Long Way Home by Carolyn Gray (4 page)

grit his teeth, though he was careful not to show it.

He slid the credit card—not his own, of course—to her, avoiding her touch, and forced his

lips to curve politely in return. “Thanks, I did.”

“Where are you headed next?”

He looked out through the hotel’s front doors. “Dallas, it looks like.”

“That’s nice. It must be hard, traveling all the time like you do.”

“It’s not so bad.” He checked his cell phone. The bus would leave in an hour. “Get to visit

different cities, visit friends and family. They appreciate that.” Not that he had anyone who gave

a damn about him anymore.

“Still, it must be lonely.” She licked her lips.

He turned away, briefly catching the droop of her mouth as he did so. She was cute but not

exactly his type. He slid on his sunglasses, grateful for the sunny day. He tried not to make

impressions wherever he went, though he’d been at this hotel in New Orleans enough times in

the past to be remembered.

“Here you go, Mr. Smith.” He turned, signed Robert Smith with a messy flourish, waited

for his receipt, and started to leave.

“Oh, Mr. Smith?”

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Carolyn Gray

He closed his eyes briefly, then checked the desk clerk’s name badge. Lulla Belle. Fitting

name for New Orleans. He didn’t take off his sunglasses. “Yes?”

“Mr. Clarke called while you were out this morning.”

He tensed, carefully schooling his reaction. “Did you tell him I was here?”

Her expression faltered. “No, he called for reservations. You don’t travel together

anymore?”

“When is he coming in?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Did he ask if I’d been through here?” he asked again. The look in her eyes confirmed his

worst fears. Fuck.

Pocketing the credit card—he would definitely need a new one now—he contemplated

what to do. Dammit, he would have mentioned Dallas. A definite mistake. He slipped off his

sunglasses and leaned toward her, waiting until he was rewarded with another smile. “Actually,

we have separate routes now. I’m glad you said something, though. Forgot I need to head up to

Kansas. You saved me a lot of trouble.” Or a lot worse.

She beamed. “You’re welcome, Mr. Smith.”

A few moments later he was outside, his backpack slung over his shoulder, his roller bag

behind him, headed for the bus station. Clarke was getting closer, and it was clear to him now he

was being tracked.

If Clarke figured out what he was doing, where he was headed, everything would go to hell

fast.

Long Way Home

15

Chapter Three

Ballet night had inevitably come. Their last concert had gone off brilliantly, without a

repeat of the death threat or any drama at all. Only Nick, Mutt, and—as he’d been unable to

convince Nick to leave—a very reluctant Lee were still in Dallas, the others gone their own ways

until they’d meet again at the end of the month for Brandon’s brother Jonathan’s wedding. Lee

kept telling himself he only had to endure a few more hours, and then he could get out of there.

Nick had raised an eyebrow at him more than once already, though. He had to be careful not to

let his impatience show. The one thing he didn’t want to have to do was explain to Nick why he

hated Dallas as intensely as he did.

Mutt had contacted Margot Thatcher, the ballet director, and made arrangements to be

present as Nick’s bodyguard. She’d asked Nick, Lee, and Mutt to join her for a drink before the

ballet—she was, of course, a fan. So now they were at the bar in the hotel where they were

staying, Nick and, surprisingly, Mutt engrossed in conversation with Margot, a stunning redhead,

tall and lovely and smart as hell.

The perfect woman, Nick had joked. “And nothing like Maya,” he’d whispered to Lee.

Lee had said nothing. His thoughts drifted to the coming evening, the hours a ballet usually

took. Two, maybe? It’d been a while since he’d seen one, much less sat in an audience.

The ballet itself held some good memories, at least. He’d played in an orchestra for a few

summers while in college, enjoying the novelty of playing music that didn’t leave him half deaf.

Like he always did, he’d drifted off again, doing this and that, whatever odd jobs he could

find. He’d been through some wild times too, nearly fulfilling his dad’s prediction he’d be dead

by thirty. That hadn’t happened, but the fights they’d had hadn’t been pretty, leaving scars on

their relationship that would never heal. Then he’d met Nick and Brandon, played with them in

their garage band until the great blowup. For some reason, he’d stayed in touch with them,

waited for the guys to tell him it was time, they were ready to form a group again, and was he

still interested in playing with them?

It’d been a long wait. He’d played wherever he could during that time, stayed out of

trouble, not sure why or when he’d decided it would be worth it to wait for the guys like he had.

A gut feeling, he’d always thought of it, that instinctive realization there was something special

about Nick and Brandon and the music they made together and that he ought to play it out and

see if he was right. And he had been. Sometimes, he really missed those days, before Brandon

had elected to write full time and do all the behind-the-scenes work it took to keep Dream a

success. Sometimes, he just plain missed Brandon. At least he had that to look forward to—

writing music with Brandon again.

Something bumped into his leg. “Hey, you still with us?”

Lee looked up at Nick. “Sorry?”

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Carolyn Gray

Nick patted his knee. “You’re missing our brilliant conversation. Where were you just

then, anyway?” He pulled his straw out of his drink. Nick was not a fan of straws. Something

about causing premature lines.

Lee settled back in his chair. He wrapped one hand around his own drink, then took a sip.

“Orchestra days. When I was waiting on you guys to call me, I played bass for the city

orchestra.”

“You did?” Nick pointed the straw at him. “You’re a man of mystery, Lee Nelson. Why

did I never know that?”

“Never came up.”

“Did you play for a ballet?”

“Once or twice—once here—but I was too busy to pay attention to the dancers.”

Though he had, of course. Ballet dancers, the most incredible of figures—their compact

strength and power was something to behold. Maybe he’d even fantasized a time or two about

being with one of them, touching a body like that, feeling the strength and vulnerability rippling

beneath his hand.

