Evolution (15 page)

“You must be feeling better if you’re asking about him already.”

“Rob….”

“He freaked out at the hospital. Broke a window with his fist and ran out. No one’s seen him since. The tabloids are having a field day that he was there at all. REA is trying to downplay it. Saying he was there representing the label.”

I closed my eyes. Had he freaked because I was sick? Did he blame himself? What sense did that make? The label didn’t matter at all. I almost hoped they would tell me they wanted to end my contract. At least then I could still be me and it wouldn’t matter who I spent time with.

“If the doctors had been able to find puncture marks, Petterson would be up on charges as an illegal vamp. Your blood levels were so low they had to hook you up to bags of it. The really weird part is they couldn’t find your blood type. So they had your mom freaked out that the second they hooked you up to a bag you’d go into cardiac arrest.”

I frowned. My mom didn’t need that sort of trouble. I’d have to take her off my emergency contact list. But who else would I call?

Whatever happened to me had not been Kerstrande’s fault, whether he was a vampire in hiding or not. Something had attacked me in the bedroom. That odd otherworldly crap had always been my problem. Why it was getting worse lately, I didn’t know. But how to explain that to anyone else?

Kerstrande’s snarky behavior kept people away from him, not because he was a vampire, but because he was uncomfortable with himself. I didn’t have to be a shrink to figure that out. Maybe he was a vampire. He never stood in sunlight, only drank, didn’t eat. What else made a vampire? A dislike for garlic and crosses? I didn’t care much for those either. How did any of that make him a bad person?

“You know I love you like a brother, right?” Rob asked.

“Yeah.”

“So don’t hate me when I say Petterson is bad news.”

I looked away. Whatever followed him maybe, but not him.

“Let’s get some rest.” He put sheets on the futon and brought me blankets and pillows and everything. Instead of retiring to his bed, he curled beside me just talking about the old days in school and all the stupid things we did. I laughed a little and let sleep take me back to dream of more graveyards needing sunlight.

A pounding on the door startled me out of a deep sleep sometime later. Rob groaned next to me, waking slower than I. The pounding rattled the door a second time. Finally, he glanced at me, sat up, and rubbed his eyes, then looked at the clock. Quarter to four.

Again the pounding. Damn.

Rob crossed the room ready to battle demons, flung open the door, and glared at our visitor. Kerstrande stood just outside the apartment, his face a mask of rage, colors pinging in bright rainbows across his face. Shit.

He glared at me, seeming to absorb the fact that I was lying on the futon, wrapped tightly in a blanket, and Rob was clad only in boxers. It looked bad. I could feel him go cold from across the room. His shoulders tightened, the colors darkened, and he turned to leave.

“He’s crazy, Gene. Just tell him it’s over already.”

Kerstrande scowled and disappeared down the hall. My heart flipped over in my chest, fearing he really was leaving me. I threw off the blankets and rushed after him, wheezing the whole way. “Wait, please, wait.”

Rob grabbed my arm, but I shrugged him off. He didn’t understand, probably never would.

“Please, KC.” I stood there panting, staring at his taut back. He had paused halfway to the elevator, shoulders tense. “Please give me a minute to get my stuff. I just need to find my shoes,” I begged. He glanced back, taking in that I was fully clothed except for my shoes, I think, and gave a slight nod.

I ducked back inside to find the slip-ons Cris had left me. “It will be okay, Rob.”

He ranted like I’d already left. “You nearly died. That’s not okay.”

“That wasn’t Kerstrande’s fault. He got me help, saved my life. I need to go home.”

“With
him
. You barely know him. How can that be home?”

Because some people were just meant to hold our hearts. I hugged him. “Night.” Rob glared holes into Kerstrande the entire way to the elevator. The ride home began quietly. No radio, as usual. I dozed for a few minutes before he finally spoke.

“Why do you hide it?”

I blinked a few times trying to make sense of what “it” was. My power? My homosexuality? “Huh?”

