Before Steve managed to settle behind the underwhelming drum kit, Reagan dashed into the room carrying an armload of papers. More sheet music, Steve presumed. She’d been given the task of gathering up any missing songs from Jessica’s absurd idea of a playlist. Steve scrutinized the scores for “Twist and Shout” and “Crazy for You,” discovering that both had minimal drums. He yawned as he sat on his stool and picked up his drumsticks. He’d done more intricate drum work on Mams’s pots and pans as a toddler. Why was he there? They could have hired a chimp to cover this crap.
“Sorry I was so late,” Reagan said as she passed out more pages to each underwhelmed band member. “I was . . .”
She flushed, and Steve began to imagine what a woman who was dating two men was probably doing. Her engagement ring caught the light as she shuffled through her stack of music, reminding Steve that she’d recently become engaged to Trey and was in a huge rush to marry him. Did that mean Ethan was free? Maybe he could get Zach out of his funk. Ethan was tall, dark, and hunky. Not exactly Zach’s type. Zach gravitated toward more feminine-looking men. Steve glanced at his friend, who was on his phone—probably cyberstalking pretty-boy Enrique on Instagram again. Steve wanted Zach to be happy yet wasn’t sure how to help him get back to that state. Maybe when they got to Europe Zach would have so much fun, he’d forget all about that stupid actor.
“I’ve got the set list here for each of you.” Reagan passed out a printed list of songs to each band member. Steve placed the paper on the floor by his foot. “You’re starting with ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ Don’t metal that one up like the others. That’s Sed and Jess’s song, and it has to be perfect.” She smiled like a fool in love.
Steve wanted to find a song with Roux. Would any song truly capture how he felt about her? He suddenly felt less cranky about playing at a wedding reception, even if the first song didn’t use a bass drum at all. He yawned again. Logan had a more complicated part on bass than Steve did on drums, for fuck’s sake. What was an underchallenged drummer to do?
Improvise.
“From the top,” Max said into his mic. The cheap sound system wasn’t doing his deep voice any favors.
Steve started out drumming the repetitive tap, tap, tap on his snare and cymbal, but two measures in, he added a few extra taps, and then the bass, and then a progression around the toms. It took him a moment to realize his entire band had stopped and were staring at him.
“What are you doing?” Dare asked. “She said we can’t make this one metal.”
“Maybe not. But no one said it had to be boring,” Steve said.
Max grinned. “You’re right.”
Max admitting that Steve was right twice in one week? Steve stared up at the ceiling, expecting a meteor to come crashing through. Dare brought Steve’s attention back to earth when his fingers ripped out the signature riff from “Layla.” Now why couldn’t that song have been on Jessica’s lame playlist?
The rest of the afternoon was spent making sure every overplayed Top 40 song they were performing the next day had been transformed into a pure metal masterpiece. By the end of rehearsal, Steve had worked up a sweat, and even Zach was smiling.
“This is going to be the most awesome wedding reception in history,” Zach said. “Almost makes me want to get married.”
“You guys will play at my wedding next weekend, won’t you?” Reagan asked. “Trey would love that.”
“Of course,” Dare volunteered without consulting anyone.
“I wasn’t invited,” Steve reminded her.
“Me neither,” said Max.
“Uh.” Reagan flushed. “There wasn’t enough space in the chapel after we invited all the reporters to cover the event, but you all can come to the reception.” She licked her lips. “If we have one.”
“Why the fuck would you invite reporters?” Steve asked. “Don’t celebrities usually do everything in their power to keep the press away from their special day?”
“Not when they’re trying to cover up the truth about their unconventional relationship,” Dare said.
He leveled Reagan with a disapproving stare. She looked away, but Steve caught the sick look on her face. She didn’t comment; just hurried from the room before anyone could press her for details.
“So she plans to keep both guys even after she marries your brother?” Max asked.
Dare closed the lid on his guitar case and lifted it by its handle. He wasn’t trusting enough to leave such a valuable instrument at the venue overnight.
“Yep,” he said as he headed for the exit.
Steve guessed Ethan wasn’t available to fuck Zach out of his funk after all. That was unfortunate. Zach was already frowning again.
*~*~*
The next day, with the exception of Eric kicking Steve off his drum kit for the initial song, and Sed singing the nonmetal version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” to Jessica while they swayed to their first dance, the amped up set list went over well with the reception’s guests. They partied well beyond the time when the happy newlyweds left on their honeymoon. The worst part about having to play at the reception was that Steve didn’t get to take advantage of the open bar. Zach, on the other hand, had drunk enough for himself and all the members of Exodus End combined.
“Drunks really are annoying when you’re sober,” Steve said, half carrying, half dragging Zach to Max’s pristine white vintage Rolls Royce. He’d offered them a ride, which made Steve wonder if Max had an ulterior motive. He wasn’t known for taxiing people around.
“If he pukes in my car, you clean it up,” Max said, hoarse from singing for hours.
“With your shirt.”
“I never throw up,” Zach said, his voice slurred. “You can . . .” He blinked, blurry-eyed. “You can count on me . . . hic . . . boss.” He saluted Max and fell sideways into the back seat.
