Starting From Zero (Starting From Series Book 1)

by Lane Hayes

  STARTING FROM ZERO

  LANE HAYES

  Copyright © 2019 by Lane Hayes

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Places, names, characters and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design by Reese Dante

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  “This is Love” Copyright © 2019 by Lane Hayes

  For Bob-

  You are my music between the notes. My inspiration and my love song. Always.

  CONTENTS

  1. Justin

  2. Gray

  3. Justin

  4. Gray

  5. Gray

  6. Gray

  7. Justin

  8. Gray

  9. Justin

  10. Justin

  11. Gray

  Epilogue

  Out in the Field- Coming June 2019

  Excerpt from Out in the Field by Lane Hayes (June 2019)

  About the Author

  Also by Lane Hayes

  1

  JUSTIN

  “Everything must have a beginning…and that beginning must be linked to something that went before.”—Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

  A SPOTLIGHT FELL over the lone microphone on the vacant stage. The dramatic illumination seemed unnecessary in a club as small as Carmine’s, where the maximum occupancy topped out at one hundred, but size wasn’t important. Of course, that was what all desperados said when making the most of a less than ideal situation. And things had definitely turned desperate.

  My ragtag band of three was down a guitarist. Not good—especially tonight. Sure, our invitation to perform was last-minute and slightly suspicious. And yes, I probably should have waited for Johnny to confirm he was available, but no one turned Carmine down. His club might look like a basic dive bar…dim lighting, sticky floors, dark walls adorned with ancient concert posters, a tiny stage on one end, a busy bar on the other…but it was special.

  Carmine’s catered to music business hopefuls and professionals. On an average night you might bump into an A-list producer, an aspiring banjo player, or your neighborhood barista. The “invitation only” policy elevated the opportunity to an elite status that made me wonder how the hell Johnny, Tegan, and I made the cut. We’d only recently started playing together full-time. Johnny on lead guitar, Tegan on drums, and me on rhythm guitar and vocals. We were still missing some key components…like a bassist, a manager—and hell, a name—but we figured we’d work out the kinks. We were young, motivated, and we had nothing to lose. Literally nothing.

  But we needed Johnny. If he didn’t get here soon, we’d have to make some last-minute changes. Or bow out.

  “What time did Johnny say he’d get here?” Tegan asked as he scanned the semi-dark area near the bar.

  “He didn’t say. He couldn’t find anyone to close for him on three-hours’ notice,” I huffed. “I kind of hoped we’d catch a break and get a later spot, but Carmine said we’re going on first.”

  “Shit.”

  “You can say that again. This is beginning to feel like a disaster.” I tipped back my bottle and shot a weak smile at my brother, Rory, and his boyfriend, Christian, when they approached our table with a fresh round of drinks.

  Rory slid a beer in front of me and patted my shoulder before angling his head toward the bar. “Heads up. Your ex is at the bar.”

  We all turned on cue.

  Fuck. Me.

  Xena was hard to miss with her trademark long and curly raven hair, ubiquitous Doc Martens, and cherry-red lipstick. She had a way of standing out in a crowd even dressed entirely in black. She married edgy style with innate confidence. Her shoulders were back, her head held high, and her eye was always on the next opportunity. Which definitely wasn’t me—we were over and done six months ago. And there was nothing amicable about our split, so I had to wonder why she was here tonight. My luck couldn’t be that bad, could it?

  “Well, that kind of sucks,” I groused, craning my neck to get a better look. She was talking to Carmine and someone in the shadows. “Did she say anything to you?”

  “Yeah. She said ‘Hi.’ It freaked me out,” Rory grumbled.

  Christian slipped his arm around my brother’s waist and kissed his cheek. “Poor baby. I’ll protect you. Which one is she?”

  “The dragon in black,” Tegan replied, narrowing his gaze. “Hey, isn’t that—”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re on first. We can’t worry about her,” I said.

  “You’re right. To new beginnings.” Rory raised his glass of water. “Break a leg, boys.”

  I clinked my bottle to theirs and was almost ridiculously grateful when Rory changed the subject to the wicked LA traffic they’d battled to be here on a Wednesday night.

  “Hey, we made a date of it,” Christian teased.

  “You’re right. A romantic dinner at Chipotle,” Rory intercepted.

  Christian smacked Rory’s bicep playfully, then chuckled when my brother winced and pretended to fall off his barstool. I rolled my eyes at their hijinks, though I appreciated the distraction. Christian and Rory were a cool couple: the football player and the math geek. They’d met when my brother tutored Christian for a statistics class last fall. Christian was a good-looking guy with brown hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders. Rory was a couple of inches shorter than Christian’s six foot four, but his muscular physique, copious tats, and general badass vibe made him seem taller. They looked good together. And happy.

  I could almost be jealous. But after the drama of the past few months, I was more than fine with my single status. I had bigger things to worry about. Like how Tegan and I were going to perform without a real guitarist. I bit the inside of my cheek and shot a worried glance at my friend, hoping he had a plan B. Tegan had more band experience than Johnny and I, plus he’d been a member of Gypsy Coma too. He knew Xena well, though not in the same way.