“Your mother and grandfather were at the hospital. You spoke in another language when you were sick. Why do you hide it?”

Oh, my heritage. I sighed. “I can pass if people don’t look too closely. Life is easier if I can pass. No one questions my religion, my background, or my choices if they think I’m normal white Christian American.” And crazy groups like Preservation Group didn’t look my way.

“Your dad’s not Asian, then?”

“Nope.” I knew very little about him.

“That explains a lot.”

“What? My being half Japanese?”

“That and your messed-up family.”

I closed my eyes and rested my head against the window. Sure, my family was messed up, just like every other family in the world. They loved me, but I’d outcast them from the rest of their family. First as a bastard child who no one really wanted, now as a gay teen obsessing over a guy who ran hot and cold. Yeah, I guess I had surpassed screwed.

Kerstrande said nothing the rest of the drive, and neither did I. When we got to his condo, I struggled toward his apartment. How a place so nice could not have an elevator made no sense. After a half flight of stairs, he turned around, picked me up, and carefully threw me over his shoulder. Thankfully he did his best to keep me from bouncing as he mounted the stairs two at a time. Inside the doorway to his place, he set me down, dropped his keys on the table, and went into the kitchen.

Everything was so dark, just like that last time. My heart pounded, making my chest ache. “Can we sleep on the couch?” Something not so nice had been in the bedroom.

“What’s wrong with the bed?” He stepped into the hall, his expression an odd mix of confusion and irritation.

Be brave, Genesis, you idiot—he hasn’t kicked you out yet, I reminded myself. Still…. “I just—”

Words failed me when he vanished into the darkness of the bedroom. Kerstrande? I couldn’t find the voice to call him but moved toward the bedroom, trembling. That sort of terror left a stain that would be hard to ever forget. Now Kerstrande was alone with whatever it was.

My eyes searched the room for any sign of movement, but all the shadows belonged to Kerstrande. He stripped off his clothes, pretty colors back on his face, though it was more a glow now than a shadow. I should have been excited, happy he hadn’t said anything about not wanting me, but I was just tired. Thankfully the feeling of being watched was gone.

Mikka brushed by my legs, stalking around the bed and back like some kind of guard. She made me feel marginally safer. Kerstrande strode to my side in two long steps, helped me out of the borrowed jacket, and peeled off the shirt and pants. There was nothing sensual about the act, even though he stood in front of me in nothing more than a pair of tight-fitting briefs.

“Get in bed. It’s late, and you need sleep.”

I folded my things, stuffed them away, and stood beside the bed in just my underwear, which were not the most modest kind because Cris had chosen them. Kerstrande flipped the covers up on the side nearest the window, crawled in, and then held up the opposite side for me. I snuggled in next to him, surprised by the warmth of his embrace. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around me and settle the long weight of himself against my side.

A thick curtain covered the window again. “Did you find anything in here after you took me to the hospital?”

“No. Why? What did you see?”

I sucked in a deep breath, turned toward him, and buried my face against his neck, not wanting to talk about it. Sleep devoured me just seconds later.

Chapter 16

O
THER
than rising to feed Mikka, I didn’t stir for more than a few minutes the whole next day and neither did Kerstrande. The alarm clock eased me awake two days later with some quiet tunes from my favorite station. Seven in the morning, KC must have set it for me. I didn’t know how well I could sing, but I’d do some warm-ups and show up at the studio with my game face on.

Breakfast was fried eggs and coffee with an almond milk creamer. The creamer surprised me because I loved it, but rarely had the money for it. Kerstrande used real cream in his, which meant he’d bought it just for me. All the food seemed to be meant for me. Cupboards full of ramen and boxed food, freezer full of microwave dinners. He never touched any of it. But I didn’t comment for fear it’d make him grumpy.

