Indigo Knights: The Boxed Set

by Jet Mykles

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Common knowledge.”

  It wasn’t. Not unless you talked to Gordon. Lance narrowed his eyes. If he had one complaint about his boyfriend, it was this. This wasn’t the first time he’d casually suggested Lance for another band. Or Noble, for that matter.

  Lance shook his head. “No. Thanks, but no.”

  “Listen, I swear he sounds better without the girl. Why don’t we hook the two of you up? You can jam. All casual-like.”

  Lance was shaking his head halfway through Reid’s spiel. “No, thanks.”

  “Well, shit.” Reid set down his empty glass. “Can’t blame us for trying. Will you at least come meet Dar? It’d mean the world to him.”

  “Sure.”

  So Lance met Dar, who didn’t say anything about the new offer, but hope bolstered the smile he gave Lance. Strange. Lance couldn’t be that much older than Dar—a few years, tops—but the hero worship that shone through Dar’s bravado made Lance feel a million years old.

  Before they parted company, Gordon emerged from the hallway to the storeroom in the back. Any attraction to Dar paled at the sight of Gordon in a snug, dark green polo and relaxed black jeans. Even the smudges of dirt that marked his hands and left cheek couldn’t mar the masculine beauty of the man.

  Apologizing for his grimy hands, Gordon greeted Reid, Dar, and the rest of the band. He admitted to having heard their audition from the back, and even Lance couldn’t tell if he thought it sucked. The singer, Janit, turned into a flirt machine despite the presence of her boyfriend. Gordon handled it like the pro he was and managed to extricate both himself and Lance before things could get too weird.

  He was chuckling as Lance followed him into the office. “Wow, she’s something else, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah.” Lance handed him a white hand towel he’d swiped from behind the bar on the way. “Did you really hear it?”

  “Are you kidding? Thanks.” Gordon took the towel and perched against the edge of the desk as he wiped his hands. “I think you could hear her in Jersey.” They shared a laugh. “Please tell me you’re not hiring them.”

  “No way.” Lance lowered himself to the couch. “But I did get an interesting offer from Reid.”

  Gordon’s gaze was on his hands as he scrubbed off dust. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. He said the guitarist is looking for a bass player for his new band. Says he likes me for it.”

  If Lance hadn’t known in his gut that Gordon had set this up, he would have believed the surprise on Gordon’s face. “What? That’s great. What did you tell him?”

  “Gordon.”

  “Yes, dear?” The endearment was patently fake, something Gordon liked to call him when he was being snide.

  It sparked Lance’s annoyance higher. “Did you know about this?”

  Calmly, Gordon dropped the towel behind him on the desk. “No.”

  “Did you talk to Reid before he got here?”

  “I talk to Reid a lot, actually.

  “So you knew.”

  All surprise wiped from his face as Gordon faced him, arms crossed. “Yes.”

  “Goddamn it.” Lance pounded his knee with his fist. “I’ve told you not to do that.”

  “I didn’t do it. And I didn’t tell him to talk to you.” Gordon raised a hand to study his fingernails. “I just didn’t tell him not to.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Listen.” Gordon sighed, dropping his hand. “You said no. That’s it, right?” The distant resignation in Gordon’s tone had become too familiar. This pattern was too familiar. Gordon pushed, Lance called him on it. Then, after some sharp words on how Lance was missing out, Gordon gave in. This had happened too much in the past few months.

  Lance tried to rein in his anger. “Yes.”

  Gordon shrugged. “So what’s the use discussing it?”

  “What if Shelby found out?”

  “He’d be thrilled to hear how loyal his bass player is to him.” The disdain in Gordon’s voice was thick as syrup.

  Lance gritted his teeth. It was September. Gordon had been with the band nine months, and he’d yet to find peace with Shelby’s way of doing business. Oh, he’d finally managed to find a guitarist Shelby accepted. He didn’t argue with Shelby as much, and he was careful to pick and choose his battles. But he still battled. He still made suggestions he knew Shelby would reject, and he still prodded Lance every chance he got about branching out on his own. “You have to stop.”

