by Dana Delamar
He hadn’t been wrong.
When I finally grew tired of feeling like Harry Potter living in a cupboard under the stairs, and when living in our home had become too much of a security risk for me, I’d bought both sides of a larger semi-detached and had it completely gutted and refinished. At least now I had my own room, even though I still shared a bath with my siblings.
I’d wanted to purchase some posh place in a gated community, somewhere more upscale than Hounslow, but I’d caved since my parents and siblings wished to remain in our local area, where the Indian community was strong. I always caved.
Truth is, I wished like hell I could grow some bollocks and move the fuck out, get my own flat and be the independent man I wanted to be. At twenty-six and more than financially secure, I had no need to still live with my parents and siblings. But I was like a bird with clipped wings.
My oldest sister, Geena, who was two years my junior, had moved out when she’d married last year. Now I only had to deal with Aahna, the bride to be, who was twenty-three and had just graduated with a degree in engineering; Indira, twenty and studying pre-med; and Patag, who was eighteen and had just passed his A-levels with plans to study law. I was, of course, happily footing the bill for their degrees as well as for Aahna’s nuptials, as I had for Geena.
“Devkinandan!” My mother’s sharp voice brought my attention back to the discussion of Aahna’s wedding.
“Mum?”
She huffed, then seemed to regain her composure, and smiled. “Your sisters and I were discussing the poonyahvachanam. You will be seated next to Raj’s cousin, Kalini.”
Oh joy. Since Aahna’s engagement to Raj Gupta, the son of my father’s business partner, my mother had been dropping increasingly less subtle hints about Kalini as a prospective bride for me. She was a nice girl, bright and funny, but she wasn’t S— No, best not think about her. I flicked a stray crumb off the tablecloth. “Mum, I told you—”
“Oh God. Why must my first-born son always be so difficult?” My mother raised her arms and wailed at the ceiling as though supplicating some divine power. Her eyes lowered to glare at me. “Aahna is marrying in a matter of weeks, and Indira will marry as soon as she completes her bachelor’s degree.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Indira’s grimace, her eyes going hard. Hope rose in my chest that she’d fight back, but then she seemed to rethink opening an old wound and pasted a placid look on her face. My heart sank. Just wait, little sister, it only gets worse, I thought, a wave of self-pity crashing over me. The burden seemed so much heavier now that things with Rod were going so poorly. He’d always been my go-to person, my vent-valve when the pressure of conforming to my parents’ ideals got to be too much. But now, I was on my own.
King’s Cross and our music had always been a sticking point with my family. Good Indian boys didn’t parade themselves around on stage. They most certainly were not rock stars with all that the lifestyle entailed. Not that they minded the money it brought, only the lack of control they had over my life.
“It isn’t seemly,” my mother continued, oblivious to the pain she was inflicting. “It is bad enough you carouse with those”—she scrunched up her face as though she’d smelled something rotten—“rock stars when you are a wonderful classically-trained musician. You could be playing recitals at Royal Albert Hall or be a member of the London Symphony Orchestra.”
“What? I’m not to be a physician anymore? Not a brain surgeon?” I asked, bitterness seeping into my tone.
Ignoring me, she folded a dish towel and set it on the counter. “Instead, you insist on creating that noise—”
My fists clenched at my sides and I pushed to my feet, cutting her off mid-sentence. “No one insults my music. Not even you, Mum.”
She sniffed and turned her face away. “It is not respectable.”
“Perhaps not to you,” I said, exhibiting far more calm than I felt. “But to the millions of King’s Cross fans, we are far more than that.”
Her lips pursed. “That name.” She shook her head. “It is the true insult.”
Blood drained from my head to pool in my legs. The sheer weight rooted me in place when all I sought to do was escape, run away from this house where my dreams and aspirations were constantly crushed by the fear of disgrace and dishonor. My heart thudded against my sternum and the entire room appeared pink-tinged. “How dare you!”
