Indigo Knights: The Boxed Set

by Jet Mykles

  * * * *

  Doug, Gordon’s assistant, had called a band meeting on the bus and told them that Gordon wasn’t coming back for a while.

  “Gretchen’s got him tied up with some meetings for the Heaven Sent tour.” Doug held up his hands to calm objections that hadn’t yet come. “Don’t worry. It’s all about both bands, but with their new album and us getting more popular, there’s more to do. So Gretchen’s called him back to Chicago.”

  Doug kept on talking, but Lance only listened with one ear. He exchanged glances with Noble and grimaced. Noble sighed and nodded.

  Lance dug out his phone and sent a one-word text: Coward.

  It took three hours. Then a text came back: Fuck you.

  Lance had to laugh. Three hours to come up with that? With an evil grin, he texted back: hard to fuck you when you’re in Chicago.

  After a few hours, he realized Gordon wasn’t writing back.

  I don’t trust you. Gordon’s words from the previous night spun through his thoughts. He could understand that, after what he’d done. There were people in this world who simply couldn’t bring themselves to trust again once their faith had been broken. But Gordon had come to him. That fact kept him thinking, kept him from losing all hope. Gordon liked him. Understood him.

  The trick was getting Gordon to trust him again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Past, early December

  Something changed after Lance signed the new contract. Gordon didn’t say anything about it, but that was kind of the problem—he didn’t say much at all. He found a reason to be out every night, leaving before Lance was free of rehearsal and returning much too late to come to the guesthouse. Lance wasn’t spending time at Fletcher’s, because Shelby caught one of his creative streaks and kept Lance, Noble, and Howie—their new guitarist—at the house. When Lance called Gordon, the discussions were always short because Gordon was on his way to something. All of a sudden, he’d gained a lot more friends and associates.

  Lance finally saw Gordon when he showed up on Saturday night. He was in the main room of the guesthouse when Shelby let them out of rehearsal.

  “Hi.” Lance saw him and went to give him a kiss.

  “Hi.” Gordon kissed him back, but quickly. His attention switched immediately to Shelby. “May I talk to you?”

  Lance looked from Gordon to Shelby and back again. He didn’t think Shelby knew what Gordon wanted to talk about. Shelby just nodded and led the way back into the studio.

  Noble and Howie looked at Lance.

  “What was that all about?”

  Lance watched the closed door, a sinking feeling in his gut. “I don’t know.”

  Twenty minutes later, they came out of the room, Shelby leading the way. Neither of them looked happy. Shelby glanced at the members of his band, then back at Gordon, to whom he nodded. Then Shelby left. Gordon stood with his hands in the pockets of his wool slacks, watching Shelby go.

  “What’s going on?” Lance asked.

  Gordon glanced at the guys behind Lance, then finally met his gaze. Too calm. Something was going on. “We should talk privately first.”

  That did not sound good. Lance followed as Gordon headed back into the studio. The studio, not upstairs to Lance’s suite.

  “Okay,” Lance said, closing the door behind him. “What’s going on?”

  Gordon turned to face him from the middle of the room. He almost smiled. “I quit.”

  “What?”

  Gordon’s hands were in his pockets again. “I quit. Shelby and I both agree that he doesn’t need me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. All I’ve been doing for him for months is running the club, and that’s not what I signed on for.” The smile finally bloomed, and it wasn’t a particularly nice one. “And he wants you to run Fletcher’s now.”

  Lance shook his head, miffed at Gordon’s snide attitude. “He just wanted me to help you, not take over.”

  “But you could. And you should. He trusts you more than he does me.”

  Scowling, Lance stepped up to Gordon. “What is this about?”

  Gordon shrugged casually. “I quit.”

  “Why?”

  “I just told you.”

  “What’s the real reason?”

  “Why can’t that be the real reason?”

  Lance glared into Gordon’s eyes, trying to gouge the truth out of those brown-green depths. “So you’re leaving?”

