by Jet Mykles
Lance realized he’d been quiet for a few moments, staring blankly at the contract in his hands. “I… Wow.”
“I take it you think it’s acceptable?”
“Um. Yeah. Sure.”
“You’re welcome to take the contract to look it over. Have Gordon read it.” The last was said casually, but it made the hair on Lance’s arms stand.
He found himself nodding. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”
“Good. We can talk about it tomorrow.” Shelby stood. “I’ll come over early for rehearsal.”
Lance rose to his feet, hearing the dismissal in Shelby’s voice. He startled when Shelby’s hand landed on his arm.
“You’ve done right by me, Lance,” he said, face as sincere as Lance had ever seen it. “I want to do right by you.”
Lance could only nod again. Then he left Shelby’s company. His mind whirled as he walked the path, so much that he barely noticed the spattering rain. When he got back to the guesthouse, his hair and jacket were dripping.
“Hey!” Noble caught him as he was taking off his jacket. “You okay?”
The contract papers were safe and dry. He mutely handed them to Noble.
Clearly concerned by Lance’s quiet, Noble scanned the document. “What’s this?” Lance just waited. He pulled a hand through his ponytail to get most of the water out, uncaring that he left a puddle in the entryway. “Holy shit.” Noble gave Lance wide eyes. “Is this for real?”
Lance strode toward the couch, needing to sit. “As real as it gets.”
“Seventy-five K,” he muttered and papers shifted, “and writing credit?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said I’d done right by him, and he wanted to do right by me.”
Noble dropped onto the couch beside him, looking as poleaxed as Lance felt. “Holy shit.”
Lance pointed at him. “He’s going to offer you the same contract.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“You think it’s a trick?”
“A trick? What kind of trick?”
“I don’t know. It’s just… Right on top of what happened this week?”
Lance passed a hand down his face. “Yeah. I guess it is weird timing.”
“Unless…”
“What?”
“You think Gordon had anything to do with it?”
Lance blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“You think Gordon told him that we needed a new contract? He’s always talking about how we should get more credit.”
“I…don’t know.”
“You should call him.”
Nodding, Lance sat forward so he could dig his cell out of his jeans pocket. He hit the speed dial for Gordon’s number.
“Hey, babe.”
“Do you know anything about Shelby offering me a new contract?” Lance blurted.
“What?”
“Shelby just called me to the big house to offer me a new contract.”
“What’s in this new contract?”
“Seventy-five K a year plus writing credits for the new album.” He didn’t mention the separate job at the club, just in case Gordon wasn’t aware of it yet.
Silence on the other end of the phone. “Well, I’ll… That little shit.”
“What?”
Gordon laughed, but it wasn’t a good laugh. “Nothing.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure?”
“I swear. I did not know he was going to renegotiate your contract.” That heavy twist of cynicism colored his voice.
“But…?”
“But…” Gordon sighed. “He knows you’ve been getting offers.”
“What?” Lance sat forward, aware of Noble watching him like a hawk. “What did you say?”
“Just the truth. That you’ve been recognized. That more than a few people have asked me about you. And Noble.”
“You what?”
“Oh, don’t get mad. I didn’t say anything that would have sent him off the deep end.”
“Bullshit.”
Lance imagined that he heard Gordon’s teeth grinding. “I said nothing but the truth.”
“Fuck.” Lance fell back into the embrace of the couch. He held up a hand to stall Noble from saying anything and closed his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t know what you’re pissed about,” Gordon said, far too calmly. “Obviously he now realizes what he has and is willing to give for it. For you.”
“You shouldn’t have done that. I asked you not to do that.”
“Why not? Isn’t it my job to look out for the interest of my band and its members?” Then, in a lower tone, “Shouldn’t I look out for my boyfriend?”
That stuck a pin in Lance’s anger. He expelled a breath and let it all go. Gordon was looking out for him. It was good. He just wished Gordon would fucking stop.
“Lance?”
“Can you come over tonight? I…I’d like you to look this contract over.”
“It would be my pleasure. Give me an hour or so.”
“Right.” He ended the call.
“What was that all about?” Noble demanded.
Lance filled him in.
“Well, damn.” Noble chuckled. “That’s sweet.”
“What?”
“Oh, come on. It is sweet. He’s like a mother hen protecting his chick.”
“Hey. Let’s not forget you’re one of his chicks.”
Noble puffed up his chest. “And damn proud to be so if he’s going to do shit like this.”
Catching Noble’s gaze, Lance shook his head. “You don’t think this is trouble?”
“Was Shelby pissed?”
“Well…no.”
Noble shrugged. “Then, no. We didn’t ask for a change, and it’s not like either of us have threatened to bail on our existing contracts. Although…” He stared thoughtfully at the wall for a few seconds. “After what happened with your mom”—he kept his voice low in deference to fresh wounds—“maybe he thought you needed another reason to stay.”
“You think that’s it?” Now that Lance thought about it, it probably was. The timing was too perfect. Shelby knew one of Lance’s main reasons for staying was to pay for his mom. Now that she was gone, he certainly did have less reason to stay. He stared at his knees. “Shit.”
