Syncopation

by Anna Zabo

  Ray let out a sigh of disappointment. Yeah, come on over. He sent the message, then headed into the adjoining room.

  Wasn’t just Dom, but Mish, too. They ordered breakfast, two pots of honest-to-god coffee and not the room brew stuff, and more breakfast food than three people could probably eat. But when it came, they all dug in as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks, sitting at a round table that barely held all the dishes.

  Once Ray’d stuffed his face with enough pancakes, he sat back. “I got online to check out the spin.”

  Dom gulped his coffee. “Some of it’s really weird, huh? Like the theories and all.”

  “Yeah.” Ray soaked a piece of bacon in syrup. “But the fans are amazing. Did you see all the messages?”

  Mish chuckled. “The fans have always been there for us, and for you.” She had her well, duh look on.

  He nearly told them he didn’t deserve it, but Zavier’s voice loomed in his head, as did his touch in a simple leather strip around his ankle. “We should probably make an announcement on official social media or something.”

  Dom scratched at the stubble on his neck. “I’ve been thinking about that. Wanna talk to your lawyer about it.”

  “She’s the band’s lawyer, Dom. All of ours. Whatever we do, I want you guys to be comfortable with it, you know?”

  Mish nodded slowly. “You call the shots, Ray. We’ll back you up.”

  “What about Zavier?” Dom was chewing on his thumbnail again, and Ray wondered how he managed to have any nail at all sometimes.

  “I called him last night. He’ll be back today. And yes, he’s part of the band, no matter what the contracts actually say.” Ray wanted Zavier in his bed and life and in the band. He suspected both Mish and Dom understood that, too. But he wasn’t gonna voice it out loud.

  They both were, as he figured, completely down with that idea. They loved Zavier just as much as Ray did, albeit differently.

  Polishing off the remnants of breakfast killed a little more time until the next phone call—and this one still wasn’t Zavier. It was Ms. Gonfaus.

  He answered. “Hey, I have Mish and Dom here, can I put you on speaker?”

  “Of course.”

  That talk went well. A couple of key things had happened, the largest of which was that Carl had confessed to trying to drug Ray. But he’d wanted Ray out of control, like the drunkard they’d originally painted him as. He hadn’t expected Ray to have a severe allergic reaction.

  Ray had been pacing, but he found the nearest flat surface, the bed, and sank down onto it. “But why?” The question tore out of him painfully, taking a bit of his throat and the sound of anger with it.

  “I can send you the files,” she murmured. “Part of it was he thought you’d unfairly gotten ahead somehow, but most of it was, according to Carl, at least, that the label had an idea to market Twisted Wishes as a bad boy—and girl—rock band, and your fight with your former drummer played well into that idea.”

  Ray was glad he was sitting, because he was shaking too hard to stand and his fury was burning a hole in the top of his head. “They...what?” His voice was too loud, too angry. Both Mish and Dom flinched.

  Ms. Gonfaus was diplomatically quiet.

  He reached down to his ankle and pressed Zavier’s bracelet into his flesh, and counted to five. “Shit. Sorry. It doesn’t matter going forward, but I’m livid.” He ground the word out.

  “As well you should be,” Ms. Gonfaus said.

  “They could have at least told us,” Dom said. “I mean, if that was their angle, we could have worked with them to use it? Rather than getting used by them?” He got up and took Ray’s place, pacing. “What a half-baked marketing plan!”

  A chuckle from the phone. “But one that gives us quite a bit of leverage. I believe we’ll be able to negotiate with the label in a very beneficial way.”

  They went over those details again, and both Mish and Dom agreed.

  “What about Mr. Demos?”

  This time Ray stood. “Well, Zav’s not here at the moment...and he’s technically a session musician with a separate contract with the label.” He paused. “But he’s joining the band. Has joined, for all practical purposes.”

  “I see.” The sound of pen scratches. “That’s good, since I suspect now that you’re not touring, Mr. Demos would have found himself cut loose from the label.”

