A Matter of When

by Eden Winters

  He leaned back, resting against Sebastian. With helmets on, passing motorists couldn’t tell they were both male. And besides, this was Colorado. Maybe not as open-minded as California, but damned close.

  The ride wiped away Henri’s fears for tomorrow. He relaxed in the moment, being king of the world, with his Harley, his Sebastian, and millions of miles of open road.

  He’d worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

  Twelve

  One, two, three, four, five. Yep, jeans accounted for. Shirts packed. Henri lifted a prescription bottle from the dresser—still half full. He hadn’t taken a single emergency pill since Sebastian had challenged him to address the issues and not merely mask the symptoms.

  Now to do a quick e-mail check before shutting down his computer.

  Tessa had sent him a link to a YouTube video of her playing her bowls. The caption read: “For H.” When he got back to LA he owed her dinner, flowers, or something. Or maybe he’d cough up those concert tickets. If he ever found another band to have a concert with. He didn’t even notice his own smile at her closed-eyed playing until his lips turned down as he searched through his other e-mails.

  Nothing from his sister. Whatever happened to the sweet little girl who’d wanted to be a doctor and save people? Had Margo succeeded in corrupting her? He Googled “Jenni Lafontaine.” Nothing. Ahh…. Too simple, and surely Mom would capitalize on her famous son’s name.

  Henri clicked a link for “Genevieve Lafontaine,” a listing offering an icon resembling Jenni. Holy crap! A barely dressed young woman appeared onscreen in a provocative pose. Take away the makeup and teased-up hair, which added ten years, and the model would be his kid sister.

  Henri closed the browser. No, no, no, no, no. As much as he enjoyed making music, doing what he wanted to do, why did he have to pay so heavy a price? Most of his friends had sold him out—except for the one his mother ditched for not being pretty enough. His family had their hands out. Why couldn’t life be simple, like it used to be? Oh, yeah, his life had stopped being simple the day he’d invaded America’s living rooms via a talent show. Before then the highlight of his weekend had been hanging out in the garage with his friends, trying to be a band. Sometimes his lyrics had sucked, other times they hadn’t, but he’d thrown himself into the creation. Like Seb did his singing.

  He powered down and stashed his laptop in its case. Pining over days long gone wouldn’t help anybody. He shoved his laptop case into its bag. Power cord? Check. Phone charger? Check? Meds? Check. Everything that mattered.

  Except for Seb.

  It being Monday, Henri had the house to himself for packing. Sebastian didn’t have to watch him lugging his things out to the trailer.

  Afterward, he sat alone in the music room, the grandfather clock ticking off the minutes. A car rumbled up the driveway, Seb home at last. No way to leave without saying good-bye.

  “I didn’t know you’d still be here.” Was that hope in Seb’s eyes?

  “What? You’d let me leave without a good-bye kiss?”

  Seb’s bittersweet smile did nothing to dispel the gloom. “I’d prefer it be hello.”

  Henri crossed the floor and wrapped his arms around the man who’d come to mean something to him over the past few weeks. “I don’t want to go.”

  Seb’s eyes appeared a bit moist. “I don’t want you to go.”

  No. Seb couldn’t possibly be as sad about their parting as Henri. An idea hit. Not a viable one, but better than nothing. “Come with me.”

  “Stay.”

  They shared a sigh. Both had careers to return to. “I’ll call you.”

  “I bet you say that to all the boys.” Sebastian’s attempt at a smile fell short of sincere.

  “No. You’re the first.” Their lips met. Henri swallowed hard to dislodge the tight ball of worry in his throat. Was this truly good-bye, or “bye for now”?

  When they parted, Sebastian released him in more ways than one. “I know how it is. If you get back to LA and those pretty boys, and don’t think of me again, I’ll understand.” He stared at the floor.

  Henri wanted to deny it, but Seb wouldn’t believe him. Hell, the Henri from a month ago wouldn’t have either. “You might understand, but I wouldn’t. I’ve done some pretty dumbass things in my life, but forgetting you would be downright stupid. Besides….” Henri reached down to the settee to retrieve Seb’s helmet. “I’m leaving this with you so we can ride the next time I visit.”

