Missing chord, p.29
Missing Chord, page 29
“I will.” Lee’s response came strong and clear. I’d asked him a few times if he was prepared for the fact that I’d be growing old a lot sooner than he would. He’d pointed out that Harvey was a lot younger than Owen, and it was Owen who was still on his feet. We never knew what life had in store. He wasn’t going to let a stupid thing like an age difference rob us of one minute more. As I stood holding his hands and staring into his gorgeous gray eyes, I was glad my almost-husband was such a strong man.
“The rings?” Owen asked our best people.
Pete dug my box out of his pocket and Kashira unearthed Lee’s from somewhere in her skirt. As she passed it over, Lee caught the side seam of her dress, pulled the fabric in a wide drape, and said, “It has pockets!”
A ripple of laughter ran through our audience, mostly from the women.
Lee opened his box, took out the ring, and handed the empty container back. I did the same with mine and we faced each other again. For a moment, time stood still, standing there surrounded by the people who meant the most to us, rings in our hands, hearts full. Lee grasped my fingers in his. I realized my hand was trembling. He slid the gold band over my fingertip, worked it down where it belonged, and grinned.
I took his hand in turn and eased the matching band onto his fourth finger. The strength of his hand in mine, the trust he gave me in this moment and always, echoed in my heart. I rotated the ring, edging it over his knuckle and then lower to seat at the base of his finger. No longer shaking, I raised his hand to my lips and kissed him right there, above that golden band.
Owen announced, “By the power vested in me by the state of Iowa, I pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss.”
I’d have kept the kiss light and chaste for the sake of our mixed audience, but Lee hauled me to him, put his hand behind my head, and kissed the hell out of me. I closed my eyes and let him lead. I was safe in his hands.
When we came up for air, our friends and family began cheering. My face was probably flushed, but I kept a grip on Lee and turned to face them. Ellen had her fingers pressed to her lips, her eyes damp, but beside her, Yolanda cheered and whistled. Quinn beat a thundering crescendo on the top of an empty box off to the side of the gazebo. Harvey pumped his good fist.
Then Shondra played a chord, and the members of Chaser Lost, plus Mandy and Colby and a couple of my other LA friends stepped forward and began to sing Pete’s hit “You’ve Done It Now!”
Lee hugged me to his side, his smile ear to ear, as our friends celebrated our marriage in enthusiastic rockstar style. Half the audience sang along, the rest nodded and toe-tapped and faked the lyrics. When the line, Fuck, you’ve gone and done it, came around, the volume got loud. People grinned. Pete tipped his head to me, still belting the vocals. Lee squeezed my hand.
I thought back to a dark day a year ago when the only person at my side was my lawyer, and I looked guilt and prison in the face. I’m sorry, Linda, I thought now. So sorry. But I’m going to live and love and be a good husband to Lee. I’ll probably screw up again, please God never that badly, though. But I’m going to live my life with my songs and music and friends and my beloved, and do the best I can to be worthy of the time I have left on this earth.
If this’d been a cheesy movie, there’d have been a cut to a white dove flying overhead or a convenient ray of sunshine, forgiveness from above. But in real life, if I were Linda or her family, I wouldn’t give me that satisfaction. What I’d learned in the last year, from Lee and Ellen and some therapy too, was that I had to go on without being forgiven. I could go on. I was allowed to have joy.
And standing there as a rude rock song echoed from the people around me and smiles wreathed their faces? As I leaned against the big, solid bulk of my husband with my fingers wrapped in his? This was joy, in one pure, perfect moment.
Lee
In the quiet of our bedroom, I reached up and tugged Griffin’s tie free of its knot and slipped the royal blue silk from around his neck.
He blew out a breath and opened his collar. “As incredible as you look in that suit, I’m glad to get out of mine.”
“Likewise.” I draped our ties on the dresser, shrugged out of my jacket, and hung it away because that suit cost more than any clothes I’d ever owned.
“The wedding went well, don’t you think?” Griffin reached past me for a hanger.