  Ray stopped moving. “I don’t care about the legal tangles. He’s part of Twisted Wishes.”

  “Understood. But I will need to speak with him about his contract and how he wishes to deal with that.”

  Made sense. “Okay. I’ll ask him to call you when he’s back.”

  A few more scribbling noises. “Good.”

  They wrapped up a few more items, including drafting several simple social media statements for Dom to post, which he did.

  “Hey, is that stuff about Carl in a police report?” Dom asked.

  “Yes,” Ms. Gonfaus said.

  “I want to see it,” Ray said. “As soon as possible.”

  Dom made a sour face. “Bet they’ll be on some website, soon.”

  “That’ll be a media field day.” Mish poured herself the remaining coffee.

  So they drafted a statement about that, too, so Dom could post it later.

  When they finished the call, Ray didn’t really want to think about Carl, but he couldn’t stop doing exactly that. “Fuck. That asshole.”

  “Fuck the label to hell.” Mish stood. “And they smiled at us and praised us and got on our case for stepping one foot out of line.”

  Yeah, that was the short and long of it. Ray scratched his head and dropped his gaze to his ankle, to that little strip of leather. He took a breath and straightened. “Doesn’t matter anymore. I mean, it does—but we gotta look forward. This is an opportunity.”

  To decide their own fate. To be wiser about partnering with labels.

  Mish chuckled, came over, and wrapped her arms around him. “Hey, hon, when did you get to be the levelheaded one?”

  He laughed. “I had help.”

  Over Mish’s shoulder, Ray caught Dom rolling his eyes. “Hey, he’s a good man!”

  Dom held up his hands. “No argument with me. He’s good for you, but you’re way the hell sappy for him.”

  Mish pressed a kiss to Ray’s forehead. “Let him be. Zavier knocked some sense into him. I’ll take that with sappy any day.”

  Heat rose to Ray’s cheeks. “I’m standing in the room with you guys.”

  “But drummer boy isn’t.” She stepped back. “Where is he, anyway?”

  There was a tightness in Ray’s chest, half from the unknown, and half from anticipation. “I don’t know. I think his walk turned into a drive.”

  “He was pretty strung out about the whole hospitalization thing.” Dom picked up the book he’d been reading and flopped onto the bed. “You really need to add him to all the power of attorney stuff, I mean, if you two are gonna keep...” Color touched Dom’s face.

  “Fucking.” Mish’s smile was wide. “If you and that boy are gonna keep fucking so damn hard as to wake the neighbors, and if you’re gonna run through life together like nothing in the world can stop the two of you...you really should look into the paperwork.”

  Like nothing could stop... Ray laughed. “Sorry if we kept you up.”

  Dom was more than red-cheeked now. “Anyway, I’m gonna read.”

  Mish’s turn to roll her eyes. “What I really want to do is lounge by the pool, but I guess here is still the safest place to be.”

  After reading and talking and getting annoyed with each other, they eventually ended up playing gin rummy on the bed until Ray’s phone buzzed. This time it was a text from Zavier: I’m 30 minutes out.

  Ray read the text out loud for Dom and Mish, and Mish tapped Dom’s arm. “Come on. That�
�s our cue to get out before we get run over by Zavier’s libido.”

  “Jesus,” Dom muttered, and his blush sprang back, but his smile was warm. “Enjoy.”

  Oh, in the end, Ray would. He was sure of that. But right now? He was nervous as hell, which didn’t make sense. Except it was Zavier, so that tingle in his blood and quickness in his pulse did make sense in a way. A good kind of nervous? Maybe.

  He headed back into the adjoining room. Another shower would help. As he peeled off his clothes and glanced around the room, a plan formed in his head. Something Zavier would understand, an action that had meaning. A way for Ray to show Zavier that he understood.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dropping the car off was as easy as picking it up had been. The person behind the counter, an older gentleman this time, didn’t blink at his name. He processed the paperwork, took payment, and off Zavier went.

  Getting back into the hotel, however, was another thing entirely.