Noble patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry so much. Whatever the reason, it’s a sweet contract.”
“You gonna sign it?”
Pause. “Aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Probably.”
“Then me too. We’d be insane not to, right?”
* * * *
“I think you should bring it down to six months,” Gordon proclaimed, setting the contract down on the coffee table.
They sat in Lance’s sitting room rather than downstairs, and surprisingly, Noble had afforded them some privacy. Lance had chosen to sit across the low table from Gordon as he read.
“Six months?”
“Yeah. That leaves you open.”
“Open to what?”
Leaning elbows on knees, Gordon met his gaze. “To leaving.”
“Not this again.” Lance threw out his hands. “Why would I leave?”
“There’s no reason for you to stay anymore.”
He stared. “So that’s it? My mom dies, and you think I’ll leave Shelby.”
Gordon opened his mouth, then clearly decided against what he was going to say and shut it again. He stared at the papers between them. “I’m just saying you should keep your options open.”
Lance shook his head, gritting his teeth. “What is it with you? What have you got against Shelby?”
“As if you don’t know.”
“No. I really don’t get it. It’s not like he abuses our deal. It’s a damn good deal.”
“Yeah.” Gordon poked the contract w
ith one finger. “And he just sweetened the pot because one of your reasons for taking it is now gone.”
“You mean my mom.”
“I mean your mom.”
“So what? Why wouldn’t I want to stick around?” Lance gestured to indicate the room around them. “I get a roof over my head, money in the bank, and the chance to play on a regular basis. I think I get a lot.”
“Yeah, and at the end of the day, that creative part of you, the part that other musicians admire, dies.”
Pissed, Lance leaned forward. “Did you not see the part about writing credits?”
“I saw it. How much say do you think you’ll actually get? The Might is as Shelby does, remember?”
Lance dug his fingertips into his knees in an attempt to hold in his anger. “I knew what I signed on for.”
“Yeah. You had bills to pay. I know.”
“And now that I don’t, you think I should just abandon him?”
Gordon scoffed. “Abandon. You’d hardly be abandoning him. He can find someone else in a heartbeat.”
And that really hurt. “Glad to know I’m easy to replace.”
Gordon’s eyes widened, and Lance was willing to believe he hadn’t thought what that sounded like. It hurt a little less to know it wasn’t meant to stab. “That’s not what I mean. But he doesn’t need you for the opus.”
“Fucking quit calling it the opus. And he seems to think he does need me for it.”
“Does he.” The sarcasm could not have been thicker.
“Yeah. That’s why he’s renegotiated the contract.”
“That’s not why.”
“Then tell me why.”
“He knows you have less reason to stay now, so he’s given you more.”
“Gee. Sounds to me like he doesn’t want to lose me.”
“Fine.” A flare of annoyance flashed through the calm facade Gordon wore. “What happens when Shelby’s done with you?”
“What?”
“Shelby’s attention doesn’t stay on one thing forever. Sure, he’s stuck with The Might this long, but how much further can it go? He doesn’t want to tour; he’s barely interested in releasing an album. As for the opus…” Gordon’s bitter laugh told what he thought of that. “How long before he gets bored and shuts it all down?”
“Then it’s over.” Lance wasn’t stupid. He’d thought of that. He saw the same signs Gordon did. But Shelby seemed so earnest when he talked about his music that Lance was pretty sure they had years yet to come.
“And what’ll you do then?”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“Why?”
“Because it hasn’t fucking happened. Because I’m doing okay now. I’m doing more than okay. And I don’t see a reason to shit all over what I’ve got now because of something that may happen.”
Gordon’s eyes narrowed.
“Look.” Lance spoke before Gordon had a chance. “I know you think you’re looking out for me, but how about you stop trying to make decisions about my life.”
“Your life.” Gordon’s emphasis on that part of what he’d said had more significance than Lance could fathom at the moment. His boyfriend was struggling. A muscle worked at the back of Gordon’s jaw, and his eyes glittered as any number of thoughts flitted behind them. Then his gaze dropped, and he took a deep breath. “The contract’s pretty much the same as your last,” he said, voice too even. “I’d suggest holding out for a better deal on the writing, but”—he shrugged—“it’s better than you had before.” He got up and started for the door.
Lance stood. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get something to drink,” Gordon answered, not looking back. His voice was too calm, too cool. “You want something?”
“No.”
Without another word, Gordon walked out of Lance’s suite. Lance stared after him, feeling the chill in the air. Something had just gone very wrong, and he wasn’t sure what it was.
Chapter Twenty-One
Present, next morning
By the time they knocked on his door at eleven o’clock to call him to lunch before they got on the bus, Lance was calm. Tired but oddly wired, he packed his stuff, then went down to join the others.
“Hey,” Noble bumped shoulders with him before they sat down.
“Hey,” Lance replied. But he was distracted. Gordon sat at the table, looking fresh and cool, and he didn’t bother to look up to greet Lance.
“What’s up?” Trust Noble to see where Lance’s attention lay.