  Gordon raised one eyebrow. “What?”

  “Trying to hook me up with another band. Trying to get me away from The Might.”

  There was every reason to find Gordon’s snort insulting. “Why? Because it’s such a great gig? Because you’re gonna go far with Shelby’s opus?”

  Lance lowered his head, wishing he could jump to Shelby’s defense. But he couldn’t. “Don’t call it that.” The rock opera had yet to coalesce into a whole and was more of a mess than before. Shelby went on about his “vision” and his “quest.” He was currently in Germany for at least a month, conducting “research” that he wouldn’t elaborate on. The whole mess had soured the boss’s relationship with Gordon to an all-time low. “I’m asking you to lay off. I’m fine where I am.”

  “Yo—” The exclamation cut off, and Lance looked up to see Gordon literally biting his tongue as he stared at the wall, composing himself. After a tense moment, he shook his head. “Fine. I’m not having this argument again. If you want to waste a golden opportunity—”

  “I’m not—”

  Gordon held up his hand and kept talking. “—to keep playing Shelby’s games, far be it for me to try and point out how moronic that is.”

  “What does it matter? The money’s good.”

  “The money’s good. But what about your soul?”

  “When did you turn into such a romantic?”

  “When I fell in love with you.”

  Everything stilled. Lance was pretty sure traffic stopped outside. He stared at Gordon, felt his eyes wide and eyebrows up.

  Gordon let him stare for a few heartbeats, then frowned. “This can’t be news to you.”

  “You’ve never said…”

  “Of course I haven’t.” He waved a hand to indicate Lance up and down. “I knew what your reaction would be.”

  This had been coming. Lance had known it was coming. Despite the recurring arguments, he and Gordon had become close. Really close. For the first time in his life, Lance felt like he was part of a couple. It was scary as hell.

  He stepped closer, cautious since Gordon was wound tighter than the strings of his bass. “I…” He slid his hand up Gordon’s arm to his shoulder. “Love you too.”

  Gordon reached up to grasp his wrist. “Don’t say it if you don’t feel it.”

  “I think I do. Feel it.” This had to be love, right? Nothing but love could be this overwhelming. So simple and so complicated. “I just… I’ve never been in love before.”

  With one finger of his free hand, Gordon hooked a belt loop on Lance’s jeans to pull him closer. “If it’s any consolation, neither have I.” Unless Lance missed his guess, the same confusion he felt shone in Gordon’s eyes. “Not like this.”

  Lance wound his arm around Gordon’s neck, raising the other hand to trace his jaw. “I’m not good at this.”

  “You’re doing just fine.”

  They shared a strangely hesitant kiss. Lance felt like a helium balloon, ready to rise or burst or both.

  Gordon melted into him, sliding his arms around Lance’s waist. “So now you know why. I’m trying to look out for you.”

  Surprisingly, it was a relief to return to the familiar argument. Lance pressed his forehead against Gordon’s. “I’m fine where I am.”

  “You’re too good to be Shelby’s sycophant.”

  “Oooh. Big word.”

  “Idiot.”

  Lance kissed him. “Your idiot.” That sounded kind of good.

  “Oh, man, yo
u do know what to say to get your way.”

  “I try.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Present, July

  “Do you mind…?” The girl held up her phone.

  Lance smiled. “Sure.” He stood patiently while the girl handed off her phone to her friend and stood beside him. He put his arm around her and leaned in a little so he wasn’t towering over her, then smiled as the friend snapped the picture. Around them, there were a few dozen more—

  “Lance! Over here!” He glanced to the left, and a flash blinded him for a second.

  —fans hanging out in front of the club, waiting for the Knights to emerge. Rabin and Danny were near, but Lance couldn’t see where they were through the crowd. He could see the spikes of Noble’s hair, the shining purple thrusting toward the glittering marquee above them. A security guard hovered at his back, keeping people from pressing too close, but Lance did as he’d been instructed and pretended not to notice him. Rather, he smiled for the people, signed whatever they put in his hands, and let them snap all the pictures they wanted. Somewhere out there, Gordon had a guy taking more pictures with a fancy digital camera to post officially on the website.

