Beat Of His Own Drums (Band Of Brothers Book 2)

by Ann Lister

  He tossed the resumes onto the cocktail table and was about to call it a day when his brother walked into the club. “Any luck so far?” Ben questioned.

  “So far?” Simon groaned. “Saying it like that implies I'm still working at it, but I'm fucking done. Six hours of my life I can't get back.”

  Ben reached for the applications scattered on the table top. “All these capable men and you couldn't find one you could work with–even for the short term?”

  Simon shrugged. “Not in that pile,” he answered his brother. “I'll have management run another ad next week, but for right now, I'm done. I've got to get something to eat before I pass out from hunger.”

  He started to leave the club but Ben stopped him by the forearm. “I've got one more for you,” he said. He removed a slip of folded paper from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it over to Simon.

  “What the fuck is this?” Simon asked.

  “I guess you could call it a last minute submission,” Ben grinned lazily.

  “Come on, Ben. I just told you I was done for the day.”

  “One more,” Ben said. “This guy comes highly recommended, and he's already vetted.”

  “Yeah? If he's so fucking wonderful, then why is he looking for a job?”

  Ben chuckled and shook his head. “Perhaps that should be your opening question to him.”

  “Is he here now?” Simon asked.

  “Right out in the hall,” Ben replied as he started heading towards the side door. “I'll send him in to see you.”

  Simon unfolded the paper and scanned the information. The man went by the name of D. Land. What the fuck was that about? He was nearly the same age as Simon and had basically been in the music business for as many years. He'd started out in Los Angeles, working for small bands who all had familiar names to Simon, then moved on to a handful of well-known bands. At one point, he'd even filled in as the drum tech for Cooper Rand from Ivory Tower while Cooper's full-time tech recovered from surgery. How was it they seemed to travel on and off in the same circles, but he'd never heard of a drum tech that went by the name of D. Land?

  Behind him, Simon heard the door to the club open, then close, and the heavy booted footfalls that followed. He wasn't in the mood for another dead end interview and had already decided to simply blow off the dude and send him on his way. But before he did that, he had just one question.

  “What the fuck is D short for?” Simon blurted when the footsteps stopped a few feet from his backside. “If it's Disney, then you'd be Mr. Disney Land.” Simon was snorting to himself as he turned around to face the next applicant and slowly lifted his gaze. “Oh, fuckkkk.”

  “You might remember me as Dakota.”

  The blood drained from Simon's face. He felt lightheaded with happiness and crippled with insecurity by the presence of the man standing in front of him. His head swam with a tornado of random, crazy thoughts and painfully vivid memories; each and every single one threatened to drown him.

  “What are you doing here?” Simon finally managed to ask in a breathy tone. “And why didn't my brother tell me this was you on the paper?” Simon's eyes darted to the door at the side of the room as if he were looking for help–or an escape.

  “Because I asked him not to,” Dakota said.

  “But why would you do that?” Simon questioned, then he ran the fingers of one hand through his tangled hair as if he was trying to make himself more presentable.

  Dakota's shoulders rounded a bit which softened his squared stance. “I thought I might have a better chance of actually talking to you if you didn't know it was me ahead of time.”

  “If you wanted to talk, you could have called me,” Simon stated.

  “And if I had called, would you have talked to me–or hung up?” Dakota countered. “If I had put my real name on that piece of paper, would you have met with me or tossed that application into the trash?”

  Simon didn't bother to answer those questions because he was fairly certain Dakota already knew the answers to both. It would have been far easier for him to dismiss Dakota over the phone or after seeing his name printed on a job application. Stopping it that way would have prevented this exact type of encounter from happening. The man who owned his heart was standing in front of him after too many years to count, and he still felt ripped open and raw because of it.

  Fuck my life.

  Simon closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, which was meant to calm his racing heart, but the action somehow only served to make him feel more vulnerable. Beneath his closed lids, he could feel the sting of tears biting at his eyes. If he stood here with Dakota for another minute, he ran the risk of totally losing his shit. He couldn't allow that to happen. No fucking way.

  “I've got some stuff I need to do,” Simon mumbled. He set Dakota's resume on top of the table and started to leave.

  “So, that's it? You're not willing to stick around, even for five minutes, to talk to an old friend?”

  “Friends? Is that what you think we are?” Simon spun around to face Dakota as he asked the question. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  “Simon, please . . .”

  “What? What the fuck do you want?” Simon's voice bellowed around the empty club. “You're obviously not here for a job, which means you're wasting both our time.” He nearly spit out the words with venom dripping off the ends, then started for the door a second time. His hand was gripping the handle when Dakota's deep voice sliced through his anger.

  “Actually, I do need a job.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “And I thought maybe enough time might have passed for us to be able to . . . talk through what happened,” Dakota explained.

  Simon's eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “Now you want to talk about what happened? You mean, when you fucking gave me the finger and walked out of my life without a backwards glance? Is that what you'd like to discuss?”

  “You know why I left, Simon,” Dakota said. “I was very clear about that at the time.”

  “I remember, and I thank you for that,” Simon grumbled almost under his breath. “You did a helluva job not sugarcoating it for me.”

