by Kaye Draper
“I can do that if you want,” Grey said holding out his hand for the tube.
Brian glanced at him in surprise. “Honey, this isn’t Halloween.”
Grey dropped his hand, embarrassed. He was just trying to be helpful. He hadn’t thought about the fact that a guy like him shouldn’t know how to apply makeup. He closed his eyes so the stylist could get to his upper lids.
Brian leaned close as he worked. “Don’t worry, sweet thing,” he whispered. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Grey opened his eyes in surprise. “How did you…?”
Brian winked. He tilted Grey’s chin up with one finger, then set about ringing his lower lids with dark liner. The stylist's brown eyes were intent on his work. “Oh, I don’t know...intuition? Maybe it’s something about your mannerisms.”
Brian smirked a bit and Grey laughed. He had to be thinking the same thing Grey was, that the stylist's own flamboyant mannerisms certainly gave him away. But Grey was pretty sure Brain wasn’t a morph.
“I didn’t think there were any obvious differences,” Grey said quietly. He had blended in for years. The only other person who had ever called him on it with any seriousness was Luca, and that was because he let his guard down with the intuitive guitarist.
Brian stepped back and reached for a pair of false eyelashes. He held them up for Grey’s inspection. “Too much?”
Grey nodded emphatically. “Way too much.”
Brian sighed in feigned disappointment and set about unpinning Grey’s hair, letting it down to curl around his forehead and ears. “It’s probably not obvious to them.” He nodded toward the other band members and a wistful sort of look crossed his face. “Testosterone laden apes.” He shrugged. “But when you’re paying attention, the differences are there. The way you move, the way you speak. Even the way you interact with others…especially artsy, black-haired guitarist sorts.” He winked.
Grey watched in the mirror as Brian ran his hands through Grey’s hair, obviously trying to decide what to do with the unruly mass. “Isn’t it hard to be what you are?” Grey didn’t know why he asked. The words were out of his mouth before he even thought about how rude it was.
The stylist didn’t seem offended. “Not at all, sugar plum." He got out a jar of wax and started warming up a dollop of the green goo between his hands. “Being who I am is easy. You’re the one who’s got it hard.”
Grey frowned. He had thought maybe he had more in common with Brian than with other guys. Apparently, he was wrong. “What do you mean?”
The stylist sighed as he smeared the wax in and began smoothing back the sides of Grey’s hair, sculpting and shaping. “I am what I am. And I’ve always been. But you…you have to feel like you don’t fit in anywhere—not with the guys, or the girls, or us natural gays. And if you choose to blend in, the way you clearly have, that only makes it harder.” He gave Grey a sad look. “Pretending is always harder.”
Grey looked down. Brian seemed to understand what it was like to hide who you were, at least. The stylist stopped fussing with Grey’s hair and went to stand at his shoulder, looking in the mirror with him. Grey had to admit, he looked hot. His girl self would have drooled.
“It took me a long time to stop pretending and embrace who I am," Brian said with a sympathetic look. "Everyone deals with these things at their own pace, in their own way, and that’s just fine. You just be yourself. That's all you can do.”
Grey grimaced. “That’s the problem. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Brian patted him on the back. “Well, then it's time to figure that out.” Then the stylist’s voice became all business. “Now, let’s go find you some clothes so you can go out there and win them all over—the boys, the girls, and the rest of us weirdos.”
Chapter 20
To say that Richard Hawthorne felt out of place at a rock concert would be an understatement. He buried his hands in his jeans pockets and hunched into the hooded sweatshirt he had stolen from his son’s closet. It was a size too small, but it covered his less than cool polo shirt. He stuck to the edge of the crowd, close enough to the stage to be able to see its occupants but, hopefully, far enough away to avoid notice. Not that Grey would be looking for him tonight.