Aahna rushed to our mother’s side, Indira to mine. These were the sides we’d chosen, the roles that had become so ingrained over the years. Why did I continue to put myself through this misery? I did everything I could to be the dutiful son, to honor my parents and my siblings. All I asked for in return was to play my music, my way. It was the only rebellion I’d allowed myself, and despite the fact I gave a large portion of the proceeds to my family, which they gladly accepted, my mother still acted like I was prostituting myself.
Like I wasn’t good enough.
Steps thundered down the stairs and all our heads turned toward the doorway that led into the hall. My father’s narrow-shouldered frame and scowling face soon filled it. “What is all this yelling?”
“Sorry, Dad,” I said, looking at my feet. “We did not intend to disturb your work.”
His gaze shifted over to my mother. She raised her chin, confident that he would take her side. And why shouldn’t she be confident? He always did. They embodied a united front. It was admirable, really, in the way it had always kept us to heel.
Why couldn’t I be more like Rod, unapologetically myself? He’d never given two fucks how others saw him. He did what—and who—he wanted, how he wanted, and when he wanted. And me? I weighed every action against its impact to my family and our standing in the community. I had to make up for not having taken the path my parents had set for me, to be a doctor, marry a good Indian woman, and have a ton of studious, respectful Indian children. That had been my destiny, one I’d craftily avoided.
But maybe, my reprieve was coming to an end.
My shoulders slumped as my spine seemed to dissolve like sugar in a cup of hot tea. I sat heavily in my chair and bowed my head. How much longer could I keep fighting when I didn’t have my best friend to prop me up? It was all too much, and after six months of tension, of non-communication, with nothing but harsh words between us, I was completely done in.
“Son?”
I looked up, words of resignation forming in my mind, words of defeat and acquiescence on my tongue.
This was for the best. I would fulfill my contractual obligations to the label while at the same time easing myself out of the band. Due to my close friendship with Rod, the band was more the Rod and Dev show than anything else. We wrote the music and the lyrics. Rod sang the songs and I played lead guitar. The rest of our mates filled essential but nameless roles. But now that Damon, the Yank the label had hired to give the band a harder guitar sound, had joined us and I’d moved to rhythm guitar, the stage was set for a clever retreat. I’d heard Damon had an ear for songwriting. And if that was the case, I’d use the tour to reinforce the working relationship between him and Rod. Once Damon had completely replaced me, I could leave and the band would go on. Rod’s life could go on. As for mine?
I’d do what was expected of me.
“I’ll… I’ll sit with Kalini.” I looked at my mum and dad, my sisters. I was doing what would make them happy. So why did I feel like I was dying inside? I wet my lips. “If things go well, I’ll—”
My mobile buzzed in my back pocket, cutting me off.
Saving me, at least for now, from committing to a future I’d never be ready for.
I gripped my phone, seizing upon that buoy in the dark waters like a drowning man. It was Nigel. “Please excuse me,” I said, my voice a hoarse, desperate whisper. I’d seen the edge of the precipice and it had scared me shitless. “I must take this.”
As quickly as my heavy feet allowed, I took the back door into the garden, and made my way to the far end so I’d have a bit of privacy.
“Hello?”
“That stupid twat is threatening to quit the band,” Nigel spouted in place of a hello.
My heart clenched and I had to grip the fence to keep myself upright. I didn’t even have to ask who Nigel meant. I knew. Rod. At the photoshoot, he’d said he couldn’t stand the sight of me anymore. Had words ever cut more deeply? I never thought he’d quit the band to get away from me.
“No. Shit. He can’t quit. Tell him to stay. I’ll leave.” I swallowed against the bile rising in my throat. Despite having made this decision a few minutes ago, saying it out loud was like ripping my soul out of my body. No music. No Rod. I blinked back the tears. Leaving King’s Cross was worth it. It would make everyone I cared about happy.
Everyone but me.