  “I’m leaving the club. And Shelby. I’m staying in New York. For now.”

  Lance closed the short distance between them, sliding his hands up Gordon’s arms. “You’re not leaving me?”

  This time the smile warmed Gordon’s eyes. “No.”

  “Okay.” Lance let his relief show as he leaned in for a kiss. “Okay.” He was almost able to breathe again. “What are you going to do?”

  “First, I’ve got to find a new apartment. Shelby’s given me to the end of the month. Then”—another shrug—“I’ve got some offers.”

  “Offers?”

  “In all the time I was pimping you, you didn’t think I had an ear out for myself?”

  “I wish you didn’t think you had to.”

  Gordon drew one hand out of his pockets to wind his arm around Lance’s waist. “Well, I do. I can’t take Shelby’s crap anymore.”

  “Okay.” Lance took another kiss to make himself feel better, to feel Gordon’s presence. “Stay with me tonight?”

  More kissing, but Gordon drew back. “No. I’ve got stuff to do.”

  Why did Lance feel like a wedge was working its way between them? Gordon was right there, pressed against him. The kisses were warm. Still… “Tonight?”

  With a small smile, Gordon kissed him one more time. “No. Now that I’ve talked to Shelby, I want to set some things in motion.” He reached up to stroke Lance’s jaw. “Tomorrow? Come to my place?”

  “Okay.”

  He drew Gordon into a kiss he hoped would change his boyfriend’s mind, but after a few moments, Gordon stepped back out of arm’s reach.

  They left the studio, Gordon in the lead. He lingered about ten minutes to tell Noble and Howie what he’d done, and then he left.

  Noble looked to Lance, showing the shell shock that Lance felt. “What the fuck?”

  Lance shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “I didn’t know he was so unhappy,” Howie mused, watching the door.

  “He and Shelby have different ideas,” Lance said.

  “Guess so. Who’s going to plan things now?”

  Lance tamped down his irritation, aware he was antsy. “Shelby’ll take care of it.”

  “Yeah.” Noble’s tone was dry. “It’ll be just like before.”

  “Aren’t you guys dating?” Howie asked. He knew a little about their relationship but was too new and, frankly, too spacey to have caught many details.

  “Yes. It’s not like he’s leaving town or anything.”

  “Right.” Noble was watching him.

  “What? Everything’s fine. Gordon just needs to move on.” He hoped by putting more conviction in his tone, he’d start to feel it. “It’s not like Shelby had him doing much.”

  “Right.”

  “Shut up.” Lance put his back to them and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

  He knew Noble would follow him, so he wasn’t surprised to hear the voice behind him once he passed into the suite. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “Did he say why he was leaving?”

  “He’s not leaving.” Lance was jumpy and didn’t like it, but he couldn’t stop himself. And he couldn’t meet Noble’s eyes. “And he told you.”

  “He say anything about the two of you?”

  “He said he’s not leaving me.”

  “He said that.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Then I guess it’s not really a big deal, then.”

  “No. It’s
not.”

  “Cool.” But Noble didn’t sound convinced.

  * * * *

  Over the next two months, Lance could feel Gordon drawing away even more than before. Their time together was less and less. Shelby didn’t give Lance any leisure to spend at Fletcher’s, and Gordon refused to come back to the estate. Once Gordon moved into an apartment in the Village, it got much worse. While Shelby ran Lance into the ground with writing and rewriting new material, Gordon was going to parties and meeting new people. On their increasingly infrequent phone calls, he filled Lance’s head with names Lance couldn’t remember and made more excuses to be somewhere else. Lance got to see his new apartment once, but only briefly, as they were on their way out to a club. That night they went their separate ways because Gordon was leaving town for a few days, early the next morning.

  “I miss you,” Lance murmured, lips brushing Gordon’s as they stood just inside the alley beside the club.

  “I miss you too.” Gordon watched his hand as he brushed strands of hair from Lance’s face.

