Chapter Four

 

Raven

“Dude, did you see the stage in there? It’s gonna be a tight fit. Levi is gonna be all up in your face tonight,” Reece said as he bounded out the back door of Bottoms Up, one of Dewhurst’s few gay bars located in the downtown area.

I opened the back doors on the van and passed a look at my drummer over my shoulder. His flashy red silk shirt sparkled in the early evening sun, and his burgundy-tinted lenses hid his eyes. Reece may be shoved in the back for performances, but he refused to go unseen. With his muscle bulk and shorn hair, he was a sight.

“Yeah, I saw. But they’re willing to pay us two hundred a head for the night, so stop bitching. We’ll get cozy. Maybe we can try moving the monitors down off the stage. It’s only a step down, shouldn’t make a difference for sound but it will give us a bit more space. G said the soundboard is going off to the right. There should be a spot. Speaking of which, where is G?”

I thought everyone had arrived, but I scanned the parking lot to see if I could locate my lead guitarist’s car since I hadn’t seen him yet.

“G’s inside talking to one of the bartenders about setup.”

“Good.”

I faced the back of the van and all the gear we had loaded inside. It was packed to the gills with monitors, amplifiers, instruments, sound equipment, cords, speakers, and everything else we needed for the show tonight. Since practices took place in my sister’s barn, I earned the privilege of storing and hauling gear.

“Let’s get moving so we can do a sound check and duck out for dinner, yeah?”

Reece nodded and bounded over, ready to help.

We weren’t scheduled to start until nine that night, but we always arrived a few hours before gigs to give ourselves plenty of time to get set up, check the equipment, and run a sound check. It was just after six on a Friday night, but I was pumped and ready to get on stage. Word was spreading around town again that Stone Angel was actively performing. There was nothing I preferred doing on a Friday or Saturday night than closing down a bar with great tunes.

This was our first show at Bottoms Up. G had been spreading the word around town that we were looking for new places to play, and the owner had called with interest. His bar didn’t have a lot of space, but G and I agreed it was adequate enough and well worth the money. Most places weren’t willing to offer two hundred a head as well as a free drink tab.

I snagged a monitor and moved around Reece and another member, Zack, who gathered other pieces of equipment to bring inside.

The back door of Bottoms Up opened into a long hallway which passed a pair of washrooms before exiting into the main part of the bar. It was a long room with the bar itself positioned in its center. There was access all the way around with stools lined up on every side. The lights hadn’t been dimmed for the evening yet, seeing as the night was still young, and there didn’t seem to be more than two customers—early barflies who probably drifted in the moment the doors were unlocked.

G was talking to some guy at the bar who could have passed for a bloody runway model. He had bleached out hair at the ends, but his roots were colored dark as midnight. His eyebrows were perfectly manicured, lips full and glistening, and eyes clearly lined with makeup. His smaller frame was sculpted inside his all black clothes, and from where I stood, it looked like his nose was pierced.

I left the monitor by the small stage and wandered over when G caught my eye and waved. He clapped me on the shoulder when I was beside him and grinned.

“This is the stone man himself. Our lead vocals. Stone, this here is Krew, one of the bartenders who will be taking care of us tonight.”

I thrust out my hand which he accepted with an entirely too delicate grip as he scanned my person, hitching a perfect brow and licking his lips.

“Nice to meet you, sugar. Just say the word, and I’ll take care of all your needs.” Then he winked as though the comment somehow needed emphasis.

The man was obviously as cocky as he was beautiful. I had no doubt he used that line at least a dozen times a night.

“I bet you would,” I said as G tried to hide a chuckle. “Do you mind setting me up with a Jack and Coke, sugar?”

Krew’s smile turned facetious as he trailed his gaze down over my chest before landing directly on my crotch—unashamed and with a lecherous gleam to his eyes.

“Yes…” He gnawed the corner of his lip. “I can definitely handle that.” A beat passed, then he looked up, sighed dramatically, and spun to get my drink, hips swaying, and ass jutted out purposefully. His swagger was intended to draw attention, and I hated myself when it took a few extra seconds to shake free of its hold.