  Seb paled. “No! You can’t leave it here. Take it with you.” His moment of panic faded. “I mean, what if it’s me who visits you? Keep it with the bike and we’ll always have it if we need it.” Sebastian made a poor liar, but who was Henri to question? While they’d certainly enjoyed each other, they’d made no declarations or promises. And maybe Sebastian had a trail of admirers waiting. A knife twisted in Henri’s gut, one he’d never admit to.

  “Okay,” he finally said. So this was it, then. He gave Seb one final kiss before heading out the door. Sebastian stood on the front porch, growing smaller and smaller in Henri’s rearview mirror, and didn’t stop waving until he faded from sight.

  Before driving five miles Henri stopped at a scenic overlook and rummaged through his saddle bag for his Turtle Fur. One couldn’t be too careful when making a living with their voice. The fleecy throat warmer smelled of Sebastian.

  Trees, as far as the eye could see, blue sky, puffy clouds. The perfect day to ride… back to LA. No fresh air, no majestic Rockies.

  No Sebastian Unger.

  No way. No fucking way could he leave. Not now. Not with a dark cloud hanging over him and the best man he’d found in a long, long time wanting him there.

  Henri pulled out his cell phone and called his manager. “Lucas? Seb and I are busy working on the new songs. I’m gonna need some more time.” He turned the bike around.

  “Oh God, oh God!” Henri gripped Sebastian’s shoulders for leverage and rose up on his knees, only to come down and rise up again. The bedsprings squealed. Sweat dripped down Henri’s face. He couldn’t stop. Each downward thrust brought him closer and closer to where he wanted to be.

  “I’m going to come!” Sebastian warned, gripping Henri’s hips.

  “I’ll meet you there.” Henri stroked his cock, settling down on Sebastian’s thick shaft. Quivering began deep inside, growing, growing, waves crashing down.

  His “Ahhh….” met and matched Sebastian’s “Ohhhh….” Henri collapsed onto his lover’s chest. What a safe place to rest. A breeze from the open window whispered over his sweat-slicked skin while he caught his breath. If only he could stay here forever.

  “Henri?” broke through his post-sex haze.

  He summoned up enough energy to answer, “Yes?”

  Sebastian’s tenor was a gentle purr in his ear. “Not that I’m suggesting anything, but were you planning to leave today?”

  Leave? Oh, yeah. Right. Going back to a home that wasn’t really home. “Yes. But not right now. I’m too comfy.” Henri wriggled to get more comfortable, dragging his hair out of the way.

  “How far will you make it this time?” Seb ran his hands up Henri’s sides, tracing the ink patterns over his skin.

  Good question. “How far did I make it yesterday?”

  “Ten miles.”

  Hmmm… he’d made it eight the day before. “Then today I’ll try for twelve.” At this rate Henri would be back in LA in about five or six years.

  “Since you’re coming back anyway, can I ride with you? I need to pick up a few things at the store.”

  Sounded like a plan.

  “Henri? July’s nearly half over. You need to come back. I keep postponing auditions. I can’t put people off forever. Sooner or later Sebastian’s gotta get back to work too.” Lucas didn’t sound happy.

  Unease twisted Henri’s insides. “How much is he charging for these few extra weeks?” And would payment put a decided kink in the relationship or whatever they’d developed?

  “He wouldn�
��t take a dime.”

  The tension in Henri’s chest loosened. Seb hadn’t charged for the additional time; maybe he’d enjoyed each minute as much as Henri. But the man needed the money. “Pay him anyway.”

  “Whatever you say. You’re the boss. Now, when’re you coming back?”

  From his perch on the music room settee Henri watched Sebastian’s turbo-charged dusting, which meant one thing: Henri couldn’t put off leaving any longer, and Sebastian understood. Obligations waited for them both. “I’m leaving today, will stop for the night, and be back Wednesday.”

  Like a coward he waited until Sebastian drove into town for class, and then he left a single, perfect gladiola on the bedside table.

  On the seat of his bike he found a rose.