  “Come stay with me.”

  “I’m not going there ever again.” Gordon raised an eyebrow. “Tell Shelby you need a day off.”

  “I…” Lance closed his eyes and shook his head. “He’s really on a roll.”

  “Mmm.”

  He opened his eyes but couldn’t gauge Gordon’s expression, since the other man had moved in for another kiss.

  Tongues twined. Gordon moaned a little. Then he drew back, stepping away. “I guess we’ll have to figure something out when I get back.”

  Except that Gordon’s trip got extended from a few days to a week, and he neglected to call Lance every night. Wasn’t that what a boyfriend was supposed to do? Didn’t he want to talk to Lance? Lance needed to see to him, touch him, but the time was never right. Worse, it started to take a few messages from Lance to get Gordon to even call back. Then when he did, he made lame excuses about being busy while rushing to get off the phone. It was maddening. The less Lance saw of Gordon, the more Shelby kept them isolated, the more pissed Lance got.

  It wasn’t a good excuse for what he did that night in early February, but it was his only excuse.

  He’d slept with Shaun before. He remembered the big smile, soft brown hair, and tight ass. Noble was distracted that night with his own pursuits, and Shaun had approached Lance. Shaun was cute; he was attentive; he was there—a few things Gordon was not. Lance liked to remember that he was drunk, to use that as another excuse, but he really hadn’t had that much to drink. If he had, he wouldn’t have remembered the sinking feeling he’d ignored while fucking Shaun or the waves of guilt that had buried him afterward.

  He wasn’t drunk enough to be hungover when Gordon found them just a few hours after they’d come upstairs from Fletcher’s.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” His deep voice had cut through the hazy sleep that had taken Lance.

  Shaun shot up, confused. Lance didn’t, but he opened his eyes to watch Gordon’s silhouette in the bedroom door. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  “Tina called me,” Gordon continued, voice far too even for the situation. “Said she couldn’t believe it. Said I should get down here. Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Uh.” Shaun scrambled next to Lance. “I think I should…go.”

  “Yeah.” Gordon kept his attention on Lance.

  Who slowly drew himself up to sit. They both waited for Shaun to quickly gather his clothes and retreat to the next room.

  “So?”

  Lance dragged his hand through his hair. “So?”

  “Care to explain this?”

  “What? Should I apologize for dragging you away from your party?”

  “Is that it? You’re so pissed I’m at a party without you that you fuck someone else? Has this happened before?”

  “No.”

  “Why now?”

  “You haven’t been around. I have needs.” It sounded awful when it left his mouth, but he felt pretty awful.

  Gordon was apparently dumbfounded. He simply stared, lips parted, for a good two minutes. “You. Have. Needs.”

  “What do you care?”

  “Seriously?”

  “I haven’t seen you for a week. You never call me anymore.”

  Gordon’s mouth clicked shut, and his eyes narrowed. “So you pick up some boy toy instead of talking to me?”

  “When am I supposed to talk to you? You’re never around.”

  “You ever think of coming to me?”

  “You know I can’t get away.”

  “Oh, right. Because Shelby’s way more important than me.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “And Shelby’s opus is so time sensitive.”

  Lance felt awful. For what he’d done, for how he’d felt to make him do it. For what it did to Gordon. But he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. The lonely hurt was too in-his-face. “Fuck you.”

  “No.” Gordon held up one hand, index finger up to make his point. “Never. Again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Present, July, near end of club tour

  Now this, Lance could get to enjoy. He wasn’t a fun-in-the-sun type of guy, but this fancy, upscale lounge with its balcony overlooking the Atlantic was pretty nice. Besides, there was plenty of shade, both inside as well as under huge, colorful umbrellas that protected small tables of fake bamboo. Or, hell, maybe it was real bamboo. What’d he know? There were attendants to bring him free drinks, and music playing. There were quite a few people around, but most of them were inside, working.

