding, and one by one the singers sang. I don’t remember a single face that stood behind that microphone, a single voice on that stage, even with the lights full on. Our makeshift studio was in the back of one of the bars where we played regularly. The acoustics were horrible and the floors hadn’t been cleaned in years, but it was cheap, and we could come and go as we pleased.

After a few minutes, Nicholas placed my hand on the ice on my head, smiled reassuringly at me, then walked over to take the last place in line. When the ice started to drip down my shirt, I gave up and dropped it to the floor, then forced myself to pay attention to the singers.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Nicholas leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, and watched. And I watched him. He’d changed some in the two years since I’d seen him last. His face was almost ethereally pale, which made his blue eyes stand out all the more, and he was maybe a bit overweight, but not overly so. He just looked as if he’d been stuck inside a lot, didn’t have time to take care of himself.

To me, he was beautiful.

He nodded in time to the music, visibly wincing when the others failed to hit their notes. From time to time he’d glance my way and catch me looking at him, and smile shyly back at me before dipping his head and blushing, fixing his gaze back on the person singing.

My heart soared. What did he see when he looked at me? What did he think of me looking at him?

Please, please, please sing like you did that night, I thought. Then Adam can’t refuse you.

Finally Nick’s turn came. I guess I’d secretly hoped he’d sing his song, but he didn’t.

And then it was my turn to wince. The guy was still good -- there was no doubt he was better than any of those we’d heard -- but I could tell his voice was out of practice. A little rusty. It hurt to know that he’d not been singing much, maybe only nursery rhymes.

God, he deserved so much better than that.

He finished, shrugging as he talked to Adam. The disappointment on Nick’s face was easy to read. As he walked away to join the other singers, my gaze drifted to his butt. How could it not? Oh, God, I thought, feeling the first decent spontaneous hard-on I’d had in a long time come on right there, right in front of my brother and bandmates and all the other singers as they listened to Adam’s final thanks-and-we’ll-be-in-touch speech. Then, some singly and others in groups, they all filed away. I wanted to chase after Nicholas, stop him, tell him wait, I want you --

A Red-Tainted Silence

19

Instead I moved my hand and the bag of ice to my lap.

Before he disappeared from my view, he turned and looked over his shoulder. Caught me watching. He grinned, sashayed his butt once, and laughed at my reaction. Then he disappeared around the corner. I bit back a moan of longing to follow him, but I couldn’t.

It about killed me.

Soon Adam and my other bandmates and I were alone. “How’s your hand?” Adam asked.

Ah, being nice now, are you? I flexed my fingers and winced. “Hurts, but I’ll be okay.

Which one did you guys like?” Please please please.

Adam sorted through the resumes the guys had left, shrugging. “I don’t know. That Harvey guy was pretty good.”

Cody, our drummer, groaned. “Ugly mother. Uglier than me. That won’t go over too good with the girls.”

Adam snorted. “You want pretty? That Nicholas freak was sure pretty.” My heart seized.

“Too damned pretty,” Stephen, the bassist said. “Looks gay to me.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, trying to appear nonchalant. I pushed myself to my feet, joining them. “He has a look, yeah, but he’s probably straight. The girls would go nuts over him.” I thought of Jenny and her friends. I could hardly wait to call her.

“Well, I don’t like him. His voice was too high, anyway.” Adam glared at me, then pulled out another piece of paper. “I think we should ask this Harry guy back.”

“Harvey. Can I see the list?” Stephen asked, taking the sheet of paper, pushing me aside.

I said nothing as I stepped back, feeling a wave of nausea come over me. That was that.

Adam didn’t like Nicholas, so he was out. I closed my eyes as misery took over. I’d lost him, again.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I said, then promptly was.

* * * * *

I nodded into Jenny’s shoulder, grateful for her warm arms wrapped around me as I sobbed like a baby. So pathetic, Brandon. She’d come over to the apartment the moment I called her, barely able to choke out more than, “I saw him.” She of course knew immediately the “him” I meant. By the time she got to my apartment, I was a complete wreck. My hand hurt, my head hurt, my heart was shattered into a thousand pieces, and I was sicker than my dog had been when he’d eaten a whole frozen pizza by himself. Disgusting.

“What am I gonna do, Jenn?”

20 Carolyn Gray

Ever the practical Sprout, she pushed me up where we sat on my bed and with a tissue wiped away my tears. “You’re such a mess, Bean,” she told me.