  While it had been easy enough to sneak out via a fire exit and an alley behind the hotel, getting back in required him entering through the lobby. Zavier tried to play it cool, tried to breeze into the hotel and to the elevators, but the press and paparazzi were there and they were on him in a heartbeat.

  He was glad he’d added ten minutes to the estimate he’d given Ray, because the phones and recorders shoved into his face seemed as dangerous as knives. He backed away, hands held up defensively. “I don’t have anything to say.”

  The questions that came were pretty much what he expected: What happened? How was Ray? What was he doing? Did he have any comment about Carl? Was he still part of Twisted Wishes?

  He fought his way to the elevators, head and heart pounding. That last question? Hit home a little. Technically, he wasn’t part of Twisted Wishes at all. Ray said he was, but legally? Nope. On the outside, looking in.

  Very much like he’d been the night of the release party.

  He pushed through the reporters as they photographed him, shouted questions, and tried to get him to say anything that would make a good sound bite.

  “No fucking comment,” he muttered.

  Thankfully an elevator was just opening as he got to the bank. He stepped in, and turned around just on the other side of the door. “Don’t try it,” he said to the guy who looked like he might push past Zavier and into the car, too. “Leave it alone, guys. I’m sure there will be an official statement soon enough.”

  With that, the doors slid closed. He pressed the button for their floor and stepped back until his ass hit the car wall. Shit. Off balance and angry was not how he wanted to reenter Ray’s life, and the elevator ride was not nearly enough time to shake off the crowd of rabid reporters. But here he was, with the doors opening on their floor. He stepped out of the car and took a breath. A moment later, a security guy he hadn’t noticed stood up from a nearby chair.

  “Can I help you?” Dude crossed his arms, and his muscles bulged.

  Wow. Okay. Made sense. This wasn’t the normal band security, though. “I’m Zavier Demos. The drummer.”

  Guy didn’t move. “Got ID?”

  God, did he really have to do this? He knew it was a precaution. Likely the security company didn’t know who the fuck they were by sight. But he so didn’t need this right now. He pulled out his driver’s license and handed it over.

  In his mind, he turned over that shouted question. Are you still part of Twisted Wishes?

  Security dude looked over his license, then made a call on his phone. “Got a guy here who says he’s with the band.” He rattled off Zavier’s name.

  With the band. With. The word cut into him, even as he chided himself at his reaction. He was reading too much into everything. Too many hours in his head, not enough of them asleep.

  After a moment, the guy straightened. “Right.” He hung up and gave the license back. “Sorry about that, Mr. Demos. Go right ahead.”

  See?

  He tucked his license away and headed down the hall to their room. He keyed himself into the closer of the two doors—and when he entered, there was no Ray. The bedspread was rumbled to hell, and there were playing cards scattered on top.

  So, his room had become the hangout. Which meant the other room hopefully held Ray.

  When he got to the threshold between the rooms, the adjoining door was open slightly. He pushed it open, gripped the frame, and his breath caught in his lungs.

  The light was soft in the room, and Ray was naked and kneeling on his heels, eyes closed, in front of an empty chair. His blond hair was wet and dark, and drops of water beaded on his shoulders. His breathing was slow and his smile beatific, and every toy from Zavier’s duffle had been artfully arranged on the bed.

  It was like a kinky rendition of some artistic masterpiece. A sculpture of an angel on his knees beneath a still-life banquet of erotic choices. His willing, submissive partner.

  Ray flicked his eyes open and turned his head to meet Zavier’s gaze. No words.

  There didn’t need to be any.

  This man knows me better than anyone has ever known me. No other partner had ever had the forethought to think about Zavier’s needs. Zavier’s desires. And maybe that was something else he never considered—that what he and Ray had went in both directions.

  He crossed to Ray and touched that damp head of hair. “I can’t possibly use all of those on you tonight.”

  Ray leaned his head against Zavier’s leg, but other than that didn’t break his posture one bit. “I know. Pick what you want and use those, then.”