  The Indigo Knights were spending the day with Heaven Sent for a combined photo shoot Gretchen and Gordon had arranged. Lance considered himself lucky that he hadn’t had to deal with makeup yet. He was to take photos with Luc Sloane, who’d yet to arrive. Last he’d seen, Darien and Noble were driving the photographer and her staff crazy because they couldn’t stop giggling during their shoot.

  When someone sat down next to him, Lance discovered that the giggling must have stopped, because it was Darien. He still wore makeup that made his brown eyes even bigger than they normally looked. His straight gold hair shone as the breeze lifted it to swipe some of it across his face. “Hi.” Darien grinned, wiping at the hair.

  “Hey.”

  Darien accepted an attendant’s offer of a mai tai to match Lance’s, then scooted his chair closer to Lance. “Dude, I know it’s rude and all, but fuck it—I gotta ask.”

  Lance’s eyebrows went up in mild concern. The guy had, after all, just come from spending time with Noble.

  “Have you really been celibate for the last year?”

  He had to laugh. Darien’s horror was palpable. “Pretty much.”

  “What’s ‘pretty much’?”

  Lance cocked his head and considered the underside of the rainbow umbrella shading them from the harsh summer sun. “I think it’s been twice in the last year.”

  Darien’s mouth dropped open.

  Because he was amused, Lance raised his right hand. “Just been me and this otherwise.”

  “Why?”

  Lance shrugged, still smiling as he sipped his drink. “There’s only one guy I want.”

  “So go the fuck and get him.”

  “He doesn’t want me.”

  Shock turned instantly to sympathy. Darien glanced toward the sliding doors that led inside. “Okay, not my business, but is it…?”

  “It’s not Noble. Everyone always thinks that, but it’s not.”

  “Nah, you’re right. That doesn’t make sense.” Darien grinned. “Noble’d do you in a heartbeat.”

  They chuckled as the attendant set down Darien’s drink.

  Darien took a sip, then considered Lance again. “So who is it?” When Lance hesitated, he grinned again. “I know it’s not my business. You can say, ‘Fuck off,’ and I will.”

  About to say a less direct version of “fuck off,” Lance stopped himself. Maybe it was the mellow atmosp
here; maybe it was those understanding brown eyes; maybe it was the three mai tais he’d already had. Fuck it. “It’s Gordon.”

  Darien’s eyebrows flew up, and he whistled. “Okay, yeah.” Then he frowned. “But, wait, aren’t you guys friends?”

  “We were a lot more than friends once.”

  “What happened?”

  “I fucked it up.”

  “How?”

  “Long story.”

  Darien drew his chair closer to the table so he could prop his elbow on it and rest his temple on his palm. “Luc won’t be here for another two hours. We got time.”

  Lance glanced inside.

  “I’m a terrific listener.”

  He laughed. “It’s a boring story.”

  “So bore me. C’mon, maybe I can help.”

  “Help what?”

  “Get you two back together.”

  Lance plucked the pineapple from the rim of his glass and brought it to his lips. “Oh no, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

  “Dude, you’ve been celibate for a year for him. He knows that?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s got to be impressed. I would be.”

  Lance sucked on the sweet fruit. “He was one of the two.”

  “Wait.” Darien leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You guys’ve fucked?”

  “’Bout a month ago.”

  “So…” Darien shook his head with a frown. “…what?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t get it either.”

  “Was it bad?”

  “No way. It was awesome. For him too.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Lance sat back in his seat, cradling his mostly empty glass on his lap, letting the condensation cool his fingers. “Yeah, pretty sure.”

  “And he just bailed on you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Whose idea was it?”

  Lance had only discussed this before with Noble, who was too close to everything that happened. Talking to Darien, for whom all of this was new, brought up a new set of feelings in Lance. Chief among them felt like resentment. “His.”

  “Wait. It was his idea to fuck, and then he bailed on you?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s fucked-up.” Darien’s heated tone matched the catch in Lance’s chest. “He say why?”