“Joey?”

His blood ran cold. Usually, he did his best to creep in and out of the house and his family respected that by pretending he didn’t exist. The play in New York had kept him out during most of the day for the past few weeks, but even though that was over now, he’d still maintained his routine of rising early and coming back late. It meant things were better for everyone.

But of course the one time he came home a bit earlier, his dad had heard him come through the door and now he was being summoned. Dread filled Joey’s insides, and he debated stashing his Chinese food on the stairs so they didn’t see it. It wasn’t like they were feeding him, but he also didn’t think it would go down well to flaunt that he was ‘wasting’ money on takeout either.

But then he ran the risk of his brother stealing it from him out of spite if he came across it. It was better to keep a hold of it and try his best not to draw attention to the bag.

He stepped into the den without a word. His dad didn’t need ammunition and Joey had learned it was generally preferable to wait until he knew what the conversation was going to be about before he spoke.

“I hear you got yourself a job,” his dad said.

His mocking tone set Joey’s teeth on edge, even after all these years. He wanted to scream that he’d been an international popstar, for fuck’s sake. But obviously that would only lead to his dad giving him even more grief about getting ‘fired’ as he saw it.

“Yes,” was all he said. Luckily his mom wasn’t there to draw his eye. He’d told her about the Off-Broadway play to try and reassure her that things weren’t so bad, that they were picking up for him. It didn’t surprise him that his dad had managed to wheedle it out of her. He sensed when she was trying to keep something from him and hounded her until she cracked. Joey didn’t blame her.

He was still pissed though. It wasn’t any of his dad’s business how he made his money, only that he saved up and got himself the fuck out of here.

Joey had been looking at bedrooms for rent on the outskirts of the city. He’d have a commute for any work, which would cost more, but the rent was less and there were lots of opportunities. If he could just get a few more gigs, bulk up his savings, he’d go and get a bar job to top up the rest like he planned.

“Bet you’re rolling in it again, huh?” said his dad with a smirk. “Big-time superstar.”

His eyes were on the football game playing on the TV and he sipped a beer. Patrick mimicked him by his side on the couch while Cathy bounced baby Michael on her knee, as if there wasn’t a conversation going on at all. He was sick, grousing with fever and tiredness.

“I’m close to getting a deposit together,” Joey said, fudging the truth a little. But he wasn’t giving his dad the satisfaction of knowing how close he’d been to destitution.

If it wasn’t for Gabe, Joey wasn’t sure what might have happened.

The thought of Gabe gave him that now-familiar pang, but he stored it for after he’d escaped from his family and could eat in peace. It hadn’t passed him by that this little ambush had occurred while his mom was at the store.

“That’s great,” said his dad in that same jaunty voice. Like he was placating a toddler. His eyes flicked towards the Chinese takeout in Joey’s hands. “But don’t forget to pay us the rent you owe, either.”

Ice shot down Joey’s spine. That wasn’t their deal. He kept out of their way, fed himself, took his clothes down the laundromat. He asked them for nothing but a roof over his head. He never even charged his phone or laptop here, for fear that his dad would call him out for stealing electricity.

“Rent?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

He didn’t miss the filthy look his sister-in-law threw him as she cooed annoyingly loudly at her son. “Who’s a good boy?” she simpered. “My perfect little man.” Michael wailed, screwing up his ruddy face.

“Well, yeah,” said Joey’s dad over the din, like Joey was being deliberately obtuse. “No one gets a free ride. Right, Patrick?”

“Right, Dad,” said Joey’s brother sagely.

Joey could have screamed. Everyone knew full well the only reason Patrick had already made assistant manager at the plant was because their dad had picked him over several other far better-qualified candidates.

“I thought,” Joey said carefully, “the plan was for me to save up and leave as soon as possible.”

He could have sworn he heard Cathy hiss ‘Freeloader’ under her breath. It was hard to tell with the baby crying.

Joey’s dad arched an eyebrow and glowered at him. Joey resisted the urge to take a step away. He had his backpack on as per usual with all his things. If his dad made to go for him, he could bolt out the door faster than his dad could catch him. He hoped.