  He could tell Dakota was struggling to keep the anger out of his voice, but Jesus, he was pissed off too–and hurt. Christ, his fucking heart felt like it was getting shredded all over again just by looking at Dakota. And why do you still have to look so fucking good!

  “You weren't ready and I was,” Dakota added. “I'd already waited years for you to be . . . ready. I finally had to concede that if it hadn't happened by that point, it probably wasn't ever going to happen. So, I made the painful decision to move on.”

  “And you did move on,” Simon countered. “We both went on to live happily ever after. End of story.”

  “I'm not sure either of us has really moved on,” Dakota said in a gentle voice. “I mean, I heard you got married, but were you able to find real happiness with her . . . like the kind we had?”

  Simon felt unsteady on his feet. He pulled a chair to him and sat down in it before he fell to the floor. Then he leaned forward at the waist and hung his head between his knees as if he might pass out. After a long moment, he finally found his voice. “I have a kid–a little girl,” he admitted.

  “Yeah? Wow, Simon. You're a dad now? I honestly didn't know.”

  Simon nodded. The lump in his throat was too large to talk around and another long, silent moment passed between them. “We're divorced now, and I never get to see my daughter,” he managed to say. “I'm not even sure how old she is–four or five years maybe, so I'm certainly not going to win any awards for being “father of the year” and that's not for my lack of trying.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that,” Dakota replied. He stepped closer and swung a chair around to sit near Simon.

  Simon's eyes lifted briefly and met Dakota's. He could see the wheels spinning inside his head and saw what looked like pity on Dakota's timeless face. The years seemed to have been so kind and generous
to Dakota, whereas Simon felt as if he'd aged enough for the two of them combined. Then again, he was willing to bet Dakota hadn't abused the substances he had–for as long as he had–until he'd literally fallen face first into rehab–three fucking times.

  Simon felt the chip settling back into place on his shoulder. His life had been so fucking difficult since Dakota had walked out of it, yet he'd somehow found a way to survive. Alone. He was a stronger man for having won the battle against his addictions, but those hard-fought challenges had given him a tough exterior. It was a shell he'd created to protect himself, and he'd been sure to make it thick enough so that he doubted anyone could ever crack through its surface to get anywhere near his heart again.

  Not even you, Dakota.

  “I'm gonna take off,” Simon said quietly as he stood up from the chair. He carefully slid it under a nearby table then stepped around it with caution in case his wobbly legs failed him. “I can't give you the tech job, and I think you know why.”

  Simon walked out of the club and into the late afternoon sun. He was hungry and far too upset to drive right now, so he opted to have dinner at the deli across the street before he even considered getting behind the wheel of his car to go home. He stepped up to the counter and ordered his roast beef sub with provolone cheese, then went into the bathroom to wash up.

  His fucking head was pounding in pain after spending the last hour spinning. The next time he saw Ben, he'd have to be sure to thank him for the little surprise visit he threw at him. Then again, Ben didn't understand the significance Dakota played in his life, so he'd likely not grasp the reason behind his negative reaction to seeing him again. Whatever.

  It was a miracle they'd gone this many years working in the same damn business without their paths crossing, so that was something. He'd often wondered what it might be like if he were to one day bump into Dakota, and now he knew. It had happened, and the world didn't spin off its axis. Life would go on just as it had after Dakota left the first time.

  Simon dried off his hands and stepped back out into the deli just as the girl working the counter had called out his number for pick-up. He paid the girl and then took a seat in a booth near the back of the place and started to eat. Halfway through his sandwich, he saw Dakota enter the deli.

  Mother. Fucker.

  He ignored his ex-lover and continued to eat as if he were unaware the man had entered the place, but it was no surprise when Dakota slid into the bench seat across the table from him. He remained silent and continued to chew his food until he couldn't take it anymore.

  “Are you going to stalk me now?” Simon grit out. “Follow me around until I give you the job? Is that it?”

  Dakota shook his head as he unwrapped his sandwich. “Look, I'm sorry if me dropping in on you at the club today upset you,” Dakota said. “That wasn't my intention. Do I really need a job? Not necessarily, but I'm always looking because I've never enjoyed a job the same way since I worked with you. The connection we had, both professionally and personally . . .” his voice trailed off and Simon wanted to choke on his sandwich. “Something that good doesn't come easily, nor can it be replicated. Once in a lifetime, I guess.”

  Simon reached for the bottle of water he'd purchased with the sub and removed the cap. “You're a good tech with great instincts,” Simon offered. “You'll never be without work opportunities.”

  “That's not what I was saying.”

  “Then, what exactly are you trying to tell me?” Simon asked. “And why now? It's been years, Dakota. What prompted you to seek me out today after all this time?”

  Dakota crumpled up his paper napkin and tossed it onto the worn Formica table top, then after a long and labored silence, he finally spoke. “Not one single day has gone by when I haven't thought about you and missed you and wondered if you were happier without me.”