“Jesus, you need a room?” G teased once Krew was out of earshot.

“Not interested. Pretty, but not my type. Besides, the guy works hard for his tips, can’t you tell?”

“I bet you could take him home for a night if you wanted.”

“If I wanted. Keyword in that sentence. And I don’t.”

G, or Gage, was one of my oldest friends. We’d formed our band, Stone Angel, together almost twenty years ago. In that time, we’d played with three different drummers, and had more than a half a dozen second-guitarists come and go. After enough failed attempts, we’d given up on keeping a keyboardist. Our bass player, Levi, came to us over ten years back, but otherwise, G and I stood firmly planted as the core of the group. Stone Angel was our baby. If either one of us decided it was time to walk away, the group would fold.

Krew reappeared with my drink and leaned on the bar, batting his long lashes in my direction. “I bet your voice is as sinful and sexy as you are.”

In an effort not to be rude, I held up my glass in a cheers motion. “I guess you’ll find out.” Then I downed a generous mouthful as I pushed away from the bar. “Gotta get set up. Thanks for the drink.”

As G and I approached the stage, I leaned in close and whispered, “You told him I’m gay, didn’t you?”

“It is a gay bar, sugar. He probably is taking a hopeful stab in the dark.”

“Nah, a hopeful stab in the dark would be you every time, not my forty-year-old ass. That guy wasn’t a day over twenty-five. Too young and too… pretty.”

G chuckled, but he wasn’t fooling me. He was five years younger than my forty but could pass for late-twenties still easily. Even with his stocky, linebacker build, he never failed to catch the eye of both men and women. His boyish charm, smiling eyes, and softer voice contradicted his appearance, so once anyone spent five seconds talking to him, they were hooked. He was a lot gentler than his looks gave him credit for, and he was funny to boot, so I wasn’t buying his claims at all that Krew had zeroed in on me without being told of my sexuality.

“Okay, I may have mentioned you were the only gay member in the band. But it was ultimately to save the guy from hitting on Zack.”

“Yeah, that’d be bad.” I scanned, looking for the man in question.

Zach wasn’t a homophobe, but he became extremely uncomfortable if guys hit on him. We’d learned that the previous summer when I’d held a BBQ at my sister’s. My boyfriend at the time had invited a few mutual gay friends, and one of them had taken a liking to our twinky, blond-haired, blue-eyed, band baby Zack. It was innocent teasing and flirting, but Zack turned a few shades of red and grew increasingly more defensive as the night went on, enough G had needed to intervene before someone got hurt.

No one should ever underestimate the power behind a seriously pissed off, one-hundred and forty-pound Zachariah Miller. If his unfiltered lip didn’t do you in, his left hook might.

We spent the next ten minutes emptying my van and then the following thirty hooking up speakers and running cables. Once things were set up, the guys unearthed their instruments and took turns doing sound checks while I bounced between the soundboard and the opposite side of the bar to listen.

The crowd was still non-existent. It was close to seven-thirty, and only three people were dispersed at random tables watching us do our thing. Night life didn’t bloom until nine at the earliest, which was why that was when we started our first set. Krew kept the men’s drinks filled all while chatting with random members of the band. At least he wasn’t following me around.

“I can’t hear shit,” Zack, our second guitarist complained. “It’s just a fuck of a lot of drums. Can we turn Reece’s levels down?”

I groaned and returned to the soundboard. From the back of the bar, things were shaping up well, but Zack was never happy unless he could hear himself above everyone else. He was a bit of a prima donna.

I adjusted a monitor instead to point more in his direction and flipped a few switches on the board, not really changing anything but placating the man before he got to Reece. “Try that.”

The four guys on stage played a few bars from the opening of The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go” while I wandered to the other side of the room once again.

Krew dropped a drink off to a lonely patron at a nearby table and shimmied up beside me with no respect for personal space at all. Our shoulders touched, and it was intentional. It looked as though I might yet have to have the “no, sorry, not interested” speech.