“You’re here so your mom stops sniveling,” his dad growled. “You’ve broken her heart and embarrassed this family enough. I’ve had the good grace to allow you to stay while you try and get yourself a respectable job. Then you go fairying around trying to pass off saying some pretty words in front of some other fags like it’s actual work.” He took a swig of his beer and sloshed it in Joey’s direction. How many had he had? “I might feel different about letting you keep a dignified wage. But if you want to insist on singing and dancing like a fucking monkey, you can pay me a hundred dollars a week.”

He laughed to himself as Joey’s heart dropped like a stone. “How…” he stammered. “How am I supposed to save enough to move out if I do that?”

“Get a real fucking job,” his dad bellowed, leaping to his feet. Joey jerked back, but his dad didn’t lunge for him. However, Michael did intensify his howling at the sudden shouting.

“Look what you did!” Cathy snarled at Joey.

“I don’t care how you do it,” his dad continued over the bawling. “But by Friday, you will hand me a hundred dollars in cash, or I’ll drag you out into the street myself. Am I understood?” Joey was too stunned to respond, which was a mistake. “I said am I understood, you little queer?”

“Perfectly,” Joey spat out. Before he could suffer anything more, he stormed back out into the street. He couldn’t linger in that house, not now. He’d just have to eat his Chinese cold, once he found a bench to perch on.

This was so un-fucking-fair. How was he supposed to get ahead if his dad was going to rig the system? He didn’t know whether to cry or scream. If his dad was going to insist on bleeding rent from him, he’d be lucky to keep up payments, let alone save enough to get him the fuck out.

Joey felt so sick he didn’t want to eat. But he’d learned he couldn’t afford to waste food, so he turned into the first small park he came across and stubbornly sat in the dark fishing chow mien out with disposable chopsticks, mechanically swallowing down the noodles.

Maybe he should cut his losses and move out now, into the first dive he could afford. Freedom would be better than this surely, even if it came with near poverty and constant insecurity.

Irrationally, he pulled out his phone to contemplate texting Gabe. He’d stared at the other man’s number more times than he could count since he rescued him after his pickpocketing.

After they’d had sex.

And fuck, was it good sex.

But Gabe wanted to mold Joey into something he wasn’t. His intentions were good; Joey had no doubt. But Gabe saw him as a charity project, like the LGBT kids he apparently worked with at the homeless shelter. Joey had heard that from the head librarian the last time he had dared to go in. He’d been unashamedly avoiding the place so he didn’t have to deal with seeing Gabe. But the other day he’d seen him out with a fire crew, so Joey had swung in to job hunt in a change of scenery.

He wasn’t sure why the old librarian had dropped that fact about Gabe into their brief conversation, but Joey didn’t doubt it. It was his way. Like taking in that mangled cat that Joey absolutely did not think was adorable.

But being Gabe’s pet project would mean he’d try and domesticate Joey just like that cat. Joey didn’t want to get comfy in fucking Greenwich, Connecticut. He’d suffocate here, as his father had just reminded him.

In his darkest moments though, like sitting on a park bench in the dark with cold Chinese takeout, Joey did allow himself to fantasize about Gabe taking him home again, just once more.

This time Joey would keep his mouth shut and not insult the man. They’d just talk about movies or something dumb and eat another one of Gabe’s delicious home-cooked meals. Then Joey would allow him to take him up to bed, his intentions clear from the start this time, and they’d fuck until Joey could barely remember his own name.

Christ alive, it had been good. Great. Exceptional. Joey wasn’t sure he’d ever had sex like that in his whole life. Not in all the countries he’d been to or the guys he’d picked up along the way. The way Gabe had held him…it wasn’t that he’d dominated Joey exactly. But he’d been in charge at the same time as treating him with such tenderness it still made Joey’s head spin to think about it.

He couldn’t have that though. He’d been lucky to experience it once. Joey wouldn’t lead Gabe on; he was too nice for that. So Joey would just have to cherish the memory and hope it kept him warm when everything else seemed so cold.

He still checked his cellphone though, with the intention of allowing himself just one quick peek at Gabe’s name to cheer himself up. But on the main screen it flashed up that he had a text and a couple of missed calls. From Raiden.