  Thirteen

  “Henri, you haven’t always been on the best of terms, but Giles Forrester is one of the best drummers in the business.” Lucas placed one hand on each of Henri’s shoulders and stooped, putting them eye to eye and effectively blocking Henri’s view of Tall, Dark, and Unreliable. Henri blinked hard to remove the image of Seb bending down for a kiss. An unseen force pressed against his heart. Seb.

  Now was not the time. He had work to do. “And why exactly did my mother fire him?”

  “Creative differences.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  “Give the guy a chance, will ya?”

  “Let him play” came out more growly than intended. Oh well. At one time Henri would have thrown up his hands and said, “Fine!” Not anymore. Time to make a stand.

  He peered over Lucas’s broad shoulder. “From the top—‘Ticket to Nowhere.’” Henri grasped his manager’s arm and turned him to watch. This train wreck needed witnesses. And if Giles so much as sniffed once or made a single homophobic or racist comment….

  Giles kept the beat, rat-a-tatting on the snare drum, adding a bit of cymbal for effect—with wooden, well-practiced precision. The guy could bang those drums in his sleep, or half wasted. He picked up the tempo, launching into the drum solo from their first hit song. With the other musicians backing him up, Giles had been adequate. Now all Henri heard was the Bang! Bang! Bang! of his kid sister pounding on pot lids with a spoon back in her younger days. Hell, Jenni sounded better than this.

  Wait? Pot lids? A smile spread across Henri’s face. Giles smiled back, probably believing he’d clinched the deal. No way in hell. From now on, Henri only stood with his back toward people who didn’t carry knives.

  “Giles, what happened with you and the band? And don’t bullshit me.”

  Giles glanced to Lucas and back. Margo had trained him well in who to answer to, with another band, a lifetime ago. Here and now, Henri called the shots. After several long moments Giles answered, “I didn’t get along with the new singer.”

  Henri snorted. “Hell, you didn’t get along with me. That’s no reason.”

  The knuckles of Giles’s fist turned white. Yeah, the man had a temper, and had taken it out on his bandmates far too often. Henri aimed to build a team, a family, as much as a band. There’d be no room for spoiled brats who couldn’t compromise. Weeks on a tour with hateful bigots took a toll on a man’s nerves.

  Henri swaggered toward the drum kit, extending the half-full plastic cup in his hand. “Play this.”

  Giles glanced at the cup and back to Henri’s face, mouth slack with disbelief. “What?”

  A sudden swelling of pride in Henri’s chest assured him he’d done the right thing. “You heard me. Play this cup.”

  Now Giles hazarded a quick “he’s still crazy, right?” inquisitive gaze at Lucas. Lucas better have Henri’s back, or it wouldn’t merely be a worthless piece of would-be drummer taking a hike today.

  Lucas nodded. “You heard the man. If he wants you to play a cup, play the damn cup.”

  Giles raised a drumstick. It hovered a moment, then came crashing down. The plastic fell to the floor in pieces, showering Henri and the drummer with water. Henri didn’t even flinch. Droplets clung to his lashes, showing a prism of drummers. “That will be all.” Henri carefully enunciated every syllable. Again Giles eyed the manager. Wrong move. “I’m the one with the money,” Henri reminded him. “Whatcha looking at him for?”

  Lucas shrugged. Good. He still had a job. “We thank you for your time, but it’s quite obvious Henri doesn’t think you’ll be a good fit for his band.”

  Henri didn’t bother to watch the asshole leave, nor did the door slam evoke a flinch. Only when they were alone did his manager say, “I hope you know what you’re doing. Where can you find a drummer on short notice?”

  “Easy.” A confidence unlike anything Henri ever felt settled over him. “I don’t want a drummer. What we need is a percussionist.” He nodded toward the shattered cup on the floor. Let the man work the puzzle out.

  “A garage?” Lucas’s brows reached for his receding hairline.

  “Trust me.” Actually, Henri agreed the weathered garage didn’t appear to hide the gold they sought. His gut told him otherwise. Either way, he’d get a visit in with someone he’d come to accept as a friend.

  A side door opened and out stepped a little girl in blue jeans, pigtails, and a cutoff T.

  “Hey, is Te—” The words died on Henri’s tongue.

  “Hey, Henri! Is this your friend?” The woman he’d seen banging on a box of Chinese takeout with chopsticks bounced up and down on the balls of her bare feet. “I can’t tell you how excited I am. When I offered you a private concert, I had no idea you’d take me up on it. Come on in.”