All the windows in the apartment huddled behind dark shades and blinds, keeping the light out. Still, something about the sun being up seemed to bother him. When he went in one of the rooms with a window, he scratched and fidgeted. So most of the time he sat in the kitchen, away from the light. Just like that morning.

Kerstrande sat in the darkest corner of the kitchen, near the fridge, chair pressed against the wall, a couple of sheets of paper in his hand. My orange notebook lay open beside the chair. Had he been looking through it? Damn. Talk about laying out a guy’s soul.

“Coffee? Eggs?” I offered.

He glanced up like he hadn’t seen me enter the kitchen twenty minutes ago. “Coffee, cream, no sugar today.”

I poured him a cup, then set it beside him on the counter and returned to my eggs. Today would be a good day. No more sickness. I was healing. My lungs felt better. I couldn’t run a marathon, but I could sing a little.

Kerstrande appeared next to me, nearly making me flip the plate. He steadied my wrist, then plopped papers on the marble island. Sheet music, handwritten.

“What’s this?” I skimmed the words, which sounded familiar. The melody reminded me—I glanced toward the orange notebook.

“Music, moron. You’d think being a singer you’d have that much figured out by now.” His snippy tone made me smile. At least he was back to normal.

“Midnight Rain” by Genesis Sage and Kerstrande Petterson, the title read. My rainy-night, heartbreak song. The fleshed-out guitar line would make Rob drool. It poured across the page like the rain had washed the pain from my life that night. This version was better polished. The sad wail of the guitar, the quiet plinking of the keyboard—I could almost feel the song through the page. The vocal line ripped two and a half octave ranges, making my heart pound with excitement. If I could sing this, it would be better than “Red Rose.” Rob would have to help me get the pitch right, but the rest would just flow.

“How?”

I pulled the orange notebook off the floor and flipped to the most recent entry. Comments decorated the edges of the page, a word here or there crossed out and replaced, notes on the score.

“Why don’t you play any of these?” he asked in between sips of his coffee.

They were too personal. One of them, about my dreams, I’d recently finished by adding a bridge about him. Showing someone this book felt like emptying out my underwear drawer for the world, hole-y briefs and all. “Midnight Rain” was about pain so deep the melody cried, its words little more than icing to flavor the song with passion. A night I’d needed to get out to continue living. “It’s just stuff.”

“I didn’t change much. Just fleshed out the melody, extended the range to better suit your voice.” He stared at me a minute or so. The numb feeling of limbo hung in the air. I wasn’t sure if I should be angry or overjoyed that he took interest in my song. Laying my head against the cool stone counter helped clarify things. “Midnight Rain” was me, bared and open. If I couldn’t share that with KC, who could I share it with?

His hand brushed my forehead. “Are you still sick?” His pale eyes studied me. Finally, he took his hand away and settled an irritated look in my direction. “Don’t get sentimental on me. Just thought you’d wanna record one of your own damn songs. Do whatever you want with it.”

I sat up and stuffed my mouth with eggs. They were cold. Better than my foot probably would have been, had I said something stupid. KC didn’t much like gratitude, or any emotion really, directed his way. Just another quirk, which made me smile when I thought of some of the sweet little things he did, only then he got grumpy because I noticed he did them.

His phone beeped. “Mr. Tokie’s here to pick you up.”

“You know Mr. Tokie?” I rinsed off my plate, put it in the dishwasher, and then stepped into my shoes. The toes were beginning to get worn, but it was my only pair, and I’d spent days getting the art on them just right. Was there enough in my savings to buy a new pair and still pay for gas? I so needed another job.

“I recommended him. Michael Shuon wouldn’t be the singer he is today without Aaron’s guidance.” He nursed his coffee and began flipping through my notebook again, probably looking for the next project. I wondered at that moment what made him give up his music career. “You’d better get going. You’re going to be late.”

I stared at him for a few more seconds, then stood up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the lips before darting out the door. “Bye, see you later!” Sometimes it was just better to leave KC and his mood alone.