Unable to help it, Lance glared at Gordon, then blanked his face to turn it to Noble. “Nothing.”
Noble’s eyes narrowed, but Lance didn’t give him a chance to say more. He turned to Danny to ask about the party last night.
That was how lunch went. Lance talked to everyone but Gordon, and Gordon talked to everyone but Lance. They sat two seats from each other, but there might have been a stretch of tundra there instead. Gordon spent a lot of time messing with his smartphone. Danny and Rabin did most of the talking, seemingly oblivious to Lance’s drama. Noble was aware, but he kept his tongue about it. After they ate, they split up to pack their things and board the bus.
When Lance came down to the lobby with his bag, he saw Gordon through the hotel’s glass front doors, talking to the bus driver, Ted, and jingling a set of keys. An SUV rental sat at the curb behind them. “Son of a…” Lance muttered under his breath. Quickly he caught a roadie’s arm and asked him to take his bag to the bus. Once rid of it, Lance stalked straight to Gordon.
Gordon saw him coming with a cool glance but showed no other sign.
“Can I talk to you?” Lance asked when he reached Gordon’s side.
He thought Gordon might say no, but after a moment’s hesitation, Gordon nodded and excused himself from Ted. Once Ted was walking away, Gordon turned to face Lance. Dressed simply in a green polo and crisp khakis, he looked like a rich businessman on the way to the country club rather than the manager of a rock-and-roll band. “Talk.”
“You’re not riding with us?”
“No. I’m going to drive ahead and see about another gig.”
He looked good, damn him. Freshly fucked and showered. Lance wondered if his own looks had improved because of last night. He sure enough felt like shit, and he wasn’t into Gordon’s games. “Running away?”
Gordon’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Bullshit.”
“Look, do you have something to say, or may I leave?”
He hated Gordon’s uncaring tone. Hated the mildly irritated look on his face. “You’re wrong about me.”
That caught Gordon off guard. Clearly trying to keep his cool, he turned his head to stare through the glass doors.
“You’re wrong about us.”
He startled back to face Lance. “It’s us now?” Then he shook his head. “No. We’re not having this conversation now.”
“Then when? Because we need to have it.”
“No. We don’t.”
“Yeah.” He grabbed Gordon’s wrist. “We do.”
Immediately, Gordon snatched his arm away and stepped back. “No. We don’t.” He unhooked his sunglasses from where they hung at the collar of his shirt and put them on. “You need to go. The bus is leaving soon.” He turned and hurried around to the other side of the car.
Lance stayed where he was, feeling impotent, frustrated, as Gordon kept his gaze averted. It was never good to have that gnawing pit in his gut when Gordon was walking away from him. He should go and make Gordon talk to him. Instead, he watched as Gordon got in the car and drove off without another glance.
Fuming over an aching heart, Lance headed for the bus. He’d fucked things up again because he couldn’t find the right words. What Gordon had said felt final, but it couldn’t be. He kept his head down and put his sunglasses on, unwilling to talk to anyone. He boarded the bus, glad to see that Danny and Rabin had already settled in the back cabin with a guitar and a portable keyboard. He wouldn’
t have to worry about putting on a face for them. The three other passengers were up front playing cards.
Noble was a different story. He abandoned his seat by the kitchenette counter as soon as Lance committed to a seat. “What happened?” Noble asked, dropping down across the small table from him.
Lance considered ignoring him but knew it wouldn’t work. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” Noble leaned on the small table between their seats. “You got laid.”
“What?”
“You know I can always tell.” He kept his voice low. When he was satisfied that everyone was out of earshot, “It was Gordon, wasn’t it?”
Lance didn’t want to talk about it. But when he glanced around to make sure there still wasn’t anyone paying them any mind, he sighed and nodded. “Yes.”
“Tell.”
He folded his hands on the table and stared at them. “Not sure what to tell. He came by last night, pissed at me.”
“Pissed?”
At a halting pace—because he was trying to figure it out himself—Lance described Gordon’s demeanor the previous night. It had to mean something. It couldn’t have just been sex. Gordon wouldn’t have been so mad if it didn’t mean anything.
When he was done, Noble stared at the many rings on his fingers, although it didn’t look like he was really seeing them. “That’s fucked-up.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s wrong about the trust thing. You’re the most trustworthy guy I know.”
Lance stared out the window. “He’s going off what I did.”
“Okay, yeah, I get that. But it’s not like you do that all the time.”
“Just when it counts.”
Noble sighed. “That was a weird time. It’s different now.”
“Apparently not to him.”
“That’s him being an asshole. A stubborn one. But, hey. He came to you. That’s gotta mean something.”
“Does it?”
“Sure. Why not?” Noble patted his arm. “What are you going to do?”
“Haven’t decided yet.”
“Want me to talk to him?”
“God, no.”
“Might help.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Lance met Noble’s gaze. “Stay out of it.”
“Okay. Okay.” Noble sat back in his seat, grinning. “But if you want I should rough him up,” he continued in a really bad impersonation of a mobster, “you just let me know.”