  Tegan was an über-masculine gay dude. He was a couple of inches shorter than my six two and built like an inked Mack truck. He had shaggy light-brown hair, green eyes, and a close-shaven beard that mostly hid the jagged scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to the right side of his jaw. I’d witnessed that particular bar fight and could personally attest that the other guy didn’t fare nearly as well. Tegan had been a drummer for over a decade, and he was amazing. But he was also a muscular fitness freak who worked as a personal trainer and a bouncer when he wasn’t chasing the rock and roll dream with me. Tegan had options and sound instinct.

  Me? At twenty-six, I was beginning to feel like I was running out of time. I wanted my shot at the big time more than I cared to admit. And I was dangerous when I got desperate. I made split-second decisions and tended to leap without securing my proverbial safety gear. That was pretty much what was unfolding tonight. I’d agreed that four band members would play, then showed up with two on the night that my ex and—

  Oh, no. I felt blood drain from my face so fast, I thought I might pass out.

  “You okay?” Tegan asked, pulling me away from the high table.

  “No. Declan’s here too. This is definitely a setup.” I gulped.

  Tegan cast a wary glance toward the bar. “I figured. S
hake it off, Jus. We got this.”

  “Do we? Fuck, this isn’t good.”

  “Pull yourself together and take a deep breath. Relax.”

  I pushed my six-string behind my back and swallowed around the bile in my throat as I nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “That’s the spirit. It’s all about the music, man. The rest is just noise and—be cool. She’s coming this way,” he said before taking a swig of beer.

  “Justin. Tegan. How are you?” Xena asked politely.

  I gritted my teeth but somehow managed a civil nod. “Good.”

  “What are you doin’ here?” Tegan asked.

  “I was invited. Just like you. I bet Carmine is hoping for a round of fireworks…Justin style,” she purred with an evil laugh reminiscent of Cat Woman, tossing her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “I’ll behave if you do.”

  “I always behave.” I flashed a tight smile that went nowhere near my eyes.

  “We all know that’s not true, but you might want to tonight. There’s an important producer in the audience. Carmine thought it would be fun to show what’s left of Gypsy Coma before I perform my new stuff. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but it might be inspired. Publicity for all of us certainly can’t hurt, right?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Break a leg.” Xena curled her red lips in a faux smile that went nowhere near her eyes, then snapped before adding, “I almost forgot. Declan says hi. We’ll see you guys after the show.”

  I swallowed whatever I was about to say when Carmine stepped between us. Carmine was a skinny, shifty-eyed wisp of a man in his early sixties who used to play guitar in an LA punk band in the eighties. He’d rebranded himself as semi-relevant taste-maker with big Hollywood connections. Unfortunately, I hadn’t considered that those connections might work against me when I agreed to this. Carmine loved drama. What could be juicier than an impromptu battle of the bands featuring the dregs of Gypsy Coma?

  Carmine rubbed his bony hands gleefully and bumped my shoulder. “No introductions needed here! Xena, hang tight. I want to introduce you to someone. Boys, you’re up first. Where’s Johnny?”

  “In the bathroom,” I lied, pulling my guitar in front of me. “Don’t worry. We’re ready.”

  “Wonderful,” Carmine said before stepping onto the stage to announce me.

  I stared after them for a moment, then winced when Tegan pinched me. “Ouch.”

  “Why did you lie to him?”

  “I panicked. This doesn’t feel right.” I massaged the back of my neck and bit my bottom lip.

  “Yeah,” Tegan agreed, stroking his jaw thoughtfully. “It doesn’t change anything, Jus. It’s a distraction, nothing more. We’ll get through their set, grab a drink after and—”

  “No way. I’m not stickin’ around for that.”

  “You cannot leave,” he said sternly.

  “I’m a big boy, T. I get to do what I want. C’mere.” I inched closer to Tegan and spoke low enough for only him to hear above the din.

  “What are you up to?” Tegan furrowed his brow before glancing toward the stage.

  Carmine was an expert at revving up a small crowd. Any second now, he’d lift his right hand, signaling for the lights to dim and the spotlight to search the room before landing on the upcoming guest. Carmine’s brief hello doubled as a means to let whoever was working the booth know who was next. The gimmick smacked of campy late-night TV. It should have seemed ridiculous, but Carmine pulled it off with panache. His goofy eccentricities were part of his charm.

  “I have to go on alone.”

  “Wait. What?” Tegan asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

  “You heard me. This isn’t a chance for us, T. We’re the sideshow. Let’s be honest, we need Johnny. There’s no reason for both of us to look like idiots.”

  “…and a few members of the funky but now sadly defunct Gypsy Coma. Give it up for Justin, Tegan, and Johnny!”

  The spotlight searched the room like a spaceship landing in the desert. The second it found me, I grabbed Tegan’s arm and slammed my mouth over his. I cupped the back of his neck, making it difficult to for him to escape, but then softened the connection so I didn’t accidentally bite him. See? I’m not a total asshole.

  Catcalls and wolf whistles broke through the thundering applause. I caught my brother’s confused look when I finally stepped away.

