G: I’m really sorry to do this but I can’t make dinner Tuesday night. Our agent got us a surprise gig at The Sayers Club. I know it’s probably not quite what you had in mind, but I can get you and Damon in if you like?

“Don’t ever become famous,” I complained to Damon later that week. “It ruins your love life.”

“What love life?”

“Exactly.”

It was rare to see my brother lazing on the sofa in the open-plan kitchen area. He was like an exotic creature that only surfaced from his room when it was safe. Safety involved Mama being nowhere in sight. On this particular occasion she was away for the weekend. It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other, just that they loved each other more when they didn’t have to share the same house.

Damon continued flicking through the programs on Netflix. “Seriously, Chloe. What love life? You’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“There was Jayden.”

“He doesn’t count. You were never in the same place at the same time.”

“Yeah, well, I think I’m going to have the same problem with Gabe. I mean, it’s ridiculous. Between my filming schedule and his band commitments—”

“Whoa. Back up. You and Gabe?” Damon had abandoned the television and was staring at me in horror.

“Um, you didn’t think he was hanging around jamming with you just for your talent?” I snapped my mouth shut. Shit. Where had that come from? When we were kids Damon and I had fought all the time but it was unusual for me to be mean to him anymore. When I’d seen the disbelief on his face, I’d just reacted.

Damon leapt up from the sofa and pointed his finger at me. “Take that back!”

I held up a hand. “I’m sorry, OK? That came out wrong and it wasn’t fair. But why is Gabe and I so hard to believe?”

“Because he’s here for me, that’s why!”

I gaped at my little brother. Please don’t tell me he thought Gabe was into him? I kept my mouth shut because I’d already done enough harm.

Damon didn’t seem to notice my restrained silence. “He’s been coming here playing with me and it’s been awesome. We’ve even written some stuff and I’ve helped him with songs he’s already written.”

My shock morphed into pride. “Seriously? That’s so cool. He didn’t tell me that. Probably because last time I saw him it wasn’t exactly a normal date, thanks to Viktor and the media.”

The fierce look in Damon’s eyes dissolved. “Mama made you take Viktor along? Shit.”

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. Gabe took us out on his yacht and Viktor steered while we talked.”

“Get out.”

I resisted a smile. My brother was so much more comfortable being gay when he let his guard down and I loved it. I wished he felt like he could be himself all the time.

“I know. It was amazing. I have no idea how Gabe does it. He just has this way of getting people on side.”

Damon sighed. “Tell me about it.”

When he caught me grinning at the content expression on his face, he waved a hand at me. “Don’t worry. I won’t get in your way. I know he’s not into me like that, but I can dream, can’t I?”

I wasn’t going to ruin Damon’s fantasies, but I did want to ask another question—before I told him about the impromptu concert. I wouldn’t be able to get any sense out of him then. “Hey. I’d be interested in your opinion, so long as you don’t take this the wrong way . . . ”

“Uh oh.”

“Don’t you think it’s strange Gabe is jamming with you all the time and writing songs when he’s in Gypsy Hour?”

Damon sat on one of the stools opposite me at the island bench. “If you ask me, he’s under-appreciated. He’s capable of so much more than playing drums with them. He’s not very involved in the writing process either.”

“That does seem strange. But why?”

Damon shrugged. “Levi and Johnnie go way back.”

It echoed what Gabe had told me, too.

“So when are you going to see Gabe again?” Damon asked.

“Well, that’s the thing. We were supposed to have dinner on Tuesday but now they’re playing a surprise concert at Sayers . . . ” I let my sentence drift off and awaited his inevitable reaction.

“No way!” Damon shrieked and shoved the stool back, almost knocking it over in the process. He rushed around the counter and grabbed my hand, giving me his best puppy dog eyes. “Tell me you’re going. No, wait! We’re going! Please don’t make me beg.”

I laughed with satisfaction. It wasn’t often he was excited, bright or hopeful these days. More usually he was reclusive, private and moody.

“Gabe’s asked both of us,” I informed him.

“Yes!” Damon let go of my hand and did a fist pump reminiscent of our childhood—probably where it should have stayed.

Oh well. If I couldn’t have dinner alone with Gabe, a night out in Hollywood watching Gypsy Hour perform would be a nice change from filming.

*

“I’M SO EXCITED, BUT please tell me I don’t look excited,” Damon whispered to me as we drove along Hollywood Boulevard.

I wasn’t sure why he was whispering. We were in the back seat of the dark sedan and Viktor and our driver, Dan, were upfront. For them, this was just another night on the job.

“You look super cool and in no way excited,” I reassured him.

Damon fanned his faced dramatically. “Thank God.”

I didn’t tell him he looked a little bit gay, too. In a good way. I loved it when my little brother actually dressed up. He’d lined his moody, dark eyes with kohl and made the effort to style his mop of dark hair so it was sticking up in an edgy do. He’d make some guy very happy some day if he could just find some confidence. Meanwhile, I was super proud to have him on my arm for the night.