But that was only a fantasy; he had never followed through. A pity, really, but he knew

relationships like Nick and Brandon’s weren’t easily won, and watching his friends fight over

their love and loss and the years of working so hard to stay together, and all the mistakes they’d

made, he wasn’t sure it was worth it. Especially after Maya.

Although he realized, as he watched Nick return to his conversation with the ballet

director, it was, wasn’t it? Nick and Brandon had had to finally bare themselves to each other

totally in the end in order to literally save Brandon’s life. Even two people who loved each other

as much as they did had kept truths from each other until it nearly undid them both. He and Maya

had been wrong to think they could have that—or, rather,
he
had been wrong, given his lack of

honesty with her—and himself. Trying to hide from himself at the expense of another person had

been wrong. She hadn’t deserved that. No one deserved that. Nick stood, surprising Lee out of

his thoughts, and Margot rose, as well.

“Thanks for a lovely time, Nick,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. She towered over

him. Lee got to his feet, smiling as she took his hand. “Nice to meet you too, Lee. I hope you

both enjoy tonight.”

“I’m sure we will. Especially Nick.”

Nick pouted at that. “Oh, come on, those ballerinas are gorgeous too—and lots of them are

single.” He winked at Lee. “Maybe you could…”

Lee raised his hands in defense. “No, that’s okay. I’ve no time for anything right now. I’ve

got to—”

Some fans who had spied Nick and Lee at the dinner table interrupted. They’d been

gracious enough to leave the men alone while they ate, at least, but now the three young girls,

with their fan-faces of adoration plastered on, were eyeing them both, books in their hands.

“I’m sorry, ladies,” Mutt started to say, but Nick stopped him.

“Mutt, it’s okay. They were nice enough not to jump us. Least I can do is sign a few

autographs.”

The girls squealed at Nick. Lee tried to step back, let Nick have his fun, but the dark-haired

girl saw him. “Can I have yours too, Mr. Nelson?”

Long Way Home

17

Caught. “Of course. Thanks.” He took the book, something she’d dug up out of her purse

apparently, as it was a vampire novel, not exactly what he would be regularly signing. But no

problem. He signed his name, and the other girls shoved their books at him too. Same book.

Margot said, “I’ll see you guys at the ballet. I’ve got to get going. Thanks again for the

drinks.”

As Nick said his good-byes to her and talked with the fans, Mutt came over to talk to Lee.

He watched Nick as the conversation continued, and Nick dived into telling the girls some story

Lee’d heard more than once.

After a moment, Mutt said, “He never gets tired of this, does he?”

Lee downed the last of his drink. “No, never. He’s ready to go home, though. That’s part

of why he’s hyper.”

Mutt eyed him. “He’s always this hyper.”

Lee laughed. “True. Better round him up. We need to go too.”

“Good idea. We’re already starting to annoy the other patrons a bit.”

Lee waited at the door while Mutt convinced Nick to let the fans go. He stepped outside,

just breathing in the night air until Nick and Mutt joined him.

Dallas at night was much better than during the day. Then, the stark ugliness prevalent in

many big cities was more obvious—the homeless wandering the streets; the empty, boarded-up

buildings; the noise and smells of rush-hour traffic as office workers and shoppers and tourists

hurried from point A to point B.

But at night the city calmed, and a certain charm blossomed. More electrifying people

came out in droves, meeting friends for clubbing, plays, dinner out. As Lee walked with his

friends to the ballet, he was treated to a very interesting cavalcade of kids in line at a club,

dressed in what he supposed were clothes but wasn’t exactly sure.

Damn, barely thirty and he was feeling old.

The line to the Majestic was quite different, however. Though the mix of people ranged

from young to old, the attire was more conventional, and though some were dressed to the nines

with furs and jewelry and haughty attitudes, the rest were like Nick, Mutt, and Lee—nice jeans,

sport jacket, and that was about it. They hadn’t been exactly prepared to go to the ballet on such

short notice.

They joined the crowd hurrying in the doors, and for a moment, Lee was caught up in the

stampede to get inside. He didn’t have much of an opportunity to look around and get an

impression of the theater, but as they broke free, Nick between him and Mutt, he finally got his

chance.

Wherever Dream performed, it was always the old theaters that entranced Lee. The

Majestic still lived up to its name. Gold and red, the walls covered in plush red velvet, the

carpets beneath their feet a rich tapestry. The aged copper-tile ceiling was burnished dully,

adding to the timelessness of the theater. It had that old, musty smell, the smell of history, of

thousands of performances and a stage that had hosted everything from the city’s most

glamorous to, for years before it was saved, only whatever mice scurried across its bare stage.

There’d been many a fight to keep the old theater’s originality intact, and he was glad those

fights had been won.

“Hey, Lee, check this out,” Nick said, interrupting his thoughts.

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Carolyn Gray

Lee turned to see what Nick was talking about, his gaze traveling from Nick to the framed

poster on the wall. For a moment, he didn’t realize what he was looking at, and then it hit him—

the poster for tonight’s performance.

There were several dancers on the poster, both female and male. He found himself drawn

to one in particular—a male dancer in white tights that revealed about all there was to reveal. A

flash of heat caught Lee by surprise at that. But it was the man’s face that intrigued him the most.

Not classically handsome, but thin, as all dancers were, expression solemn, short brownish blond

hair. Made-up, of course. Lee was grateful he didn’t have to wear makeup onstage. Nick

indulged a little, but he was always in the center of the stage, and one never knew when one’s

picture was going to be taken.

There was something very different about this man that set him apart from the others, and