  “What the fuck?” Tegan whispered.

  “We just gave ’em something to talk about. I’ll wing the rest.” I held his gaze, wordlessly begging him to trust me; then I pasted a smile on my face and headed for the stage with my acoustic guitar.

  Sound came at me through a vacuum. My mind whirled at full speed, stumbling over every injustice I couldn’t seem to shake and every stupid thing I’d done over the past six months. I had an unfortunate habit of taking a bad situation and making it ten times worse than it had to be. I overreacted, under-communicated, and tended to piss off anyone who tried to help. Words failed me unless I weaved them into a song.

  I mentally blocked out the excess noise and did my best to ignore the eerie sensation that my past was literally closing in on me. I looked down at the strings for a beat and checked my fingers on the fretboard before I began.

  “Walking into a quiet room, thinking I still can’t hear

  Thinking I still don’t know the sound of my voice…”

  It didn’t take long for me to hit my stride. My guitar-playing skills might be suspect, but I didn’t need precise notes to guide me. As long as the rhythm was there, I could get into my zone. I sang about lost innocence and disappointment, hopelessness and dreams of redemption. The music had a folksy vibe, but with additional instrumentation, it could fit any genre—rock, blues, country, pop. I’d been told my deep timbre and lilting arrangement sometimes sounded like early Springsteen. It was a nice compliment, but I didn’t aspire to copy anyone. I just wanted to write meaningful songs. And I knew this was a good one.

  “You can go. You can go. I’m gonna do this my way.…”

  I sang three songs back-to-back before pausing to thank the audience.

  “Um, thanks for listening. You can find me at justincuevas-dot-com. I’m on Instagram and Twitter…when I remember to post. I’ll share some info about my new band soon, so um…check it out. I have one more song.” I strummed my guitar and gave a somewhat-feral smile. “But this one is from my last band. We used to do it as a head-bangin’ rock anthem, but when you sing it acoustically, you can hear the words better. It’s called ‘Karma.’ I’ll just leave it at that.”

  I winked in Xena and Declan’s general direction before belting out the lyrics to one of the best songs I’d ever written—in my humble opinion. I swayed as the tempo built and looked for a face in the crowd to focus on, so I didn’t lose myself entirely. I avoided the corners and the bar and looked toward the back of the club where Carmine stood under a bar light with two good-looking men. One was tall and lean. The other was…hot, and he seemed vaguely familiar. I didn’t think I knew him, but I had a feeling I was supposed to. And at the risk of sounding completely bonkers, it was lust at first sight.

  He looked older than me, maybe in his late thirties. Of course, I could have been wrong. But he had the aura of someone who’d been around the block more than once and could tell a few stories of his own. That alone fascinated me. I noted his sharp features: his heavy brow, straight nose, and square, lightly-bearded jaw. He was tall, dark, muscular, and hot as hell in a well-cut suit coat and jeans. A cross between a businessman and a badass motorcycle man. Sweet Jesus.

  I fought the sudden urge to stop midnumber, hop off the stage, and strike up a conversation with him. I was in the middle of a gig here. Sure, it was a crappy one meant to exploit my fledgling band and publicize my ex’s new one, but I wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of losing control of my emotions and blowing it. As long as the stranger stayed right there, I had someone to sing to who didn’t want more than I could give. He seemed intereste
d, and that was enough.

  I wrapped up the song with a guitar-hero flourish and raised my arms in the air to soak up the applause. Then I hopped off the stage and exchanged high fives with my brother, Christian, and Tegan.

  “You were awesome, man. Rock god in the making,” Tegan gushed. “I can’t wait to see how Xena tops that.”

  I huffed derisively and pushed my guitar at him. “Hey, will you take this?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need some fresh air.”

  Tegan yanked my T-shirt and scowled. “Don’t start something with Dec. He’s not worth it, Jus.”

  I held my friend’s gaze for a moment, then squeezed my brother’s shoulder and waved to Christian before heading to the exit. I bumped fists and soaked in a few compliments of the “great job, man” variety as I weaved my way through the press of bodies. When I reached the main door, I paused to look for the man I’d had eye sex with during my last song. I spotted his friend at the bar, talking to a few patrons, including Xena. I wondered if he was someone important as I sidestepped a drunken couple entering the club and immediately bumped into Declan McNamara…my archnemesis.

  So here’s the thing about Dec.…He was a world-class snake. The kind that lured you in with a killer smile, a great sense of humor, and a sexy body. I wasn’t proud to admit it, but I’d fallen for his act. One minute we were laughing over a beer or ten—the next, I was sucking his dick. For the record, it was a big deal because I hadn’t sucked anyone’s dick in years. I liked it better than I remembered, and I was good at it. We were never going to be more than an occasional booty call, but we eventually became friends. Until he fucked me over. Big-time. It was a shame that all Dec’s charisma and rock-star model looks, complete with long hair and a wardrobe that consisted mainly of ripped jeans and snug-fitted T-shirts, had been wasted on a not-so-awesome human.

  “Justin. Hey, do you have a sec?” he asked, pushing a strand of his long, brown hair behind his right ear.