“Alright,” Viktor said from the front seat. “Looks like there’s a media circus.”

“Well, it is Gypsy Hour.” Damon rolled his eyes at me then looked out the window as we turned off Hollywood Boulevard into Wilcox Avenue. “Shit. Most of LA is here.”

So much for staying cool. He was right. Paparazzi crowded the street opposite the old building that housed The Sayers Club, while attendees lined the sidewalk out the front of the club, spilling onto the street where cars usually parked.

“God, it looks kind of dingy, doesn’t it?” I observed.

“Wash your mouth out, you heathen! It’s uber cool. Wait until you see the inside.”

I swiveled to face Damon. “You’ve been before?”

“No, I’ve just read about it,” he replied quickly, too quickly, and cast his gaze out the window.

I narrowed my eyes at him. Sometimes I felt like I didn’t know Damon anymore. It was so hard to stay involved in his life when I was away filming and traveling so much.

He tapped on the window. “You’ll be in good company tonight, Chloe. Look.”

I caught a glimpse of Kristen Stewart being admitted to the cries of onlookers, then turned my attention back to the old whitewashed building with interest. What an unusual place. Located just off the famous Hollywood strip, I supposed it was kind of cool. The architecture was somewhere between Art Nouveau and Art Deco. A series of windows reminded me of an old-fashioned department store. Above them were intricate cast-iron panels molded into a series of shapes and swirls.

The sedan cruised closer and stopped beside a red carpet that by Hollywood standards was exceptionally tiny.

Viktor turned to us. “Wait for me to open your door. You first, Chloe, then Damon.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Damon said. “Right, I’m relaxed. Are you relaxed?”

“Super relaxed. It’s not even a proper red carpet.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that,” Damon said. “I mean about seeing Gypsy Hour again.”

“I guess.” The truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect once I set foot in the club and I was still pretty tired from the full-on film schedule. As glamorous as the public thought we Hollywood types were, I’d have been just as happy chilled out in front of the television tonight. Or going to dinner with Gabe—alone.

“You guess? You have been working too hard. Come on. Give the crowd that lovable Chloe Kemp smile while I look cool and serious.”

“You always look serious.”

“What about cool?”

“I’m your sister, you’re never cool, Damon,” I teased.

“I love you too.”

And then the door opened and cameras flashed mercilessly as Viktor guided me out of the vehicle. I’d chosen a pair of leather pants tonight and paired it with the rock-chick top I’d worn for the Gypsy Hour video clip that they’d let me keep. Compared to other red carpets, it was nice to get out of a vehicle wearing pants while in view of the media.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as I straightened and then a chorus of onlookers cried out in recognition.

“Chloe! Oh my God, it’s Chloe Kemp! I love you, Chloe!”

“I love you, Chloe,” Damon whispered in my ear. “God, it’s all Chloe, Chloe, Chloe, isn’t it? Do you think anyone will notice I’m even here?”

Viktor led us toward the bouncer and I heard a few shouts of ‘who’s that?’ from the crowds. I nudged Damon in the side with my elbow.

“Oh my God, don’t tell me she’s got another man,” drawled a young blond woman with way too much make-up and cleavage and not enough dress. It was obvious she knew I was within hearing distance.

I stiffened but continued to smile for the cameras even though I’d felt like flinching at the word ‘another’.

“Oooh,” Damon said so only I could hear. “I’m another man! I can see the tabloids now: Chloe Kemp attends The Sayer Club with Another Man. Capital A and capital M. I guess that’s better than being a nobody.”

I nudged him again. “Stop it. The reporters know who you are.”

“Barely.”

“Well, you hardly come out anymore.”

“Poor choice of words, Chloe.”

I shot him a distraught look. I hadn’t meant to make light of it, least of all in public. When we were younger, Damon used to attend events with me all the time, but that was back when we were all ‘cutesy brother and sister’. Once he hit sixteen and understood how integral his sexuality was to him, he’d stopped making appearances with me. The painful truth was he was desperate to come out, but also terrified of what it would mean.

The overdone woman’s voice carried across the crowd again. “Yeah, first it was Johnnie and then Gabe. But I don’t know who this guy is. Surely turning up here to Gypsy Hour would be rubbing it in their faces. He’s kind of young if you ask me.”

“And what’s with the eyeliner?” I heard her friend say. “It’s like he’s trying to be all Adam Lambert, which makes no sense because he’s gay.”

I felt Damon stiffen and hooked my arm through his. I waved at the crowd, flashing them a wide smile. Thankfully the security guard nodded at us and indicated for us to go inside.

“I knew I shouldn’t have worn the eyeliner,” Damon hissed. He reached up to swipe at his eyes and I slapped his hand away.

“Don’t. No one wants to be the desperate, sad, gay guy.”

Damon shot me an evil glare.

I patted his arm. “Now you look dangerous. Much better.”

I felt him relax beside me and we entered the club together.