  Tessa stepped aside, waving a hand toward the inside of the building. The scent of some kind of spicy incense greeted them at the entrance. At odds with the peeling exterior, inside everything seemed to have a place. A trio of weathered bucket seats that had likely come out of sports cars served as seating. “Can I get you something to drink?” Tessa crossed to a full-sized refrigerator and flung open the door to reveal bottled water, diet soda, and beer.

  “Nothing for me.” Lucas eyed one of the seats skeptically before grunting his way down the worn leather. He’d set his lips into a thin line. Henri couldn’t wait to wipe the disbelief off his face.

  “Water, please.” Henri twisted the cap off the bottle Tessa handed him and took a seat next to Lucas. Tessa appeared a different person entirely in street clothes—smaller, less authoritative. Or maybe her chewing her bottom lip and rocking on her heels added to the illusion of youth. Then again, Henri hadn’t explained anything in advance, not wanting to put her on edge. She might blow Lucas away and still not agree to give up her meditation-therapy gig for the exciting world of rock and roll.

  “I told my friend here about your playing, and we’d like to hear you.” Henri flapped his empty hand at the sheet-covered objects at the other end of the garage. “Go on. Whatever you want to play.” He relaxed as much as he could without knocking his seat over.

  Tessa turned and folded back a sheet, revealing a plywood table filled with bronze-colored bowls. “Anything?”

  “Whatever your heart desires.” He pulled out his phone and started recording.

  She ducked beneath the plywood and emerged on the other side to fumble with the bowls and a bunch of sticklike objects with balls on the ends. Apparently satisfied, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and gently rolled a mallet along the rim of the largest bowl. With her other hand she countered with the smallest. Pure, clear notes rang out. Cold chills danced up Henri’s arms. A sharp intake of breath to his left voiced Lucas’s reaction. And he ain’t heard nothing yet.

  Faster and faster she shifted from one bowl to the next. She never beat, she never pounded; she encouraged the bowls to sing. And sing they did, a melody of heartbreaking beauty.

  Seb would love this! But Seb was gone, who knew where, and who knew when they’d see each other again? I’m doing this for you, Seb. You might not ever know, you might not care, but I aim to create something awesome, because you showed me how.

  The tune ended on
a long note, growing ever fainter until the bowls quieted. Lucas rose to his feet, smacking his hands together. “Amazing!” He shot Henri a cutting glare that said better than words, But what has this got to do with your band?

  Henri couldn’t fight a grin. “Tessa?”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you mind playing the drums for us?” He operated on pure faith.

  Another sheet wound up on the floor to reveal a drum kit unlike any Henri had seen before. There were the usual snares and a bass, but behind a set of Pearls another group of objects sat. One might have started life as a trash can lid—Henri couldn’t be sure.

  “Anything?” Tessa traded her mallets for a set of more familiar drumsticks and twirled them in her fingers.

  “Anything.”

  “Okay. Remember, you asked for it.” She answered his grin with one of her own, appearing so much like an eager teenager.

  “How old is she?” Lucas side-whispered.

  “Twenty-eight. I’ll admit she seems a little offbeat, but trust me.”

  Tessa tapped softly on the snare drum, finding her rhythm. Once more she closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

  “Does she always play with her eyes closed?” Lucas probably didn’t even notice that he was patting his leg in time with Tessa’s tempo.

  “She has every time I’ve seen her play in person.”

  “And how many times is that?”

  “Counting this one? Twice.”

  Good thing no flies buzzed around the garage. Lucas might have caught one or two with his wide-open mouth. Whatever he planned to say never came out. Tessa launched in a doom-da-doom-doom, rendering thoughts of anything but her music futile. Again, she never banged, never pounded. Instead, she brought the instrument to life in a way Giles never had. Holy shit was she ever good. What she lacked in experience she more than made up with style. Henri’s mouth joined Lucas’s in hanging open. Just when he thought the impromptu concert couldn’t get any better, she spun around, tapping on the garbage can lid in a sweet calypso cadence. That part would fit right into a song Henri’d been working on.