No one had ever cared about my happiness. Except for Rod, and now he didn’t care either. Because if he did care, he wouldn’t be trying to take himself out of my life.
“Jesus Fucking Christ. Have you all gone mad? Now listen, here, Dev. No one is quitting this motherfucking band.” Nigel wheezed out an audible breath, his fervor having drained him of his energy. “You’re all under contract for the album and the tour. Have you forgotten that it begins in eight weeks?”
Without giving me a chance to reply, he barreled on. “The label has convinced Rod to give the band another chance. They’ve hired an outfit to do some team-building activities with all of you.”
I frowned and let go of the fence. “They’re cracked if they think a few games and kumbaya chants will fix things.”
“It’s likely to be a tad more intense than that, eh? Anyway, consider it a bit of a holiday. Pack up your guitar and your trunks. I’ll be sending you a plane ticket. You’ll be leaving in four days and you’ll be gone for a fortnight.”
“A fortnight? You know my sister’s wedding is then, yeah?” I’d fought hard for everything to be scheduled to finish right before the band began heavy rehearsals for our world tour, which I’d certainly not forgotten about.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be back to London for the start of the festivities.”
“But—”
“Listen, do you want King’s Cross to break up? Because if this fails, the label is washing its hands of you lot.”
Did I want the band to break up? Of course not. Whether I was a part of it or not, it had to go on. Something of my friendship with Rod, of our twenty-year relationship, had to survive. I couldn’t give him what he wanted, but I could give him our music.
I looked back at the house and my parents and sisters milling about. They’d be pissed off that I was leaving so soon before the wedding, but as long as I kept paying the bills, what did anyone really care?
I gripped the phone in my hand and pictured Rod as he’d been the last time I’d seen him truly happy, three months, one week, and two days ago. Not that I was counting.
Before beating a quiet retreat, I needed to see that pure, sunny smile on his handsome face one last time. I passed a hand over my mouth, remembering too much.
“I’ll do it,” I said, the words at once freeing and terrifying.
SKY
Why had Daniel King, the CEO of Total Indulgence Tours, sent me a plane ticket? Why did he want a meeting with me, owner and operator of a tiny business that had nothing to do with travel or event planning? On the phone, he’d claimed to have an offer I couldn’t refuse, and given the current state of my business, more floundering than flourishing even after five years of killing myself, I was hardly in a position to reject him outright.
So here I was, on the sidewalk outside the Miami headquarters of Total Indulgence Tours. The low, modern building was located in the quaint community of Coconut Grove and within walking distance of the ocean. Despite it being September, the temperature was still in the nineties, stiflingly humid, and I swore the air smelled of salt and coconut tanning lotion.
Having grown up in Southern California, I was no stranger to heat, sand, and water, but there was something about Miami, about South Florida, that was different in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it was the abundant water supply, the lushness of the flora, or the almost imperceptible rhythm of life here. Whatever it was, the result was a sultry, tropical feel that made me want to strip down and relish the breeze as I danced naked on the beach.
I shook my head, chasing away such fantasies and focused on what had brought me here in the first place. I pushed open the glass door and stepped inside. Cool air, just this side of cold, bathed my body, and I inhaled my first refreshing breath since leaving the hotel. Following the instructions in the email I’d received, I took the elevator up to the fourth floor.
As soon as I stepped into an airy modern lobby, a pretty brunette greeted me. “Good morning,”
“Good morning.” I approached the woman’s desk. “I’m Sky River. I have a 9:30 appointment with Daniel King.”
“Of course.” She smiled and indicated the cozy seating area behind me. “I’ll let Mr. King know you’re here. Can I get you something? Coffee, tea, water?”
“Thank you…” I paused, a subtle query for her name.
“Jane.”
“Jane. I’ll have some water, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.”