“So, I hear you guys are a classic rock cover band, is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“So, nothing original.”

“Nothing I perform for public ears. My original stuff is for me alone.”

“Ahh, I see. I bet you’re the guy who writes romantic ballads for their partner.” Krew tilted his head toward me and batted his lashes, his smile beaming. “That’s sexy.”

I chuckled. “If that’s what I did, it might be.”

The truth was, song-writing was not really my thing. I’d tried and failed. I didn’t have an ounce of creativity when it came to inventing my own songs.

“So what bands do you guys cover?”

“All kinds of stuff. Some Clash,” I indicated to the stage and the song they were playing, “Soft Cell, Simple Minds, Journey, Skynyrd, ZZ Top, Big Sugar, Cream…”

“Mmm,” Krew interrupted. “I bet you cream beautifully, baby. Now that I’d like to see.”

Good Lord!

Thankfully, the balance sounded good, and I gave the guys a thumbs-up, ready to disengage from Krew before he climbed me like a tree.

“You’re up, big guy,” G called. “Set your levels, and we can run through a few numbers.”

He unstrapped his guitar and set it carefully on its stand before hopping down from the stage and working his way toward me.

“Guess I’m up.” I gave Krew an apologetic smile and made my way toward the stage.

As I walked away, his response caught my ear. “Go cream for me, sexy. Show me what you’ve got.” I pretended not to hear.

On stage, I turned on my cordless microphone and adjusted a few knobs on the soundboard as I spoke into it.

“Check, check, check. Okay, let’s try a bit of ‘Smoke on the Water’ to get started. G, if it sounds solid, get your ass up here, and we’ll go right into a warm-up.”

The opening chords rang out loud across the bar. G bobbed his head along with the beat, and I closed my eyes to feel it in my bones before the vocal part kicked in. We worked through half the song before G joined us and added the lead guitar part—which we were sorely missing—to the mix. The words came easily, and as usual, I let them flow through me as I sang, feeling every note and owning every word.

I wouldn’t win any awards for dancing, but when I sang, I was constantly on the move, letting it seep through my body and expel itself in whatever way felt right. I hugged my microphone like a lover, caressing and holding each note as though they were sacred. The confining stage kept me in place for only so long before I hopped down and faced the rest of the guys while we worked through a few favorites and adjusted levels as seemed fit.

Once we wrapped up a handful of numbers, and my vocal chords were nicely warmed up, I flicked off my mic and blew a long strand of hair from my face.

“Sounds solid. Let’s break for food.”

I climbed back on stage as the guys put down instruments and swigged drinks that had been set aside while we played. I clipped my microphone into its stand and found my cellphone in my pocket to check the time. It was ten to eight.

“Be back in an hour if you’re leaving,” I informed everyone. “I want us ready to play at nine, sharp.”

Before I jumped down from the stage again, my eyes caught on a new customer who must have entered while I was busy singing with my back turned. He sat on a stool at the bar and Krew was leaned over, chatting him up.

Ireland… and he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

Either Krew was charming him in the same manner as he’d charmed me, or Ireland didn’t realize just what kind of establishment he’d wandered into until it was too late. Based on his exaggerated lean away from Krew, I was glad to see that at least I wasn’t the only man who caused him discomfort.

“Stone, you gonna join us? We’re heading to Sammy’s Souvlaki for dinner,” G asked, drawing my attention from Ireland.

“Nah, you guys go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

“Stone’s gonna have himself a little gourmet bartender, I bet,” Reece teased as he followed my gaze.

“Ha, ha, yes, that’s what I’m going to do. You guys go eat. Don’t be late.”

As I spoke, I left them on stage and wandered toward the bar and Ireland. He saw me approach before I was too close and grabbed his drink, sliding from the stool and away from Krew in one smooth motion, leaving space and a stool between us.

“Hi,” he said, a smile trying to form on his lips. He nodded to the stage. “So, this is your band, huh?”