As she knew I would, I smiled. “Since when did I become a bean?” She grinned. “If I’m a sprout, you’re definitely a bean. Look, Brandon,” she said, chucking me beneath the chin. She shook her head and smiled. “Screw Adam, I say. Do you really need him?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She sighed, then laid a hand on my head. “You hit your head really hard, Bean. Think.

You’ve got Nick’s resume now, right? You can find him yourself. Start your own band. Who needs Adam, anyway?”

I swallowed. “But we’ve always played together.”

“So maybe it’s time not to. Sometimes bands split up; the players need to go different directions. There’s nothing wrong with that. It happens.” She grinned, her eyes dancing with excitement. “Get the guy’s resume, find out where he is, and go find him.” She grabbed the phone and held it out to me. “Call Adam. Right now.” I hesitated, then took the phone and dialed my parents’ house, where Adam had gone after dropping me off at the apartment. I hadn’t felt like eating or being around anyone.

Misery does not love company, though I was glad for Sprout’s.

A minute later, my world reeled around me and I hung up the phone. I folded over, burying my head in my pillows as another sob exploded through me.

“Dammit, Brandon, what’s wrong? What did he say?”

“He threw it away,” I said, my voice muffled.

“What?” Her hands grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me up.

“I’ve lost him again, Sprout. Adam tore up his resume and threw it away.” She grimaced. “Like I said, Adam is a jerk. We’ll find him, Brandon. I promise. Tell me everything you can remember. Everything he said.”

* * * * *

Then the real fun began, and the flu hit me coming and going. I lost six pounds in five days, and while I was busy being miserable, Ashwood’s new singer signed up.

It wasn’t Nicholas.

A Red-Tainted Silence

21

Adam and the others had decided on the ugly dude, not asking my opinion. Harvey.

(What kind of name is that for a lead singer?). I should’ve been used to that kind of treatment, of course, as they never cared for my opinion before (little brothers don’t count), but this time it burned. It festered.

But I didn’t say anything, because Jenny was right. I didn’t need Adam. With Nick’s voice, I could do it all -- keyboards, guitars, drums. It’d be insane, but as sick as I was, and as young and foolish and furious as I was, I didn’t think for a minute I couldn’t. I just had to find Nicholas.

I was nearing the end of my misery, finally able to eat a few spoonfuls of soup and some crackers, when Jenny came bounding into my room, a folder in one hand.

“Hey, Bean, you’re looking better,” she said, plopping onto my bed and stealing one of my crackers.

“I feel a little better. At least I don’t feel like I’m about to take the dirt nap anytime soon. I’m still not a hundred percent.”

She grinned. “This should help you out.”

“What is it?”

“Flyers.”

I took the folder she handed me and opened it. Inside were several multicolored sheets of paper. I picked one up and set the folder down, then scanned the paper. Though my stomach muscles were still sore as all get-out, I felt like laughing for the first time in days.

“Flyers?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, why not? I made up a whole bunch of them. Missy, Tari, Karen, and I’ve started to put them up all over town, stick them in windshields, hand them out to strangers.”

I licked my lips, cracked and dry from illness, and took a sip of water, trying to hide the sudden welling of tears in my eyes. “Sprout, you are nuts. But I love you.” Leaning over, she hugged me, then kissed me on the cheek. “Whatever it takes. We’re going to find Nicholas for you. I’m also going to call all the record stores in the phone book. I figured I’d have more luck doing that than calling preschools.” I looked at the flyer, shaking my head. I glanced up at Jenny and she grinned.

“WANTED: VERY MUCH ALIVE -- Nicholas Kilmain, Singer, sought for new band forming in California. If you have any information regarding his whereabouts, call Brandon Ashwood --” I frowned at her. “That’s your number.”

“Didn’t think you’d want Adam to get the phone calls. Do you?”

“Hell no. Thanks, Sprout.” I leaned back against my pillows. “What did you tell your friends?”

“Just the truth. That you want him to be in your band. Nothing else.” 22 Carolyn Gray

“Sprout ...” I hesitated.

“Yeah? What is it, Bean?”

I shrugged, looked down at the flyer again. “I ... I never asked you. How did you --” I glanced at the open door to my bedroom. I had no idea how my parents would react if they knew their youngest son was gay, and I sure didn’t want them, or even worse, Adam, to find out now. My oldest brother, Jonathan ... I had no idea what he would do. “How did you know --” I gestured at my chest. “That I’m --” My face heated.

She cocked her head to one side and contemplated me. “I don’t know, Brandon. It wasn’t any one thing, really. Just the way you are around girls, how whenever we went to the movies it’d be the guys you’d talk to me about, not the girls. I don’t think you even realized it.” At my deepened blush, she grinned.