  “I'm a fucking recovering addict,” Simon blurted. “I've spent more time in rehabs than I have with my own daughter. My addictions broke up my band and pushed away my brother. My drug abuse is also partially to blame for the breakup of my marriage; although, I'd lean more towards me loving dick a little too much as the primary reason I'm divorced. All in all, I guess you could say I hit rock bottom after you left, and I've spent the last few years climbing out of the grave I'd dug for myself. I'm fourteen months clean now; Ben and I are slowly rebuilding what I was intent on tearing apart, and I'm hoping one day soon my ex-wife will allow me to restart visitation again with my daughter. So, would you say I've been happier without you?”

  “Jesusss,” Dakota sighed. “I'm so sorry.”

  Simon rolled his eyes. “I'm not looking for pity,” he said. “Part of recovery is being honest with people, so that's all I'm doing. I wasn't telling you that shit to get a reaction. Just stating the facts of what my life was, and still is, to a large degree. I'll always be in . . . recovery.” Simon took another sip of his water and grinned. “Work in progress, as they say.”

  “Did you ever tell Ben . . . about us?”

  “Nope, that's a conversation that he and I still need to have, but we've had other issues to work through as brothers first,” Simon stated. “I fractured the relationship I had with him, and we didn't speak for a couple of years. I've been working really hard this past year to rebuild his trust. We're getting there, and once we're back on solid ground, I'll tell him about who I really am and what led me to ingest all the booze and drugs.”

  Simon studied the expression on Dakota's face. He had the same strong jawline defined with dark stubble, although his face had filled out a little bit. Gone was the boy Dakota was when they'd first met. He'd been replaced with a confident looking man that Simon still ached to touch. Fucking bastard. How dare you still make me want you.

  “I know what you're thinking,” Simon said.

  “What'd you mean?”

  “You're thinking I'm still in denial about my sexuality and that's why I haven't told my brother.”

  “That's not what I was thinking at all, Simon. Choosing to out yourself is a personal journey, and I'd never pretend I know what path is best for someone else. That's not for me to decide.”

  “Isn't that what you tried to do to me before you walked away?”

  Dakota sat back in his seat and held Simon's heated gaze. “I fucking loved you with everything I had,” he said. “I wanted it all with you, right down to the white picket fence. But you simply couldn't see yourself having the same kind of life or even loving me out in public. As much as I wanted it, I wasn't strong enough to carry that dream around all by myself. I wanted a partner I could have at my side and who wanted the same of me. I've never been a quitter, but you gave up on us long before I walked away, Simon. More importantly, you gave up on yourself.”

  Simon set his elbows on the table and held his head in his hands. “You're right about all of it, especially the part about giving up.”

  “It fucking destroyed me to walk away. You have to know that.”

  He rolled his head in his palm and looked across the table at Dakota. Even after all this time, the man still took his breath away. “Did you ever find that partner to stand beside you?”

  Dakota exhaled slowly while he seemed to consider his answer. “I've had men in my life, one I even lived with for a few years, but . . . it just didn't work out.”

  “Why not?” Simon pushed. “Was he an idiot like I was?”

  Dakota shook his head. “After a while, I realized that it would never work with him or any other guy, because they weren't you.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I compared every man to you,” Dakota said bluntly. “I set unreasonable standards and expectations, which none of them could ever have achieved, and I did it all in an attempt to recreate what you made me feel. It was an impossible feat, and after a while, I simply gave up trying. It turned out, being alone was less painful, so I stayed that way.”

  Simon pressed his fingers into his eyes. Had he heard Dakota correctly? Did the words mean what Simon thou
ght they meant, or was he having a horrible nightmare that he would soon wake up from? “I'm not sure what you want me to say,” Simon said in almost a whispered tone. “What am I supposed to do with this information, Dakota?”

  “Not a thing,” Dakota answered. “It's part of recovery to open up to those you've wronged. That's what I'm doing. You don't have to do or say anything. I just wanted you to listen. That's all.”

  Simon's hands fell away from his face and his eyes locked with Dakota's. “You're in recovery?”

  “I was getting a little too . . . liberal with the Jack,” Dakota explained. “I didn't like what it was doing to me or those unfortunate enough to be around me, so I quit.”

  “Rehab?”

  “No, I did it on my own,” Dakota added. “It wasn't court ordered or anything like that, but I could see myself slipping into a place I didn't want to be. So, I made some changes to my life and joined a group near where I live; I go to meetings once a week to keep myself in check.”

  Simon sat back in his seat. For some reason he felt lighter after hearing Dakota's words, and that's when he realized he was smiling. “You always were so much stronger than me,” Simon commented. “I never could have kicked my demons on my own.”

  “You're a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, Simon.”

  Jesus, it felt good to sit there with Dakota after all those years and simply talk like they used to. Maybe this was the full circle theory, and all the bullshit was now behind them; perhaps the potential of building a friendship lay ahead. Was it possible to be friends with someone you once loved so deeply? Fuck. Still loved. Who are you kidding? Staring into Dakota's warm eyes had Simon's entire body on sensory alert. His face, those inviting lips, and that sexy Adam's apple sliding up and down in his throat–Simon was still so lost in this man. It was like no time had passed at all, and he could feel his cock starting to thicken and stretch the front of his jeans. Have mercy.

  “Can I ask you something personal?” Dakota asked after a long moment.