“It is.” I tapped fingers on the bar to stop Krew’s head from flipping back and forth between us. “Could I get another drink when you have a minute, sugar?”

In other words, go do your job and leave us alone.

Krew paused for long enough I thought I might need to repeat myself, but then he threw his chin in the air and went to work. I didn’t think he liked his little pet name being thrown back at him. The man wore his emotions on his sleeve and didn’t like—or wasn’t accustomed to—being brushed aside, either.

“Do you want to get a table?” I asked Ireland. He had a full beer, so I assumed he wasn’t running off just yet.

“Sure.”

I waved and grabbed Krew’s attention, indicating we were taking a table, and I received a clipped nod in return along with an evident pout. Poor guy. Rejection hurt.

I followed Ireland to a table in the corner which was near the door and far from the stage. He pulled back the chair on his side far enough so when he sat, his legs didn’t go underneath. He was still maintaining a distance, avoiding any possibility of our feet coming in contact.

“How’s the hand?” He nodded to the bandages covering my palm.

I wiggled the fingers and opened and closed it a few times in demonstration. “It’s not bad. Glad I’m not playing guitar tonight. That might have been tricky.”

“You play guitar?”

I paused before answering as Krew slipped my drink on the table, again flipping his head between us. “One Jack and Coke, sweetheart. Enjoy.”

So, I was sweetheart now. Maybe I hadn’t hurt his feelings too badly. He wandered back to the bar, and I took a sip of my new drink.

“Yup, guitar, and piano, actually. Guitarists are hard to keep around, so if we’re ever down a man, I jump in.”

“But you don’t have a keyboardist, so why aren’t you doing that if you can play?”

I chuckled and admired the sheen in Ireland’s blue eyes. Curiosity and admiration, if I was reading him correctly. Despite his insistence at keeping a distance, he wasn’t exactly shy.

“I don’t feel confident enough in my abilities on the piano. I’m self-taught. Plus, it’s confining to sit and sing all night. At least with the guitar, I can move somewhat.”

“Fair enough.”

He sipped his beer, licking the excess foam off his lips as he scanned the room. It was hard not to get caught up on his mouth. Did he have any idea how gorgeous he was? Between the piercings and the wet trail he’d left behind with his tongue, I was struck dumb.

Until he caught me staring.

I cleared my throat, downed another hefty mouthful of my drink, and asked the question that had been on my mind since I saw him at the bar a few minutes ago.

“So, I’m surprised to find you here. Didn’t think this was your gig.”

“Meaning?”

“No offense, but I kinda get a pretty strong homophobic vibe from you.”

He flinched and made a noise that resembled a sarcastic laugh before drinking deep. “And here I came to see your band play.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you, but your body language around me speaks for itself. And a straight guy coming to see a gay singer perform in a gay bar baffles me even more.”

“You’re awfully presumptuous.”

When I didn’t respond and continued to stare across the table, he sighed and rolled his neck, scanning the bar again. “I’m not straight. But I see the fact that I broke up with my girlfriend instantly earned me a label. So, thank you.”

“So, you’re bi.”

“And, another label.”

Ouch. Okay, so this was going poorly.

“I’m sorry I made assumptions.”

“You should never assume.”

“So why are you here? I don’t remember us talking about my performance schedule.”

“We didn’t.” He shrugged and twisted his beer on the tabletop. “You and your buddy were talking about it after you took a phone call that day you helped me move.”

“So, you honestly came to see me sing?”

He shrugged again without answering. Silence seeped in as we both finished our drinks.

“Can I get you another?” I asked, pointing to his empty.

“Probably shouldn’t.”

“The night’s young. I’m sure a few drinks won’t hurt your ability to drive home later.”

“It’s not that. But thank you.”

Krew noticed our empties and came over to collect them. “Another round?”

“No, we’re good for now.”

He disappeared again, and I scanned the bar. More people were coming in, and a slow-gathering crowd was forming. Ireland seemed to notice as well, and I noted his body language changed. He’d gone from open to almost curled up on himself again, hands close to his body and eyes wary. It was a similar look I’d seen on him before.