The lights went down, and the show started. Rick watched the performance with a sort of terrified fascination. The band was good, at least as far as his limited experience was concerned. They were better than any of the stuff he heard on the radio these days, and the showmanship and pageantry was surprising. Rick found himself holding his breath as he waited for Grey to appear, but it wasn’t long. His son came striding out on stage as if he owned it, though knowing Grey, he was probably a nervous wreck inside. Grey wouldn’t let it show—if there was one thing that kid had in plenty, it was guts. Certainly not a trait he got from Rick.
No, all Rick could do was hunker down and try to forget the past.
The singing began and Rick's heart clenched. Grey was her child, even now. Under the lights and makeup, Grey’s stunning, almost ethereal beauty shone through. Rick was aware of the comments flowing around him from the enraptured crowd as a clear, haunting baritone rose up over the guitars, climbing through vocal registers effortlessly, as if the person possessing that voice wasn’t human. There was power there, seductive and enticing. Even Rick felt drawn, ensnared. God, how much worse would it have been if Grey was still female?
This was dangerous. He knew he should put a stop to it, but the energy that poured off the band was electric, addictive. The guitarist crossed the stage and the sound of his instrument twined intricately with Grey’s voice, flowing like water. Rick clenched his hands.
If someone ever found a way to reverse The Change, this town was in serious trouble.
Chapter 21
Lucifer's first performance with their new lead singer at a small concert hall in the center of Etna, had been an unquestionable success, in more ways than one. Grey found that being involved in the band had changed him somehow, woken him up. He felt more alive, as if he was only just now finally interacting with the real world on a daily basis, rather than operating in a fog.
The trouble was, now that he was awake, he felt the itch of his other worries more keenly. He was sick of being alone and his body wanted to remind him of that every damned second of every day. His home situation with Rick was tense—his dad hounded him every day to give up this silly music dream and get back to his studies. And the little episodes of visual and auditory hallucinations seemed to be getting worse.
Grey had hoped that today’s band practice and mini-recording session would help distract him from the million worries flitting around inside his brain like a cloud of agitated insects, but apparently that was just too much to hope for. When they arrived at the studio, they were greeted by a stony-faced George, who demanded Luca’s presence in the conference room. “Immediately.”
Apparently, their ex-singer had decided to pay the manager a visit, and Luca was usually the only one who could reason with the asshole. Sounded about right. Luca had more patience than anyone Grey had ever met.
Grey was left in George’s waiting room lounge with the questionable company of his remaining bandmates. Ethan drummed his hands on the table and bounced in his seat like a happy blond squirrel, but his smile faltered every now and then, and Grey saw him doing that telltale tattoo rubbing. Matheus kicked back and dangled his legs over the edge of the sofa, staring moodily up at the ceiling, his dark expression even more ominous than usual.
"What is Steff thinking?" Mat muttered. "He never used to be so greedy. Normally, he would just wish us luck and fuck off."
Grey cleared his throat and picked at a button on his ridiculously metro vest. Abbie insisted on dressing him whenever possible so she could catch George's eye. The lumberjack fashionista was convinced that Lucifer was about to rocket to fame, and she was determined to become their wardrobe coordinator…by making Grey into her boy band, K-pop-inspired masterpiece.
"What do you think
they'll do?" Grey asked.
Matheus snorted. "Throw him out on his ass." He sat up suddenly and whipped his empty soda can at Ethan. "Stop that fucking racket already!"
Ethan shot Grey an embarrassed look and stopped his drumming. Grey smiled to let him know that it didn’t bother him. He knew the fidgeting was just Ethan's way of releasing nervous energy. He hadn’t known the guy all that long, but already, he suspected that happy, people-pleasing persona wasn’t all there was to the blond. It was a mask he wore. And Matheus's moodiness was his way of coping too. Something was not right with the grumpy bassist, but it was no use getting mad at the asshole because his brain didn’t work right or something.
Grey sighed. "You guys know I’ll step aside if you want Steff back, right?"
Mat snorted. “The band means that much to you, huh?” His tone was scathing, icy shards of hurt showing through the anger.