  The Indigo Knights had arrived!

  The club tour was almost done, and the crowd just kept getting bigger. It wasn’t Heaven Sent proportions, but it was a respectable size. The security guards had become a must in just the past week, and Gordon had had to hire on a second bus to ferry their entourage. The record company was finally fully on board and talking to Gordon daily about progress and next steps. The Knights had reached a level of popularity that was entirely new to Lance. None of his other bands had been popular enough to have fans pushing to get close, not even The Might. Oh, he’d signed autographs before, but The Might’s fans were far more laid-back because they knew where and when to get at the band. Tonight Lance was in the middle of shit that he’d only seen on television.

  It was great!

  They stayed until the crowd had mostly died out. Lance signed his last CD, then let his guard usher him toward the bus that awaited them down the block. He was the first of the band to make it on board, so he got to glance out the window to see Rabin get ambushed into a lip-lock with a girl a head shorter than him and Noble get crushed in a hug from a girl twice as wide as him. Danny was the last through the door.

  “Where’s your shirt?” Rabin laughed at him, still wiping crimson lipstick from his mouth.

  Danny’s eyes were wide, barely focused. He grabbed the back of a seat for support. “Fuck if I know.” He waved at the crowd beyond the now-closed door. “Got ripped off back there.”

  Lance turned to Gordon, who was just ending a phone call he’d been having at the back of the bus. “You need to get Danny a shirt allowance.”

  Gordon grinned. “Happily and gladly.” He held up a hand to the driver. “Whenever you are.” Then he looked to the four of them. “Guys, sit.”

  They settled in the center seats as the bus left the club. A few of the crew sat up front, and the guy who’d been hired to feed them—no shit—sat reading beside the kitchenette, toward the back. Gordon leaned in, elbows on knees as he spoke. The six center seats all swiveled so they could form a rough circle around the aisle. Gordon filled them in on the latest: the next few dates were sold out; they’d added an additional night in Boston.

  “We’ve been signed on for the Wade Jenkins show in August.” Gordon grinned as he let them react to that. He looked to Rabin. “He says he’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

  Rabin gave a thumbs-up. “Awesome.”

  “We’ll need to practice for that one.” Now Gordon looked at them all. “Judging from how Rabin’s last appearance went, Jenkins is going to ask the gay question.”

  Noble propped his feet on Danny’s knee. “It’s not like we hide it.”

  “And I’m not suggesting we do. I’d just like you to have some ready answers when he does ask. This is one of the things we knew would happen riding Heaven Sent’s coattails.”

  They all agreed.

  “We’ve added a few more dates in New York. Plus a few industry parties we should seriously think of going to. There’s a Roommates cast party that sounds interesting.”

  “Nice.” Danny poked at Noble’s shiny green boots with interest. “These new?”

  “Yep.” While Noble held one foot up for admiration, he asked, “What’s Roommates?”

  Gordon opened his mouth to answer, but Danny slapped his foot down instead. “Don’t you ever watch television?”

  Noble blinked, his bright orange lenses a bit disconcerting in the dim lighting. “When the fuck would I watch TV?”

  “It’s been on for years.”

  “I’ve got better things to do than sit around at home at night watching TV.”

  Lance shook his head, amused. “It’s a big-deal nighttime soap.”

  Noble shrugged. “Why do they want us?”

  “One of the new couples in the show is gay,” Danny answered, looking to Gordon for confirmation.

  Gordon nodded.

  “So we get to be the gay band?”

  “At least for a while.” Gordon sat back. “We can only keep pushing the music and hope that takes over as the main draw.”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  The bus pulled in to a hotel parking lot. Their venue for the next night was on-site. “We’re here. You guys stay put. I’ll go and check us in.” Absently, or so it seemed, Gordon patted Lance’s shoulder on his way past. Lance tried not to concentrate on it. No one else seemed to have noticed. Rabin stood and went to talk to the food guy. Danny headed the other way to join the guys at the front of the bus.

