Rocking Thin Ice

by Z. Allora

  If the closed-circuit TV got a close-up of his face, surely the irony at the lyrics he skated to could easily be read in his expression. But like the song, he would keep fighting well past the end.

  Exhaustion caught him, but he nailed the last two jumps ’cause he was a goddamned fucking champion and no one would take that from him.

  Final spin, ending in Freddie Mercury’s victorious pose with fist raised, and done.

  A sea of dragons rained down on the ice around him as he desperately sought air. Familiar tears slipped down his face as the plushies made the loss of his parents surface. His mom and dad hadn’t been there when he’d claimed his silver medal at the Olympics, and they wouldn’t be there in physical body this time either when he hopefully took home the gold. He scooped up one of the plush dragons closest to him and hugged the little plushie. Once again, he was reminded that death didn’t end a relationship… death only changed it.

  He took a lap to blow kisses to the audience and clapped for their appreciation and support of him. Gratitude for them being there for him—even if the skating community wasn’t always in his corner—never failed to close his throat with emotion.

  As soon as he glided off the ice, Anna enveloped him in a warm hug. “Your footwork in the second half could be called good, but we need to sharpen every step before the games.”

  Blaze laughed at Anna’s confidence, as well as her accurate critique, as he hugged his brother and then used him to balance while sliding on the skate guards. They trudged over to the kiss and cry. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the one crying.

  One of the reporters stepped in front of him. “You gave the performance of a lifetime. How do you feel, Blaze?”

  “Filled with fire, fury, and a desire to go back to the Olympics. How about you?” He sat down with Luke on one side and Anna on the other, leaving the reporter struggling for a response.

  During the next few minutes, chaos ensued as his numbers meant he was bound for the Olympics… and he’d won the bet.

  IN THE morning he texted Anna, Any response from Midnight Shadow? Can I use that song?

  Of course their manager agreed, as long as you work in the band’s name at the Olympics during an interview.

  He fist-pumped to the ceiling. His mind was already moving to where to place the jumps. Great!

  I saw Trent Richards going into your room last night.

  And? Somehow that she knew made his skin crawl, but the deed was done. The debt was paid. They were even.

  Why did Blaze feel like such an asshole?

  You’re better than that.

  From now on, he’d try to be. I don’t disagree.

  So, you revenge fucked him. Congratulations.

  Trent made a fool of me. Why did he feel the need to justify his behavior? Maybe now skating could be about him and not beating Trent.

  I’m sorry, my little Ice Dragon. I know that bastard hurt you, but he gave you an unhealthy twisted view of relationships and life.

  He tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. I’ve done a 25 yr study & the results are in—people SUCK!

  Plane is in 5 hours. I’ll meet you downstairs for lunch in 2.

  K.

  Blaze checked his Instagram. Pictures of last night’s competition got a little under ten thousand hits. Not bad. He checked his Twitter.

  A shiver of excitement ran through him when his notification said Drake Keys liked three of his posts. No big deal. He had several actors, actresses, and singers following him. But every time the guitar player hearted his entry, it felt like the ultimate approval.

  He loved that he’d be skating to music Drake Keys helped create.

  Scrolling through the pictures Drake posted, Blaze caught his breath on one—Drake onstage, playing the guitar, his head thrown back like the picture captured him in the middle of ecstasy. Each frozen pose held poetry from his body language that spoke to Blaze.

  Blaze caught himself. Stupid, but he couldn’t stop from liking a couple of Drake’s pictures, but not all, because he didn’t want to look like he rode the like train to Stalkerville.

  He saved the one of Drake onstage. Was that his orgasm face?

  Drake orgasming… the thought got lodged in Blaze’s brain, so he jerked off to the delicious vision.

  Chapter 2

  AFTER THE third song, Midnight Shadow’s lead singer, Summer Simpson, glanced over at Drake with that gleam in her eyes. That sparkle always spelled trouble for someone in the band. “Drake darling, come on over here.”