Grey stood and paced the length of the room, unable to sit any longer. “You know that’s not what I--”
The office door opened, and Steffen came striding out, his brown eyes snapping with fury. He came to an abrupt halt when he nearly plowed into Grey. His long, golden blond hair was a mess, and he was vibrating with emotion. He stepped closer, getting in Grey’s face, trying to use his height to intimidate.
“You’re the little bastard who’s wormed his way into my place?” He glanced back at Luca and George, incredulous. "Look at him, he's just a little kid!"
Grey stood his ground, determined not to look weak. “No, I’m the little bastard who put you to shame because I can actually sing.”
Steffen stepped even closer, eyes burning. “Let’s take this outside, runt.”
Luca, ever the voice of reason and understanding, stepped from behind Steffen and put a hand on his shoulder. “Steff, don’t do something you’ll regret.”
His ex-friend sneered at him.
Grey turned to Ethan and Matheus. “What do you guys want?”
Ethan immediately tried to make peace. “Steff, we need Grey…maybe you guys could…work together...?” He trailed off weakly, clearly knowing that was a terrible idea.
Surprisingly, it was Mat, the soul of brutal honesty, who leapt to Grey’s defense. “Don’t be an idiot, Ethan. The band doesn’t need two lead singers.” He flapped a hand dismissively at their ex-singer. “Steff, you suck. Grey is a million times better than you. He is the band. Don’t be a douche bag and fuck this up for us.”
Grey took a deep breath, stunned by the show of support. “Okay, then….”
He thought Steffen’s head was going to explode. The tall blond shifted his weight, then took a swing at Grey. Grey sidestepped with a resigned sigh. Why did they always have to assume that small meant defenseless?
He ducked a second swing then stood, delivering a quick, efficient uppercut to Steffen’s diaphragm. The tall guy hit his knees as his breath wheeze out in a painful whoosh. Just to make sure he got his point across, Grey delivered a left hook that sent the ex-singer sprawling.
Luca casually inserted himself between them—probably to prevent Grey from going on a bloodthirsty rampage. “Well, now that’s settled. Let’s go get a drink.” He divided a look between Grey and Steffen.
Steffen wiped a hand across his bloody lip. “What the hell is wrong with this psycho?”
Ethan jumped up and offered him a hand up, but Steffen refused, laboriously pushing himself to his feet under his own power.
Grey turned his back on his rival and went to grab his duffel bag. “Practice first, then we’ll go out.”
Steffen brushed past him and headed for the door. “You’ll pay for this, shrimp.”
Grey widened his eyes and made a mournful face, for once hoping he looked as young and helpless as everyone seemed to think. “And my little dog too?”
Matheus’s rich guffaws followed the rejected singer as he slammed out the door.
The whole thing made Grey feel unsettled, but he refused to let it show. On one hand, he felt like he had taken Steffen’s rightful place. But on the other hand, he felt like he belonged with Lucifer’s members, and he wasn’t going to give that up for anything.
The end result was that he worked harder than ever to make sure he deserved his place in the band. He found himself walking taller, feeling more confident than ever, as if things were falling into place, at least in one area of his life.
In other areas…results varied.
Chapter 22
Grey had lost interest in pursuing Cameron from almost the start of the whole idiot idea. It was an endeavor that he knew was based on a childish sense of how things should be that was completely wrong. It wasn’t even something he thought about anymore. So, when Cameron invited him to hang out—which he did on a semi-regular basis now—Grey thought nothing of it. He didn’t know when the shift had happened, but it was weird when he realized that Cam was just…his friend. He was friends with a big, dumb, meathead jock.
Maybe The Change was a sign of the coming apocalypse. He should let the newspapers know the religious nuts were right.
It was surprising how much easier it was to be himself now. As if maybe this was what he’d needed all along, just a simple male friend who only knew Grey as Grey, was content to be a walking stereotype, and didn’t feel the need to go poking around in things like feelings. And yet…the more relaxed Grey got around Cam, the more he realized that even if he did do something girly and disgustingly emotive, the jock still probably wouldn’t judge. Maybe he’d even just accept Grey for who he was, as he was, with nothing more than a snort and a ribald comment. It was a weird thought, something he would have scoffed at a few months back, but his world was constantly shifting and changing these days.