  Noble was another matter. He leaned in and nudged Lance’s other shoulder. “What was that?”

  Lance didn’t look at him. “What?”

  “Right.” At least Noble stayed close and kept his voice down. No one else could hear him. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the two of you getting chummy.”

  “Chummy?”

  Noble blinked over those orange contacts. “It’s a good word.”

  Lance smiled. “Don’t read into it. We’re just trying to be friends again.”

  “Mmm. And how are the breakfasts going?”

  Lance frowned at him.

  “Jesus, do you really think I don’t keep track of you?”

  He had to laugh. “Have you got someone watching me?”

  “Several someones.”

  “Nosy bastard.”

  “You know it.”

  Lance shook his head. “I just wanted to get on even ground again.”

  “Have you?”

  He considered it for a few seconds, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

  Noble clapped him on the arm. “That’s good.” When Lance looked at him, he had a genuine smile on, nothing mocking about it. “It is. You should be friends.”

  “Thanks.”

  “That means you’ll get over him sooner and get laid already.”

  At that, Lance could only groan, laugh, and slap his palm to his face.

  * * * *

  Lance swiped his keycard and entered the quiet sanctum of his hotel room. His room, not one he had to share with Noble. When they’d started the tour, they’d had to double up, but now Gordon was comfortable enough with how things were going to spring for the luxury of separate rooms. For the band, at least. Lance had almost forgotten how terrific it could be. He’d even started looking forward to enjoying the silence after a night of playing.

  Relieved to be alone while his bandmates were still out partying, he dropped his wallet and keycard onto the dresser, kicked off his shoes, changed into comfortable gray sweats and a faded blue T-shirt, then picked up his e-reader from the table. He’d just downloaded a new book he was excited to read.

  An hour later, he was completely absorbed in the novel, so the sound of a knock at his door made him jump. A glance at the alarm clock told him it was 12:45 a.m. Too early for any of his friends, wasn’t it? W
hen the knock sounded again, he turned off his e-reader and went to open the door.

  Gordon?

  “What are you doing here?” Lance asked without thinking.

  Gordon glowered at him. “Why aren’t you out having fun?”

  “I was reading.”

  When Gordon advanced, Lance felt compelled to back up. Gordon had been drinking. Not that you’d know it if you didn’t know the signs. Gordon held his liquor exceptionally well. Lance could only tell because he’d seen that deliberate mode of movement before, as though Gordon had to think carefully how to move his body. It was quite graceful, actually, even if it only occurred when his brain was addled from too much scotch or bourbon. His eyes had taken on the daring glitter that signaled alcohol or sex in his system. The buttons of his dress shirt were undone at least halfway down his chest. He stopped in the narrow entryway and placed his hands on the walls to either side of him, blocking Lance’s way out of the room if he’d been inclined to make a dash for it. “Why aren’t you out having a one-night stand? You used to do it all the time.”

  Lance sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as he propped his butt against the desk. “We’ve been over this.”

  “We’re going over it again. You’re a fucking rock star. You should be fucking everything that moves.”

  He raised a brow at Gordon’s intense insistence. “I don’t do that anymore.” There—he’d tried new words for it.

  “Oh.” Gordon pursed his lips and glanced around the room as he nodded, as though he were considering the words. “You don’t.”

  “No.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Oh goody, Gordon was that drunk. Only when he was truly beyond his limit did Gordon ever get that belligerent. He advanced, reaching up to take two handfuls of the front of Lance’s shirt. He brought their noses so close together that they almost touched, hazel eyes blazing with what looked like anger but what felt, to Lance, like lust. “You’re not supposed to be like this.”

  Lance could smell the bourbon now as Gordon’s breath wafted over his lips. “Like what?” He had trouble with the words when Gordon was so close.

  Gordon shook him, rattling his brain. “Like this!”