  Aw, shit! He ignored Dixon and glanced over at Artano and Jessie. No hope of rescue, because his bastard bandmates were laughing their asses off at him. His last hope was Amanda, but all she gave him was a sexy drumbeat and a smirk instead of assistance.

  Glaring at them, Drake took the long way across the stage. He strolled along the front of the screaming fans. Most were fans of the main act, Velvet Touch, but he believed Midnight Shadow won some over.

  He showed off with some riffs as he strutted over to Summer. When he got there, his eyes said, Please stop the shit, while her expression answered, Not in this life.

  “It’s Drake’s twenty-third birthday. Everyone, please help us celebrate.” Summer grabbed his hand, refusing to let him retreat back to his comfort zone, then started singing “Happy Birthday.”

  Oh, good Lord, why did Summer and the rest of the band make such a big deal? So what if it was his birthday?

  The rest of the arena joined in.

  Drake sniffed. Fuck! There’s something about fifty thousand people singing to you that’s… special.

  Midnight Shadow went right into the next song of the set. Artano took lead, which allowed Drake to get his shit together. After a nod, he caught up to Artano’s guitar work and recaptured the lead.

  He poured everything into the rest of the show.

  Now that was a twenty-third birthday! Drake threw his final guitar pick into the crowd and glided off the stage. The guitar players headlining the tour slapped him on the back.

  He followed the rest of Midnight Shadow into their dressing room and didn’t quite know what to do with his euphoria.

  Summer sipped a beer and allowed a group of men to chat her up. It wasn’t public knowledge that she had a fiancé.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Drake saw Amanda and Artano were trapped by the band’s manager, Frank Lewis. The brother-and-sister duo kept backing away, but the sleazeball continued his advance. Maybe Drake should—

  Jessie bounced over.

  “We did it!” Jessie Barker played bass and was the heart of the band. Her enthusiasm got Drake through the constant dive bars they had played through the years on their way here.

  Trailing after her had been proof the world was too damned small. Dixon Fox, Drake’s nemesis from high school, played keyboards. Dix handed an empty bottle to a roadie and grabbed another beer. “Back in high school, did you ever think we’d make it this far?”

  “No, but I’m fucking stoked to be here.” Savoring the dream come true of being the opening act for his favorite band filled Drake with awe. Being here now made all the holes-in-the-wall they’d played in worth the trouble.

  Swinging an arm around Drake’s neck, Dixon slurred, “See, I’m always right. You can have all the pussy you want… but stay away from the D.”

  Stay away from dick. The shitastic warning threw cold water on Drake. He’d never had a boyfriend, a few quick hookups, but not because of Dix’s homophobic advice. He never found the right guy. There had been several great girlfriends since graduation, but they eventually broke up with Drake. Gigs that interfered with birthdays, practices that ran long, traveling to a show every weekend, made trying to maintain a relationship next to impossible.

  Things were changing… though not many musicians in the business were openly in same-sex relationships. However true the advice appeared to be, Dix pointing the fact out made Drake seethe.

  But then again, Dixon always complicated his life. When they first joined
the band, Drake wished he’d had the foresight to tape Dixon’s mouth shut. Why Dix decided to share Drake’s orientation was anyone’s guess, but he made sure everyone knew Drake identified as bisexual.

  Immediately, their manager weighed in with “That’s fine. Bisexuality is trendy.” As if someone would take an orientation label for branding purposes! Frank requested Drake downplay any attraction toward men, or at least do that quietly, in consideration of the band’s rapid success.

  Since Drake hadn’t seen many men in the past, appearing to comply hadn’t been a problem, but Frank’s implied ultimatum irked him. And to think Dixon had been involved—

  No, he couldn’t go there. He rolled his shoulders and tried to shake it off.

  Drake pushed Dixon’s arm off him. He wasn’t going to let a drunken ass steal his pleasure and ruin his birthday. He remained flying high.

  Jessie shoulder-bumped him and pointed to the two groupies in the corner. “I think they’re interested in meeting you.”

  Drake glanced over, hoping to appear nonchalant. Damn, but those were some gorgeous women. If they were of age and game, he would have a very happy birthday. He unstrapped his guitar.

  Frank edged over to him. “Looks like you’ve got some attention of the female variety.”

  One grimacing glance at Frank and Jessie made herself scarce under the guise of putting away her bass.

  Drake shrugged. He didn’t like talking to Frank all that much. It always made him want a shower after.

  Frank checked his gaudy gold-plated knockoff Rolex and leered at the girls. “Well, you’ve got time before the bus leaves. Why not make good use of it and have at them?”

  “Maybe,” Drake hedged.

  “Doing two girls… would be great for your rep.”

  Could Frank be any sleazier? What the fuck was wrong with him? Somehow doing anything that appeared Drake took the asshole’s input made Drake nauseated. “I’m not going to have sex for promotional reasons.”

  “I didn’t say you should.” Frank tried to play innocent.

  Dixon chimed in, “Even if he did, so what? You get your dick wet and look cool for our fans doing the deed. Total win-win.”

  Glaring at Dixon, Drake sighed. He never liked to be told what to do.

  The expression on Jessie’s face said she heard the idiots. She walked over to him and whispered, “Don’t let these two assholes cockblock you. If you want them, go for it. Don’t spite your cock ’cause these two are dicks.”

  Jessie always had a way with words. Drake smirked as she meandered away toward another group. He fussed with putting his guitar away, and when he glanced up, Jessie was leaving with one of the guys in tow. Good for her.

  Snapping his guitar case closed, Drake was happy there were roadies to load their equipment now. He wearily set his baby with the shit belonging to Midnight Shadow and sent a prayer to the God and Goddess of Music, asking that no harm come to his favorite six-string.

  The two ladies beckoned him with a wave of their long purple nails.

  Why the fuck not? He grabbed a beer out of the ice chest, unscrewed the top, and strutted over. “Did you like the show?”

  Blondie stepped closer, smelling of flowers. “I loved it. You were great on the guitar.”

  The redhead nodded. “You’re so talented.”

  Somehow those compliments rang hollow, but he gave them a small smile of appreciation and sipped some beer. “Thanks.”

  “We’d like to thank you for a wonderful performance if you’re up for it.” The blonde dragged her extremely long nails down the zipper of his jeans.

  He usually liked to work a little, but he wouldn’t say no to the benefits of being a guitar player. “Sounds good. Where?”

  The blonde purred, “There’s an empty stairwell near the back entrance.”

  Huh… okay. Why not? Good thing he wasn’t a prude. Living with a band on a tour bus meant very little privacy, so you learned to get off wherever you could. He swallowed the rest of the beer and set the bottle down. “Shall we?”

  Both girls giggled, throwing their arms around him as they headed out the door.

  Frank shouted, “Drake!”

  Drake turned and a flash went off.

  The redhead exclaimed, “How fun! Captured. When you upload it, tag me at GroupiesSuck405.”

  Disgust fought annoyance, battling for top spot in Drake’s brain.

  DRAKE WAVED bye to the lovely but one-track-minded groupies, then climbed into the tour bus. The vehicle was a bit worse for wear. It smelled like whiskey, body odor, and cum, but there were seats and even berths to sleep in. Though chances all horizontal places were filled with bandmates getting lucky while in transit had skyrocketed with their success.

  “About time you got here,” Dixon sniped.

  Drake flipped him the bird as he stumbled past. After collapsing into the somewhat stained seat, he checked his messages. He scrolled past all the well-wishes for his birthday.

  Taylor had texted thirty minutes ago. Happy birthday! Heard you rocked your show.

  Drake grinned and texted back, Thanks & I did.

  I see you actually got the lip piercing.

  How do you know that? He touched his tongue to the new lip piercing. He’d gotten the decoration as a present to himself to symbolize all he’d accomplished by refusing to be anyone but himself. He looked forward to changing out the ball to a ring as soon as it healed enough.

  Little dots danced on his screen, and then a text popped. Looks like those girls were happy to celebrate with you.

  What girls? How did Tay know any of this?

  Taylor sent a picture that had been taken in the dressing room… from Frank’s angle. Jesus, the quick bastard uploaded the shot already.

  Where did you get that? The sex had been less than satisfying. None of them had a condom, so he’d gotten them off with his fingers, or at least, they sounded like he’d been successful.

  Internet, baby! You’re a big star! The pic was on Midnight Shadow’s Instagram feed.

  Argh! Before Drake could rant, another text came in from Taylor. How were they?

  Should Drake front as expected? Nah, not with his best friend. Exactly how you’d expect a hookup with strangers would go.

  Awesome?

  Ha-ha. Try awkward and weird. Enjoying the moment had never been his thing. He did better with someone steady.

  Sorry. Sucks.

  Drake wished they had. Maybe then he wouldn’t have had to finish himself off in the men’s room. But he wasn’t famous enough for them to ruin their lipstick for…. Live and learn.

  Get some sleep—T

  Night—D

  Sleep wouldn’t come, so Drake checked Twitter. The band got some retweets and a number of likes. Then he put in his earbuds and clicked over to YouTube. Of course, they recommended horror outtakes, science tricks, a couple new rock bands, and some ice skating competition clips.

  He watched science tricks until he got bored, smoked a little weed, then switched to the skating videos from the World Championships he’d missed when it aired weeks ago.

  Several of the women upped the difficulty of their programs to impressive levels. He had been glad to see them all do well, especially one of Jasmine’s favorites. The men’s skating came on. He snorted when the announcer called Blaze Parker “the bad boy of figure skating.” Catching the groans and moans coming out of the back of the bus, Drake decided the announcer didn’t know many guys… or women.

  Though he couldn’t deny Blaze’s routines were drenched in sex and innuendo. Blaze constantly pushed and bent the rules… and God, that ass.

  That Drake was thrilled Blaze Parker would be using a Midnight Shadow song at the Olympics for the free skate was the understatement of all time. Frank also had let it slip Blaze might want to use more of their music in the future. Incredible.

  He watched Blaze’s routine three times and fell asleep with a smile on his face. His dream skater’s score meant Blaze was headed to the Olympics. Fut
ure song lyrics danced in his head just out of reach.

  A couple months later…

  DRAKE’S CELL shook in his pocket with another text, probably from Taylor.

  So your 1st big tour is done. How does it feel?

  Drake wasn’t sure. He couldn’t believe the tour was over, but he texted, Great.

  Tay sent an applause emoji. Have you parted ways with Ms. Thing yet?

  She’s not that bad. No clue why he defended Brenda; she was kind of terrible. Not like the sweet women he’d dated before. He didn’t appreciate Brenda’s snarky comments and her jealous and mean-spirited nature.

  I take that as a no.

  I will. He would. Why should he feel so guilty? He glanced over at Brenda, who was flirting with Dixon.

  I’ve told you to follow the rocker rule: fuck a groupie through two cities, no issue. Any longer, you’re the one who’s screwed.

  In his head, somehow fucking meant together. He really needed to adjust his head to match everyone else’s reality.

  Brenda playfully slapped Dixon’s thigh.

  Drake texted, It just happened.

  Make it unhappen. Screw a chick that’s crazy in bed, not crazy in the head. I know you like steady, but going by what you have said, she’s not for you, man.

  Maybe.

  Several of your other groupies on the road were cool. This one not so much.

  I know, man. I know. And Drake did.

  Jazzy said your skater liked your last post and even commented on a couple. She’s losing her damned mind.

  He sent a shrug emoji, like it didn’t give him a secret thrill that his adolescent crush followed him on social media and occasionally liked or commented on his tweets. Granted, the rush of excitement of seeing anything Blaze Parker–related never left him.

  “Fuck me with a two-by-four!” Frank growled at the phone he held out in front of him. “How long?”

  Trouble in paradise. Frank’s on a tear. Later, Tay.

  Good luck.