She disappeared somewhere down a hallway, and I took a seat on a comfortable brown and beige U-shaped couch that was not, thank goodness, leather. The walls of the lobby featured beautiful photos of gorgeous locations all over the world. After first hearing from Daniel, I’d done a little online research. TI specialized in custom tours and events, mostly top-of-the-line, luxury excursions for wealthy individuals or corporations. For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine what they might want with me. My company organized and led team-building activities for enterprises, both large and small. I taught my clients how to better align their teams for happier and more productive employees.
Most times, we worked in a boardroom with Legos. All that was a far cry from these photos of Paris, London, and Egypt.
Jane returned with my water just as a good-looking, sandy-haired man in his early thirties entered the lobby from a different hallway.
“Oh, there you are, Daniel,” Jane said. “This is Sky River.”
Daniel held his hand out, a straight-to-business smile on his face. “Thank you for coming to see me, Miss River. This way, please.”
I followed him to a large, well-appointed office that occupied one half of the rounded end of the building. The floor-to-ceiling windows made for an amazing view of the coast and downtown Miami. TI appeared to be doing well for itself. My research had revealed that TI was a privately held company, originally founded by Daniel King and Javier Cordero as equal partners. They later added a third partner, Arianna Rodriguez, each partner now controlling one third of the business.
Daniel ushered me into a plush chair, one of two facing his elegant mahogany desk, on which folders were stacked in haphazard piles. It seemed he wasn’t a figurehead CEO.
“I’m intrigued by your mention of an offer, Mr. King,” I said, opening up the discussion.
“Daniel, please.”
“If you’ll return the favor.”
“Very well, Sky. I see you don’t beat around the bush. I like that.”
I nodded. There’d been times in my life when being less honest, less straightforward, would have helped. But today was not one of those times.
Daniel steepled his fingers. While he thought about how to make his offer, I sipped my water and admired the view out his windows. He cleared his throat. “My offer is somewhat unusual. Please hear me out before you respond.”
I set my water down on his desk. “Of course.”
“TI was approached by Reeling Records.” They were a label in Los Angeles that provided stateside distribution for recording artists from the UK. “One of their clients is a UK label named Sonic High, and one of the artists on Sonic High’s roster is a band named King’s Cross. Apparently you’ve worked with them?”
My brain heard King
’s Cross and got stuck there.
King’s Cross.
Dev.
Rod.
Adrenaline flooded my body, and an intense impulse to flee consumed me. My mouth went dry. I reached for my water and downed half the glass. Daniel’s keen eyes narrowed.
“Y-yes. I’ve worked with them.”
He nodded and continued, “They’re on the verge of a world tour that has the potential to make them one of the biggest hits of the year, maybe even the decade. Unfortunately, the band seems to be in some difficulty.”
“Difficulty?” I asked, my mind racing with a million scenarios.
“The band is falling apart. They haven’t written songs for their album that is supposed to be released before the tour, and to top it off, their lead singer is threatening to quit.”
My jaw dropped. King’s Cross was Rod’s life. “Why?”
“He and the lead guitarist”—Daniel pulled a notepad closer and read off of it—“no, sorry, he’s the rhythm guitarist now. Anyway, he’s the one who usually composes the music while the lead singer writes the lyrics. They had a falling out some months ago, and for some reason everything seems to have come to a head this week.”
“Wow.” Dev wasn’t the lead guitarist anymore? And Rod and Dev had had a fight so serious that Rod was willing to walk away from King’s Cross? I couldn’t even imagine what must’ve happened. The last time I’d seen them… when I’d left them in bed… My chest ached at the memory. I’d been certain their connection was the real thing, the enduring kind of love. I’d known then and there that they were meant for each other. Always.
Had I been wrong?
“How does this involve me?”
“Sonic High Records convinced the entire band to commit to a last-ditch effort to save King’s Cross. They’ve all agreed to a two-week intensive retreat to work things out. And we want you to run it.”
My mind raced with possibilities as I began to understand where Daniel was going with this.
“We reserved an exclusive resort on the island of Moorea in the French Polynesian islands. It’s secluded and very private. There will be no press. No outside help.”