Grey caught the football to his chest with a thump, nearly dropping it in the process. He side-stepped a puddle of water that had gathered in a low spot in the park’s lawn, its depths clogged with fallen leaves and rimmed in a fine crust of ice.
Cameron laughed when he tossed the ball back. "You really suck," the jock mocked. But Grey knew it was just teasing—the tone was the one Cam used when he harassed Luca. If Cam really hated Grey, he wouldn’t be out here throwing the death ball at him in the first place.
Grey made a face at Cam and went back to his mental rehearsal of the new song lyrics he and Luca had come up with the previous night. He couldn’t remember if they had decided to stick with the original opening or the lyrics Grey had tacked on at the last minute. He had been too distracted by their closeness as they sat side-by-side on the sofa, pouring over the notebook that Luca used for songwriting.
Grey stepped around the puddle again, glancing at it without really paying attention—until something moved in the water. Grey’s mouth fell open as he stared down at an ugly fish with a face. It pursed its ridiculously swollen blue-gray lips and goggled at him with wet black eyes.
“Yo!” Cameron’s shout brought Grey’s eyes up in time to see the football hurtling toward his head.
He managed to get his hand up, but the ball hit Grey's fingertips with more force than he expected and drove his own knuckles into his cheek, making him swear. He glanced down at the mud puddle, but whatever monstrosity he had just dreamed up was gone. Maybe he was overdoing it a bit with the band, school, and work.
"Hellooo," Cameron said in an impatient voice. "Are you brain dead? I wasn’t trying to give you a concussion!"
Grey opened his mouth to reply to the shocking amount of concern in Cameron’s voice, but was distracted when a shiny black Buick rolled up to the curb. The exhaust rose in a white cloud in the crisp air. The window glided down, and Luca beckoned to Grey from the driver's seat. Grey dropped the football into Cameron's hands and hurried to the car. "Thanks, Cam. This was fun. I promise to pay more attention next time. I gotta go."
Cameron snorted, but Grey ignored him. The rest of Cam’s jock friends were headed to the park anyway. They’d be way better entertainment than Grey could ever be. All the blond ever wanted to do was talk football. Or watch fo
otball. Or play football. It was like he was obsessed. Maybe it was Cam’s way of coping with being stuck on the island. But Grey had never been so bored in his life.
Luca grinned as Grey slid into the passenger seat. "How do you like the car?"
"Nice. Is it yours?" Grey smoothed a hand over the leather.
Luca laughed. "No way. It's ours. George’s, technically. He says he got it for the band to use for errands and stuff. But it was probably just so none of us ever have the excuse of not being able to make it to practice.” He winked. “We're moving up in the world."
Luca’s happiness infused Grey and he grinned back. "Don't let it go to your head, Rockstar," he warned solemnly.
But Grey was happy too—not because they had a car, but because the fact that they had a car meant they were doing so well. That the band was reaching people. They were playing several sold-out shows at small venues around the island every week. They were selling CDs and getting countless downloads every day. It was amazing. "I still can't believe this," he muttered, feeling like it was all a dream.
Luca nodded. "I know. It’s just...weird." He glanced at Grey, then back at the road. "Kind of like you playing football."
Grey tried to keep his expression neutral. How should he look? Should he keep pretending, or was it safe to admit his lack of interest in Cam, now that he was so firmly a part of Luca’s world?
"You and Cam are hanging out by yourselves a lot now." Luca smiled, but there was a bit of an edge to his voice. "I guess he’s really warming up to you then?"
Grey shrugged, turning his face away to look out the window. He couldn’t possibly explain to Luca the confusion that arose every time he thought about romance. Maybe if they were girls, they could chat all about that crap. But then…if they were girls, he wouldn’t have these stupid feeling for Luca in the first place.