Paparazzi had been milling about outside the venue all evening, and they didn’t miss their opportunity to snap pictures of the spectacle. Do not engage, Steve repeated to himself in a silent mantra. As much as he hated the leeches that made their living on more famous people’s misery, he’d learned through his own trials with the jerks that the best way to be left alone was to be as fucking boring as possible.
“Is it true that Exodus End played live at the reception?” some reporter yelled.
“That is true,” Max said, as always, maintaining his cool.
Steve sometimes thought that Max liked the attention of the press, which was baffling.
“We even took a few requests. For your safety, please step back from the car. We need to get our friend home.” His winning smile plastered on his face, Max slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
“Is Zach Mercier drunk because he’s torn up over Enrique Sanz denying their relationship?” a different reporter asked. He was standing close to Steve—within punching distance—and had a look of concern on his face. That didn’t stop Steve from despising him.
“He just came from an awesome party,” Steve said. “Why wouldn’t he be drunk?”
“Is it true that Zach is living with you? Are you two finally ready to expose the depth of your relationship?”
“We’re best friends,” Steve snarled. “That’s the entire story.” He hopped into the passenger seat since Zach was lying facedown across the back one.
Max cranked up the stereo and waved at the mingling reporters as he slowly and graciously did not run over any of them. The paparazzi spotted Reagan leaving with Trey and scrambled over to make her life miserable.
“I don’t know how you can stand those people,” Steve said to Max, watching Reagan walk very stiffly down the steps, her head held high and her mouth sealed shut.
“The paparazzi?”
“No, bathroom attendants.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, the paparazzi.”
Max shrugged. “We need them.”
“Just like we needed Sam.” No one would ever convince Steve of that.
“We did need
Sam. And we might still need someone like him, but we’re taking him down.” Max’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the light traffic in front of him.
“Do you really think replacing one blood-sucking leech with another is the best idea?” Because, no, it wasn’t. It wasn’t even a mediocre idea. It sucked.
“Your goal is to concentrate on making music, right? The fame, the fortune, the fun—none of that is important to you.”
Steve hadn’t realized that Max paid attention to such things. “Not particularly.” He scratched his nose and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, the fun, maybe.”
“If we have to sell our own records, when will we have time to make music? We need someone like Sam to get our product out there so we can concentrate on what’s important to us.”
“Getting your ass kissed?” Zach murmured from the back seat.
So he wasn’t unconscious? Steve was surprised.
Max smirked. “A definite perk of the gig.”
“I didn’t know you swung that way,” Zach said. “I’ve got mad ass-kissing skills if you’re interested.” He made lewd sucking noises that made Max cringe.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Max said, stopping at a red light. He peered into the back seat through the rearview mirror. “How are you still conscious?”
“My liver has had lots of training,” Zach said.
Steve snorted and pretended not to notice the car full of attractive women that stopped beside them. It was doubly hard to do so when the driver flashed her boobs at them. Steve tried to remember what they’d been discussing before their conversation had gotten derailed.
“You know our records will sell themselves at this point in our career,” Steve said to Max, who was not ignoring the ladies in the next car. He was smiling at them while probably doing the math on how to engage all three of them at once. Steve cared about Roux too much to even consider it. He wondered if he’d have time to take a commercial flight to New York to see her for a few hours.
Damn, he really did have it bad.
“That remains to be seen,” Max said, rolling down the front passenger window with the button on his armrest. “Are you ladies having a nice evening?” he asked, as if they weren’t squealing like a set of bald tires. They totally knew who Max was. Had probably intentionally followed him. That sort of thing happened to Max all the time. He wasn’t likely to engage, though. Steve wondered what had Max acting out of character.
“You interested in a small orgy?” Max asked Steve quietly.
Zach sat up in the back seat and peered into the car beside them. “No guys. No guys at all.” He flopped back down on the seat.
“Is that Zach Mercier in there with you?” the driver of the car shouted. The other two ladies shrieked with excitement. Their interest made Steve miss Roux even more.
“I call dibs on Zach,” said the brunette in the back seat.
Apparently she hadn’t been reading the tabloids about Twisted Element’s drummer and his sexual preferences.
“I couldn’t get it up for you if I tried, lady,” Zach muttered to the seat his face was squashed against. “And I’m too tired to even try.”
“I’ll take a pass on this, Max,” Steve said. “You aren’t seriously considering it, are you?”
Max laughed, and sped forward when the light turned green, leaving the car of women behind as he took a risky left turn at the next yellow light. “I knew it!”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Knew what?”
“I’ve never known you to turn down ass under any other circumstance. You’re in love with someone.”
“And what made that so obvious?” After all, he couldn’t deny it. “Was it all the flights to New York or me taking a woman to Dick Island?”
Max laughed—a deep, mirthful, genuine laugh. Steve could not remember the last time he heard Max laugh that way, at least not in relation to him. There had been so much tension between the two of them over the past few years that they had barely tolerated each other. What had changed all of a sudden? Steve was pretty sure the difference wasn’t in him.