  Zavier traced his finger down Ray’s cheek. “Oh, I will.”

  A sigh and a shudder, then silence.

  Perfect. He stepped past Ray and took a seat in the chair. “I need this part more than you do tonight, I think. But forehead on my shoes, Ray, and hands at the small of your back.”

  Ray complied beautifully, and the arch of his spine was like art. Zavier palmed his hardening dick through his jeans, closed his eyes, and let his breathing and body still. His need for Ray didn’t abate, but all the worries, all the fears nibbling at his mind vanished. What filled the void was warmth. Contentment.

  No. He opened his eyes and studied Ray, his supplicant pose, his stillness. More than that. Joy.

  Zavier spoke. “Up, please.”

  Ray sat up, his hands still tucked at the small of his back. God, that grin.

  “I had never felt so much fear as that moment you fell into my arms at the party.”

  Ray’s smile slipped away. “I don’t remember. It’s—” He struggled, shifting on his knees. “I hate that part. Not remembering.”

  Zavier nodded. “I’d want to know, too.”

  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  He leaned forward and brushed a lock of Ray’s hair off his forehead. “You weren’t at fault. And it wasn’t just the fear of losing you—it was the utter helplessness. There was nothing I could do.”

  For a moment, Ray’s gaze turned inward, and he nodded. “I should—we should—figure out the legal stuff. Power of attorney, all that.” He met Zavier’s gaze again. “If that’s what you want.”

  It was. They were already tangled together. Better to tidy things up legally. They could pool resources. Find a place to live. Ray’s idea was a good one, but Zavier had a better plan, one with more protections for the both of them. One he’d never thought he’d ever suggest to another person. “There’s a far easier way to handle the legal end of things than power of attorney. If you’re agreeable to something a little longer lasting.”

  Confusion for a long moment, then Ray’s eyes widened and he stared. Finally he opened his lips and spoke carefully. “It’s more customary for the person proposing marriage to be the one kneeling, you know.”

  Zavier rose and loomed over Ray. “I like this better.” He threaded his hands into Ray’s hair. “And I th
ink you do, too.” He yanked. Hard.

  A gasp and a swallowed moan. “Yeah. I do. It’s us.”

  Exactly. “So?”

  “Yes. Please marry me.”

  Good. So good. A weight lifted off his shoulders. Ray would be his.

  Another thought followed—he’d be as equally Ray’s. A little vertigo flew through him, and he loosened his hold on Ray’s hair.

  “You give me hope, Ray.”

  Ray furrowed his brow. “How so?”

  “I’ve spent most of my life under the assumption that no one would ever come close to understanding who I am.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “And here you are.”

  A little shrug of the shoulders. “But this is who we are. You and me. And I don’t understand everything. But I—I care, Zav. I want you to be happy.”

  Ray wanted him to be happy. Ray cared. Zavier turned that over in his head and cupped Ray’s cheek. Everything about this moment, from Ray kneeling to all the toys on the bed, carved that into his mind. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

  His smile was sly. “Oh, I think I do.”

  And maybe he did. Zavier patted Ray’s cheek. “Get the cuffs, all of them, and bring them here. Do not stand to do it.”

  Ray’s eyes flickered and his grin widened—and he obeyed beautifully, crawling to the bed, picking up the cuffs and returning. Ray was glowing, eyes bright and face enraptured.

  “May I ask for something?” Soft words.

  Zavier took the cuffs and set the ones for Ray’s ankle aside for the moment. “Yes.” Because this scene was being run by both of them in some way.

  “I’d like to bring you the collar, too.”

  Heat chased ice chased heat through Zavier’s veins, and he shivered. Couldn’t help it. Collaring Ray. He nearly spoke, nearly poised the question. Do you understand what you’re asking? But of course he did.

  Ray fucking grinned at him, but said nothing at all.

  Zavier’s voice was rough and his dick very, very hard. “Yes. Get it and bring it here.”

  A few seconds later, he was holding the leather collar in his hands. A significant moment. He gazed at Ray, who seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh.