“He’s not into our music. He’d probably hate it. He’s more into, like, Broadway. Show tunes. Look, this is a bad idea—”
Carl grabbed his phone while Darwish held Dover in place by the arms.
“Dover. Listen to me. You’ve been alone for a long time. Don’t you get tired of being alone?”
“Carl! No, Darwish. I happen to like being alone.”
It was mostly true. He didn’t mind being alone. But something about Landry made him want to venture out of his comfort zone a bit. Which had him unsettled. What could there be to gain by spending time with the guy who loved being center of attention, who was hotter than the sun, and who was considerably younger than him?
What could it hurt?
“I told him you wanted him to come to the show.”
“You didn’t. Carl!”
“I didn’t. But you should invite him.”
Dover took a deep breath and responded.
I have a gig next Saturday and then I’ll be busy with work and fair. I’ll be at the build next weekend.
He didn’t want to seem like a dick, but he didn’t have the bandwidth to add anything else to his plate right now. Everything was on course, and with this being the busiest season for him, he couldn’t afford to get derailed, no matter how much he’d been thinking about that kiss.
Is this gig open to the public? I think I’m ready to broaden my musical horizons.
Dover felt a jolt of emotion go through him. Fear? Lust? Excitement? It seemed cliché and a little immature to hope the guy he liked would come see his band. He hadn’t been that guy when he was younger, so why the hell would he start now?
Because Landry.
Before he could think any more about it, he sent Landry the details, assured him he didn’t need to bother if he was busy, and put his phone away so he wouldn’t be tempted to check it again. “Are we going to finish going through the set or what? Let’s do this.”
AFTER TWO more sweaty hours of practice in Darwish’s living room, they called it quits. Dover loaded up his gear into his truck, which was thankfully back from the shop, and drove home. He tossed his keys and wallet on the table in his town house and was just about to strip and shower when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. He’d gotten more texts tonight than probably in the last month.
I can hardly wait.
Yeah, Dover was going to need a cold shower.
Chapter Six
November
Landry
LANDRY STRUGGLED to pay attention to what seemed like way too many instructions for a role in the Naughty French Postcards show that simply required him to be mostly nude and posed like a Grecian Olympian, but the director, Susan, was particular about her models and costuming. He’d posed until his muscles strained and then posed some more, wondering just why the hell he’d needed to complicate any more of his life right at this moment, and thinking the whole time about how tonight might go.
He was going to watch Dover play guitar in his prog rock cover band, whatever that meant.
He was going to watch Dover play guitar.
He couldn’t wait.
“Thanks, guys!” Susan shouted, letting them know rehearsal was over. “See you tomorrow.”
Landry attempted to dash out, grabbing Trudy by the arm as he was giving her a ride.
“What’s your hurry?” Trudy said as she trotted to keep up with Landry.
“Dover has a gig tonight, and he sort of invited me. I might have invited myself, but we’re going to pretend he asked me.”
Trudy snorted. “Fair enough. Wait! He’s in a band? What kind of band?”
“I guess it’s prog rock? I don’t know, something like Rush, I think.”
“OMG, I love Rush! Let me come with you. That way I can drive your car back when he invites you home with him,” she chuckled, pulling out her phone.
“Wait, what? What are you doing?”
“Gwen wanted us to hang out tonight, so I’m telling her to meet us.”
“No, no, no don’t do that, Trudy—”
“Awesome! She said Terrence and Sam are coming with. She promised them beers after their hard work today.”
Landry sighed. He didn’t want to be rude, but he’d wanted to get Dover alone, and Dover never seemed excited about Landry’s crowd.
“Okay, are you ready?”
Landry took one look at Trudy, all excited to go out on the town with her best friend, and he crumpled. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
DOVER’S DIRECTIONS had been that the bar was called the Dirty Bird Lounge, and that it was on B Street in Hayward. After searching for nearby parking, he and Trudy met up with Gwen, Terrence, and Sam outside the bar. They’d been there for a bit and were enjoying a nice coffee huddled together in the evening chill.
“Are you ready to watch your man?” Gwen asked him quietly. At least his girls weren’t broadcasting to the world that they were here to watch Landry’s latest crush.
“I think I need a drink or five.”
Several drinks later, Terrence had them all in stitches talking about Gwen’s management skills.
“How was I supposed to know? It ain’t like I got a degree in engineering. I bet you couldn’t sew your way out of a paper bag, so hush, now.”
“I’m just teasing, G. You made a great boss today. You can boss me around anytime.”
Gwen fanning herself had the group in hysterics.
And then they heard guitars.
Landry swung around and nearly spilled his drink when he got a look at the man who’d tormented him for weeks now.
Dover’s long hair was down around his shoulders, falling past the middle of his back. Long, dark brown curls framed his intense face, and mercy, he’d grown a soul patch. Landry’s legs went weak. He wished they were alone already. Just seeing the guy in faded jeans and a tight long-sleeved black T-shirt, with his guitar slung low, had Landry keyed up.
Trudy led them over to a table closer to the stage, practically dragging Landry, who was more focused on Dover than where he was going. He tripped over a couple of chairs before they got to the table.
And Dover saw him.
He wanted to believe he’d seen Dover’s eyes light up for a brief moment, but then all he saw was a scowl as the band kicked into their first song.
Landry was completely enraptured by the music, but mostly by watching Dover play and interact with his friends. He actually smiled freely. He didn’t sing; that was left to Miranda’s husband, Darwish, and the drummer, whom they introduced as Greg, but the guitar parts on these particular songs sounded quite intricate and complicated. Dover never seemed to miss a beat, making it look easy.
After playing for about an hour, Darwish announced they were taking a break. Landry hoped he’d get to talk to Dover, at least say hello, but Dover never appeared. Landry kept an eye out for him, but his group was quite rowdy. Sam had bought at least two rounds of shots, which Landry had declined. He didn’t want alcohol to negatively impact his interaction with Dover tonight. Plus, he was driving, although Trudy had been nursing a beer all night and would be fine to drive if need be.
Fifteen minutes later the band took the stage once more and launched into their next set. Landry recognized a couple of the songs they played as more radio-friendly Rush and Yes songs. The “Roundabout” he knew from a current slate of memes on the internet that he’d look at whenever he needed to de-stress. The other song was “Subdivisions,” one he’d heard as a young man, and he could relate to the message of conform or be cast out. Young Landry had refused to do either and managed to be both a theater enthusiast and one of the popular kids in his high school.
Dover lost himself to the rhythm, his hair sometimes obscuring his face as his fingers flew effortlessly up and down the neck of the guitar. Landry rested his chin in his hand and sighed. The man was so talented and so unassuming. He’d probably be satisfied to stay in the shadows as long as he got to perform his music and create his art.
Landry could respect that. Landry sought adm
iration for his creations. He drew satisfaction and fulfillment from the joy his garments brought to other people, and he loved performing, whether it was in a play, in his shop, or his latest role in the Naughty French Postcards show. He loved attention—he’d been given plenty as a child—but he was driven to make people happy through his performances. Perhaps someday he’d need to analyze just what he was lacking that had him craving that fulfillment, but tonight, he was more intrigued by why Dover didn’t seem to need it.
Another hour passed before the band took yet another break, and this time Landry was determined to talk to Dover. He left the table without announcing his intention, dissuading his peanut gallery from giving their opinions. Dover stood on the side of the stage, drinking a glass of water and talking to Darwish.
“Hey,” Landry said when he approached.
Darwish turned on him with wide eyes but accepted his handshake.
“How’s Miranda?” Landry asked. He’d texted her after hearing she was on bedrest and asked if there was anything he could do. She’d simply said to keep an eye on Dover. He’d keep both eyes and whatever else Dover would allow at this point.
“Good. She’s got her mom and Netflix. If she wasn’t worried about the baby, she’d be delighted. Her last doctor’s visit went well, so she’s to do more of the same. Excuse me, will you?”
Darwish walked off toward the bar, and he was finally alone with Dover.
“You guys sound great. Thank you for inviting me.”
Dover shrugged and took another drink of his water, emptying the glass.
“How long have you guys been playing together?”
Dover gazed off in the direction Darwish was headed. “Since college. It’s hard to find many people who love what we love, so we stick together.” He shook the ice around in his glass, watching it move.
“It’s obvious you guys are comfortable together. It’s fun watching you.”
“Thanks, I think.”
And then awkward silence set in. What had he done this time? It seemed like they’d had a breakthrough, and now Dover seemed irritated once again.
“Hey, Dover? Am I keeping you?” He had to ask. Dover’s body faced away from his, and he looked everywhere but at Landry.
“You brought quite a group.”
Landry looked to his friends, who were trying unsuccessfully not to stare.
“Yeah. I told Trudy where I was coming, and the next thing you know, the whole gang is here.”
Dover nodded and set his glass down. “Well, don’t let me keep you.”
“I came to see you.” He stepped a little closer but was careful not to crowd the man. “Was I wrong to come?”
“It depends on why you came.”
“I wanted to see you.”
Dover looked as though he might loosen up, and then one of Landry’s friends, maybe Sam, made an obnoxious noise, and Dover closed up right in front of him.
“Look, you seem to be comfortable with a big group of people. Maybe this was a mistake.”
“It just sort of happened. I didn’t think it would be a problem. It’s a bar, right? You have a pretty big crowd.”
It was true; there were at least fifty or sixty other people in the bar to see the show. Why is he so upset?
“Landry, I can’t compete with your entourage, and I don’t want to. But you’re you, and I wouldn’t want that to change.”
Landry felt the opportunity to get to know this man slipping away fast. They stared at each other, longing so evident in Dover’s gaze, but then he shut it off.
“I gotta get ready for the last set.”
For a split second, Landry saw the hurt and disappointment Dover tried hard to cover up. Perhaps it was his own issues, but Landry couldn’t help but feel he’d made a grave mistake tonight. Apparently, Dover had hoped to be alone with him, which was exactly what Landry wanted too.
“Dover?”
He turned to face Landry, but he was already walking away.
“I’m sorry,” Landry said, frustrated. “I only wanted to see you again.”
Dover pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose, shook his head slightly, and went to the bar. Landry’s heart sank as he saw him get another glass of water and then walk back to the stage, purposely avoiding Landry.
Landry’d had enough. He was exhausted physically from the rehearsals, and now emotionally wrecked.
How much more straightforward could he be with this guy? If Dover couldn’t see that he genuinely wanted to spend time with him, perhaps this idea of the two of them getting together and seeing whether their attraction could be something more was wishful thinking. They were very different. Maybe too different.
“Trudy, I’m going home. Do you want a ride?”
Trudy looked from Landry, to Dover onstage, to Landry, to Gwen, and then she gave him a pitying glance. “Do you want me to come with you?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I’ll see you at workshops tomorrow.”
She kissed his cheek, and he said goodbye to the rest of his now-stunned friends. He rushed out the door before having to answer any more questions.
Time to focus on Dickens. He had some more garments he wanted to finish this week, and opening weekend was fast approaching. Trying to navigate the emotions of Dover was an endeavor he did not have energy for any longer.
Chapter Seven
November
Dover
HE’D LOOKED forward to the gig all week. Good times with his best friends making music, and perhaps a little one-on-one time with one confounding blond who had him tied up in knots. But then Landry decided to bring his entourage to the show, and they proceeded to stare at the two of them, giggling like it was a high school dance. Nope. Not what he had in mind.
He may have been short with Landry, but it was just as well. He had plenty of people around him. Why would Landry possibly be bothering with an ancient curmudgeon like Dover?
“Hey, give me a hand with this, would you?” Greg was attempting to load the drum kit carefully into his beat-up—he referred to it as vintage—minivan and the lift gate didn’t want to stay up. Dover held it while Greg hoisted his toms up. “Thanks, man. Let me grab Carl’s amp.”
Dover stood there holding the gate while Greg struggled with the heavy Marshall amp. He almost had it up when it started to slip from his hand. Dover reached for it, losing his grip on the lift gate, which came crashing down on both of them. He shouted for Greg to watch out and ducked to avoid getting brained with the damn thing. Greg reached for the lift gate and let go of the amp. Dover caught the amp a second before it hit the ground, and something in his right hip gave out. Stabbing pain shot through his lower back, and he crumpled to the ground, setting the amp down gently as he fell.
“Dude! Nice save.” Carl and Darwish came trotting over with their guitar cases.
“You all right?” Darwish asked.
Dover had to concentrate on not vomiting. He took breaths to steady himself, but when he tried to shift his weight in order to stand, the knife dug a little deeper, and he had to remain seated on the ground.
“Hey, are you hurt?”
He didn’t have the composure to answer.
“Shit,” Carl said. “This is bad.”
BAD WAS an understatement. Although his X-rays and an MRI showed nothing serious like a disk injury, he had a bad sprain, and the doctor at the ER wrote him off work for at least a week with ample muscle relaxers and pain medicine.
“If you’ve never had a back injury before, you’re in for a rough time of it. Stay flat on your back as much as you can. Ice and heat, you can alternate. Arnica gel might work if you have someone to put it on for you. Other than that, rest. That’s all I can tell you. It’s going to suck.”
“Thanks. I think.”
AND, BOY, did it suck. Darwish brought him food daily, mostly at Miranda’s insistence, and his dad and Hillary came up to stay with him. They’d planned to come for the opening weekend of fair anyway, so they came a few days early.
Dover only had the booth half-built, so his dad went over to finish and visit with his old friends, leaving Hillary to care for Dover and his gloomy self.
He’d hoped to get more inventory done for the fair, but he literally could do nothing but lie in bed and listen to audiobooks and Volume on SiriusXM. And think.
How he’d been a dick to Landry. Again.
How he needed Dickens to be successful so he could buy a new lathe, and this wasn’t helping.
How he really wished he hadn’t been awful to the man he couldn’t stop thinking about. He was certain this time the guy would leave him alone, and for some reason, despite thinking that’s what he wanted, he felt a loss. Which was weird. It wasn’t like he had him in the first place. One kiss did not a relationship make.
“That frown is so intense, I almost wondered whether I should disturb you, but you need to eat and take more drugs.”
He tried to smile at Hillary, but then he rolled over so he could push himself up on the side of his bed and was reminded of his injury. “You’re not disturbing me. My own stupidity is disturbing me.”
“Ah,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed with the tray, ready to hand it to him when he was settled. “What did you do, or not do, this time?”
He scoffed. “You act like I am stupidity often.”
She chuckled and smiled at his slurred speech. He’d been blessed with a fantastic stepmother who made his father happy when he’d worried he’d never see his father smile again.
“You are your father’s son.” She patted his knee and waited patiently as he got settled into the wing-back chair in his room so he could eat.
“True. No, I… I think I hurt someone’s feelings. I didn’t mean to, but—”
“But you’re you, and you probably told him how you really felt. Yeah, not everyone can take that.”
“Does that make it right?”
“Would you rather do something or be someone you’re not in order to please others?”
A Peace Offering Page 4