I laughed and bent to brush a kiss on the back of his neck as I passed. “It was perfect. Everyone had a blast. And Owen tipping his food over the head of that paparazzi and pretending to be senile was awesome.”
Griffin sighed. “I’m not sure why that dude still shows up now and then. I’m really old news. I’m not even doing Rocktoberfest this year.”
“He has some kind of fixation. But seeing him with pasta dripping down his face was satisfying.”
“Yeah. True.”
“And then Harvey knocked his phone out of his hand and ran over it with his wheelchair.” I grinned. “I do like our friends. Speaking of, Yolanda said to tell you she can die happy now.”
“I hope you told her she’s not allowed to die anytime soon.”
“Yep. And Chaser Lost gave her a VIP pass for Rocktoberfest, so she said maybe she’ll hang on until then.”
“I don’t have half her energy.” Griffin unbuttoned his shirt.
I paused to watch his chest being revealed. Mmm. “She’ll probably outlive both of us,” I agreed absently, more of my attention on Griffin’s bare skin than the conversation.
He looked up, caught my eye, and turned sliding the shirt off his shoulders into a strip tease.
From the living room, where Cinder wasn’t supposed to be right now, something thumped.
We froze, eyeing each other.
“I swear I shut her door,” Griffin said. We’d built an awesome cat room in this new apartment for Cinder to spend her nights, trying to limit the nighttime cockblocking and disasters. She’d seemed fine with sleeping there, but this wasn’t her first escape.
I suggested, “She’s a minion of darkness. She knows teleportation.”
“Or she’s learned to turn door handles. I’ll go see. Don’t get started without me.”
I’d been half hard since we got in my car, dragging a set of plastic bedpans behind us with “Just Married” written in white lotion across the trunk. I was more than half hard now. I called after Griffin as he disappeared into the hall, “I’ll start with my socks, but don’t take all night.” I tugged the socks off and tossed them into the hamper, listening to his voice in the living room while he lectured Cinder on the error of her ways. He was no doubt doing the stern spiel for my benefit, but it made me smile.
I decided my shirt could go too. That would only put me a little ahead of him.
His steps passed, no doubt carrying Cinder to her wonder-playground with every toy a cat could want. Then he appeared in the doorway. The heat in his eyes took my breath away as he stared at me. “What happened to just taking off socks?”
“You were slow.” I unbuckled my belt, popped my button above where my dick strained the charcoal-gray fabric.
“You are so fucking hot.” Griffin eased behind me and turned us to face the mirror, his hand splayed on my bare belly.
There was a time I’d have peered into that mirror and hated what I saw. Now, the desire in his touch and the darkness of his eyes made it impossible to feel unattractive. I saw a salt-and-pepper-haired sexy man standing behind a big, hairy bear of a guy, both of them staring at the mirror like they could eat each other alive, their hard dicks tenting their dress slacks. If that was the start of a porno, I’d click on it.
I twisted to get to Griffin’s mouth for a kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too, husband.” He kissed me again. “Sounds good, right?”
“Sounds perfect.” I dragged the hand he’d pressed to my stomach down to where it might do some good and moaned as he cupped me through my slacks.
“You don’t mind that we didn’t get a real honeymoon somewhere exotic?” Griffin mouthed at the side of my neck below my beard. “Next year, once my parole’s over.”
“I’m not much of a traveler anyhow.” I tilted my head to give him better access.
A crash from out in the kitchen broke us apart.
“Crap.” Griffin stared at me. “I swear I shut her door this time.”
We hurried out and found Cinder sitting there innocently washing her face while one of the kitchen chairs lay on its side.
“She’s nine freaking pounds,” I said. “How does she do that?”
“Time to find out. Get your phone.” Griffin scooped up the cat and led the way to her room, while I followed, digging my phone out of my pocket.
In the playroom, Griffin checked Cinder’s litterbox, her electronic food dispenser, and her hanging toys. Then we set up my phone on the windowsill with the camera running on Facetime, put a few bits of kibble in her chase toy, and backed out, firmly closing the door.
Griffin accepted my call on his screen and we put our heads close together, watching. Cinder whacked the toy across the room, pounced on a kibble bite, then stalked toward the door. Her tall climber stood in the corner and she scurried to the top, crouched, and leaped down, snagging the door handle in both front paws as she passed.
The handle turned. The door opened a crack as she landed. Cinder hooked her toes around the edge and pulled the door wider. She sauntered out, then froze, staring up at us.
“Hah!” Griffin said. “We have you. Your secret has been revealed.”
With an indifferent twitch of her tail, Cinder headed for the living room.
Griffin and I looked at each other.
“It’s not that late,” I suggested. “She just wants her evening routine before bedtime.”
“But I want to get fucked,” Griffin muttered. “Maybe a chair under the doorhandle?”
“We’ll buy a hook tomorrow,” I told him, despite my dick still holding out hopes. “We can give the cat her evening cuddles. We have time. All the time in the world, now.”
“You might. I’m closer to my expiry date and I don’t want it to be from blue balls.”
I hip-bumped him and headed for the living room.
Griffin followed me, murmuring, “Your ass looks edible in those slacks.”
“Thank you.” I sat on the couch, picked up the remote, and clicked on the TV. Something random appeared, travel maybe. I didn’t much care. Griffin sat behind me in the corner of the couch and I reclined onto his chest.
The damned cat, as was her routine, jumped onto my knees, turned a circle, and settled down, purring. I patted her in spite of myself. “If you didn’t knock so much over and bite Daddy’s toes in the middle of the night, you wouldn’t have to stay in your playroom,” I told her. She closed her eyes and rumbled softly.
Despite the low ache of need in my groin, I let my eyelids droop and tucked my head back on Griffin’s shoulder as I petted Cinder.
“This is nice,” Griffin murmured. “Although I still want to be fucked once she’s ready for bed.”
“It is nice.” I took his arm and pulled it across my chest, a loving barrier against the world. For once, I wasn’t worried about anything or puzzling out anything other than how long it would take Cinder to settle into her evening doze and be ready for bed.
“You know, I almost sang my vows today.” Griffin’s chest vibrated behind me as he laughed. “Not sure why I thought that would be a good plan.”
“Does seem a little over the top.”
“I’d been writing that album material for Amy Lenardo and I think I was stuck in composing mode. My lyrics were a lot flowerier and more eloquent than what I did say.”
“I liked what you said.” I squirmed back farther, feeling the bulge of Griffin’s dick behind my ass, half-hard but not insistent. I’d work on that later. “Did you actually come up with something?”
“Oh yeah, a whole song.” He chuckled.
“I want to hear it.”
“It’s embarrassing now.”
“Gimme, gimme.”
“Only for you.” He hummed a note, then began singing softly in my ear. The words flowed honey-sweet. Yeah, a bit much for the wedding but here, with our cat on my lap and Griffin’s arms around me, the melodic lilt of destiny and forever and together turned the moment to gold. This was my Griffin, my bard and my lover, and I got to keep him for all the years to come. Life didn’t get better than this.
###############
If you enjoyed watching Griffin take the stage at Rocktoberfest, check out the rest of The Road to Rocktoberfest 2024 series by an array of talented authors. 17 stories of rock stars, almost-stars, guys making their first grab for the gold ring, and the men who fall for them. Hot, sweet, angsty, nostalgic, real – stories to fit every mood.
And if you started my Rocktoberfest books here, check out Cam and Erik, navigating Cam’s severe social anxiety as they try to bring his incredible but hidden talent to the Rocktoberfest crowds in Hidden Blade.
Hidden Blade
Chapter 1
Erik
It began with a song. Well, a voice and a song. And a look. A combo that practically knocked me off my creaky wooden chair in the cafe, which is hard to do because after fifteen years in the music business, I’d heard a lot of amazing voices and a lot of good songs. But this kid. Jesus.
He came out on the little stage and sat down sideways on a stool, not making eye contact with the audience. Some guy— a friend or a roadie about his age with a mass of dreadlocks and jeans draped with chains— set up a modest amp and plugged him in while the kid fiddled with his Ibanez, tuning strings that sounded just fine to me. Then his friend set the mic in front of him, gave him a thump on the shoulder, and left the stage.
The kid glanced at the audience once, eyes so blown wide and dark I couldn’t make out their color even though I was sitting close. His long hair lifted around his face, and when he swept the clinging strands back impatiently, they crackled with static. Without an intro, or even his name, he played the first chord, picked his way through an intricate run of notes, opened his mouth, and sang.
And fuck, he had the tone and the range. He could growl like Jeff Becerra and then soar clean and pure, soft like an angel, or sharp as a knife. He never faced the crowd again. Sat sideways, stared offstage at a wall like the flat paint was his hope of salvation, and sang about pain and transcendence. He didn’t even let one song end before segueing into the next, leaving the rest of us confused about whether to applaud or hold fire and wait.
After his third song, before the last note had faded, he unslung his guitar and stood. We were on our feet by then, shouting and stomping, even some devil horns hitting the air in this modest cafe that held maybe fifty people. He waved behind his back as he hurried off the stage, ducked around the little curtain on the side, and disappeared.
To my left, my drummer said, “Who the fuck was that and why the fuck are you letting him get away?”
Both fucking good questions. I leaped to my feet and pushed my way through the crowd to the curtain. I wasn’t the only one shoving in that direction. Half the audience seemed to want a word or an autograph, or a hard fuck, probably, because his lost-boy look would appeal to a lot of folks. But as one of the night’s performers, I had a right to head backstage, so the bouncers let me past.
There wasn’t much to the back of this place— a couple of narrow halls and storage rooms, the bathrooms, a kitchen off to my left that was off-limits. (And the chef was six-three and had a big knife. No one messed with him.) The Black dude who’d played roadie pushed past me as I hesitated, eyeing the empty hallways.
I grabbed his sleeve. “Hey, that singer. Who is he? Where can I find him?”
Dude shook off my grip, thick brows coming together in a hard glare. “You don’t. He’s gone.”
“Look, I have a band.” I dug in my pocket for one of our cards. “Hellsbane. You may have heard of us. We played an hour ago.”
He took the card, glanced at the logo. “Nope.” Didn’t even do me the courtesy of handing it back, just dropped it. “Now if you get your fat ass out of the fucking way, I have an amp to clear off the stage.”
“Hey.” I squatted, picked up the card, and held it out again. If there was any chance of getting that voice for my band, I had no pride. “Look, just give him that. Tell him I’d love to play with him or record with him. Anything he wants to try out. I think our sound and his would work awesome together.”
“He doesn’t play with anyone.” But the guy stuck the card in his pocket, which was a step up from the floor.
“I’ll help you clear the stage,” I offered. If singer-guy was gone, this dude was my best shot at making contact. “I can coil cables with the best of ’em.”
“I still won’t give you his name. But hell, yeah, you want to carry a fucking fifty-pound Mesa for me, I won’t say no.”
Anyone who’s played the circuit of clubs and bars has schlepped their share of amps and speakers. I followed him back onto the stage and picked up the amp while he grabbed the mic, stand, pedal and cables. He led me out through the halls to the parking area where our bandmobile sat rusting on her wheels. He had a boxy blue Volvo that, unlike our girl, had no logo on her that I could see.
“This is me.” He unlocked the back and I eased the amplifier inside, then stepped away so he could stow the rest of his gear. When he had everything settled, he turned and gave me a wry look. “Still not saying anything. But thanks, dude.” He walked around to the driver’s side, swung up in the SUV, and tapped the horn. I jumped farther back, and he reversed away from the wall, wriggled through a turn in the tight space, and pulled away down the alley without— as far as I could tell— so much as a backward glance.
The cafe’s back door had locked on closing, so I had to walk all the way around and go in the front. Jase, my drummer, had saved my chair and when I dropped back on the seat, he said, “So? Who is he? You get any traction?”
I shook my head. “Not even a name. He was gone like a vampire when the sun rises, before I even got back there.”