That was odd. Blake was the only one from the band that ever called. The rest of the time, the guys just used text and group chats. By now they all knew Joey was back home. Even Reyse, who was busy promoting his new album. But they didn’t know quite how bad it was.

The text message just asked Joey to call Raiden, which worried him. Had something happened?

Without thinking, he hit the redial icon.

“Jo-ey!” Raiden answered in his usual sing-song fashion. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

Joey blinked in the darkness, taking stock. From that, he could gather that none of the guys had been in a car crash or anything. “Hey, Raiden,” he said, keeping his voice even. There was probably nothing to be worried over at all. “Sorry I missed your calls. I know it’s getting late, but I felt I should call back.”

“Nah,” said Raiden. Joey could hear him typing as he spoke. Multitasking, as usual. “It’s not late. I just wanted to touch base. Blake said you were in a play and the reviews were sweet!”

Joey smiled, relaxing back against the bench. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It was good.”

He’d actually enjoyed the experience more than he’d hoped. The play was tolerable and the cast and crew top notch. But it had only run for ten days after a week’s rehearsal. Joey had only just started really getting into it all when it had come to an end.

But Raiden was right. The reviews had been great, and that could be all he needed to get noticed by another director or casting agent. Hopefully.

“So how are you?” he asked his former bandmate.

He missed him in that moment with a pang that was almost physical. They’d never been as close as Joey and Blake were, but Joey would still count him as one of his best friends in the entire world.

“Actually, I had kind of a major breakthrough today,” said Raiden down the line. “One of my songs got picked up.”

Raiden had been dabbling with songwriting ever since the band first stepped into the recording studio together five years ago. He’d even got to work on a few of their album tracks, uncredited of course. But Joey wasn’t surprised that was the direction he was taking his career in now.

“Man,” he said, shaking his head to himself and grinning. “I’m so happy for you, that’s incredible. Who snatched it up?” Joey mentally crossed his fingers that it was a respectable artist.

He could practically hear Raiden’s glee down the phone. “Storm Sailor.”

Joey sat up so fast he almost tumbled off the bench. Storm Sailor had always been a favorite producer of the two of them. They’d had several nights where they’d just stayed up late in hotel rooms getting drunk and geeking out over all the songs the Swede had worked on over the past several years.

“Shut up! No!” Joey cried, all his previous woes forgotten in the light of such great news for his friend. “Storm Sailor? Fuck, that’s the dream, right there, dude! There’ll be no stopping you now!”

Raiden chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but it’s a fantastic break. Thank you.”

“You got any idea who he’s going to have sing it?” Joey asked. He’d have to hear the demo, but immediately he was already cataloging all the obvious artists that could do one of Raiden’s creations justice. His first commercial song, actually, so it better be somebody worthy.

Raiden laughed again, but softly this time. “I sold it to him on a few conditions,” he said conspiratorially. “One of which was that I wrote it with the singer in mind, and he can’t produce it if he doesn’t go with the artist I want.”

Joey snorted. “That’s bold,” he said. He was impressed though. Raiden was generally a very laid-back guy when it came to diva-like demands. But he always did know when to put his foot down when something really mattered. “Good for you. So tell me then, who is it?”

There was a pause.

“You.”

Joey almost dropped the phone. “Me?” he squeaked.

“Yeah,” said Raiden softly. “It’s in your range; I can practically hear it already. Please say you will?”

Joey didn’t understand. What was the catch? Storm Sailor was one of his idols. He knew he’d take any song of Raiden’s and produce something phenomenal. And Raiden wanted – no – was insisting that Joey be the one to bring it to life?

“I don’t-” Joey stammered. “Yes, I mean, fuck me, yes, dude. This is incredible!”

Raiden laughed down the phone, a throaty, genuine sound. “Amazing. I’ll send you the details.”

Joey looked up at the stars overhead, feeling the cold night breeze skimming around him. This was it. This was his turning point. If he could just nail this, it could mean international success.

He just had to hang on. Great things were only around the corner. He simply needed to keep working hard, and remember to have a little patience.