“So, you’re a nurse?”

He snapped his attention back to me and smiled, but it didn’t erase the tension in his body even slightly.

“Yeah. On the surgical floor at County General.”

“Huh.” I didn’t know what else to say. Something about the man in front of me doing a job like that didn’t quite work in my head.

More people flooded into the bar, and a couple took seats at the table beside us. The background chatter grew more intense, and Krew had turned on music which pulsed through the speakers. The lights were dimmed now, and the bar life was steadily picking up. As I people-watched for a minute, Ireland shifted. His body edged steadily closer to the wall beside him until he jumped out of his seat and shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

“Well, I’m gonna take off. It was good to see you.”

A half-smile came and went before he shot toward the door. His actions were so abrupt, I sat stunned for a minute, watching him retreat before he disappeared from sight.

I jumped from my own seat and bolted after him. I couldn’t figure the guy out, but if he’d honestly gone out of his way to come see the band—or me—then why was he running? Outside, I caught up with him as he was about to get into a parked Subaru a few dozen feet down from the bar.

“Ireland!”

He stopped, his shoulders falling as he turned.

“Where are you going? I thought you came to see the band.”

“And I did. You have an amazing voice, by the way.”

I approached but stopped about ten feet away when he stiffened and pressed himself against the car’s door frame. “But that was just a warm-up. We don’t even start our first set for another fifteen minutes.”

“I’m sure it will be amazing. It was good to see you again, Raven.”

He turned back to his car and pulled the door open. But before he could get in, I asked, “But why bother coming if you aren’t going to stay for the actual sets? I don’t understand.”

He blew out a breath and looked to the sky. Night had moved in, but there was still a hint of cobalt in the west where the sun had recently set.

“Look, I came because my therapist says I need to engage in more social situations. I heard you talking about your band playing here and thought I could kill two birds with one stone. I wanted to apologize for my odd behavior last week and try that whole social situation thing. But it’s getting crowded in there. I can’t stick around. It’s too much.”

Therapist? Crowded?

“You have social anxiety. It’s people in general, not just me, isn’t it?”

“I wish it was as easy as social anxiety, but it’s a lot more complicated than that. Like I said before, it’s not you. But, it’s kinda hard to explain, at least without getting into a whole mess of personal stuff. I’m sorry I made you believe I was disgusted by you. I’m not. At all. I…” He shifted his feet and scanned the street as his forehead wrinkled. “I wanted to shake your hand that day. I just… couldn’t.”

I studied him, unsure what to make of his comments. The pain and regret on his face cut me deep. There was a whole lot of something he wasn’t able to explain. We were strangers, so he owed me nothing, but he’d gone out of his way to try and apologize for something that wasn’t his fault, if I understood correctly. It was me who’d assumed things and judged him based on his actions.

“Anyhow, I should go.”

He turned back to his car and climbed in, slamming the door and starting the engine. I couldn’t let him leave like that. There was something about the guy that called to me. Initially, I’d been drawn in by his good looks, but then put off by his strange behaviors. Now, as he shone a light on a deeper reasoning, I couldn’t help feeling like a jerk.

I approached his driver’s side window before he pulled away and tapped on the glass. He rolled it down, but only enough we could be heard.

“Can I call you?” I asked. “Maybe we can get dinner or something. Or do drinks. Somewhere quieter.”

He peered beyond his front window as he thought. Whatever internal battle he fought played out on his face.

“I’m not really looking to date, if that was your intention.”

“That’s fine. It doesn’t have to be. As friends then?”

With a nod, he pulled open his glove box, probably looking for a paper or pen.

“I still have your number from when you gave it to me before.”

“Oh.” Another nod. “Okay. Yeah, um… text me, I guess.”

There wasn’t a whole lot of certainty in his tone, but I didn’t question it. Once I’d stepped back from the curb, he re-rolled his window and drove away.