“You still call it Dick Island?” Max said. “God, that must piss off Dare.”
Steve smirked. “Why do you think we call it that?”
Max laughed again, and then hit the brakes hard when the car in front of him stopped abruptly. Steve’s seat jerked forward, and Zach tumbled onto the floorboard behind them.
“I’m going to feel that in the morning,” Zach said, groaning theatrically.
“You didn’t damage anything important, did you?” Steve asked, peering over his shoulder and down at his barely functioning best friend. He was starting to think drinking was as stupid as doing recreational drugs. Steve wasn’t sure he was ready to give up either completely, but he was sure where that idea had come from. A certain woman had a lot more influence over him than he cared to admit.
Zach groped around his crotch. “Everything seems to be in tip-top shape,” he said.
Steve shook his head. “I meant your brain or maybe your hands, but I see what’s important to you.”
“I haven’t had sex in weeks,” Zach said as he pulled himself up onto the seat again. This time he sat in it properly and even fastened his seat belt. “Priorities change when you’re dying for a good piece of ass.”
“I can drop you off at one of your clubs,” Max offered. “I’m sure you could find a solution to your problem.”
Zach lifted an eyebrow—probably at Max’s use of your to modify clubs—but he let the mild offense drop. “There’s only one good piece of ass on the planet as far as I’m concerned.”
Steve was in the same camp at the moment—though his only piece and Zach’s did not belong to the same person. Maybe Zach truly loved Enrique. The actor didn’t deserve Zach’s devotion—no matter how attractive or famous he happened to be—but that didn’t make Zach’s feelings any less real than Steve’s. Maybe Steve should try to help Zach get Enrique back rather than trying to help him get over the fuckhead. Ugh, Steve hated that asshole. Or more precisely, he hated how he’d hurt his friend.
“That piece of ass doesn’t belong to someone in this car, does it?” Max asked, peering at Zach in the rearview mirror.
Steve couldn’t tell if Max was joking, concerned for his own ass, or indirectly asking if Zach had a thing for Steve, an assumption they ran into often. A lot of people had a hard time believing that a straight guy and a gay man could be best friends without sexual attraction entering the equation, just like a lot of people claimed that a heterosexual male and a woman couldn’t be platonic friends for the same reason. Both claims were complete bullshit. It was humanly possible for a man to think of something besides sex.
“No,” Zach said quietly. He closed his eyes and leaned against the window. He might have passed out finally, or he might have wanted to shut down the direction the conversation was moving.
“So who’s the lucky girl?”
Steve almost blurted the entire truth right there, but he remembered Roux’s worries just in time, so he supplied the half-truth they agreed to share with the public. “Her name is Katie.” It felt so weird to call her that even though it was her legal name. “She, uh, works at some animal shelter in New York.”
“Are you going to be seeing her on tour or not? She plays keyboard, if I’m not mistaken.”
Steve’s head whipped around. How had Max pieced that together so easily? They’d never keep her identity a secret at this rate. “You’d better wipe that smirk off your face before I wipe it off for you.”
Max laughed again. “I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a secret.”
“She doesn’t want anyone to think her band scored a spot on the tour because she’s sleeping with me.” He wasn’t sure Roux cared about that at all, but for some reason her sister Iona was adamant about it.
“People are going to think what they’re going to think.”
“Agreed.”
Max shifted in his seat. Apparently their sudden
tendency to agree on anything, much less everything, was as uncomfortable for him as it was for Steve.
“But if it puts her at ease to be called Katie in public,” Steve continued, “and to pretend her life in the spotlight can be entirely separate from her personal life, I’ll do what makes her happy. You are going to pretend you don’t know who she is when I introduce her as Katie, aren’t you?” Because he would throttle anyone who messed this up for him. The flimsy façade Roux had decided to hide behind was the only way she’d allow him to see her on tour. If it fell through, he’d have to turn to more obnoxious tactics, and he wasn’t sure how she’d take outlandish displays of his love.
“I don’t have a problem with it.” Max was silent for a moment as he navigated traffic. “I wanted to ask you . . .” He licked his lips and glanced briefly at Steve, as if hoping he didn’t actually have to speak his request and Steve would magically know what he wanted.
“What?”
“Would you be willing to fire Sam? I’ve been trying to think of the words to say, but I just . . . freeze up.
Steve frowned. Max was never short on confidence and had been so pissed at Sam when they’d decided to fire him that Steve was surprised Max didn’t literally set fire to their soon-to-be ex-manager. “It would be my pleasure,” Steve said. “Why the cold feet all of a sudden?”
Max sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s been like a father to me for so long.”
He had? Was that why Max had always defended him?
“I’m mad at him. I feel betrayed and used, but . . . he made us who we are. I can’t forget that.”
Steve wanted to shake sense into him. “We were not made by anyone, Max. We were discovered.”
Max worried his bottom lip with his teeth. Why was this so hard for him? Had Sam brainwashed him?
“How about I call him right now?” Steve said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “Get that toxic piece of shit out of your life for good.”
Max’s hand shot out and knocked the phone out of Steve’s hand. It landed somewhere on the floorboard at Steve’s feet.
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