A red tainted Silence (53 page)

Confused, we’d just stared after him. With a grimace, Jonathan, who had been watching, pulled us aside. Concerned, Nicholas had leaned into me as we stood off by Jonathan where the other band members couldn’t hear us.

“Um, guys, I don’t know how to tell you this ...” I could see the worry in Nick’s eyes as it magnified. He reached for my hand.

“What is it?” Nicholas asked. “It doesn’t sound good? I’ve only had a couple of days to practice, and I know I’m kind of raw --”

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“No, no, you’re doing great. It’s that.” Jonathan nodded toward our entwined fingers.

Nicholas guiltily snatched his hand away. “You guys, I don’t know what you’re going to do about it, but you two scream ‘we fuck each other’ so loudly, you might as well get t-shirts saying it’s the band’s motto. The only reason I’m the only one besides Adam seeing it is because you’re in front of everyone else, with your backs to them.” My face heated. I folded my arms over my chest. “But we don’t do anything. I don’t even touch him.”

Jonathan sighed, putting his hands on our shoulders. “You don’t have to. The way Nicholas looks at you, Brandon, and the way you respond to him --”

“I can’t stop that, Jon. That’s just -- I just lose myself when I sing, and all I can think about is, well, singing to Brandon,” Nicholas said. He shrugged, dropped his gaze.

Jonathan sighed again. “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe if Brandon didn’t grin so goofily every time you got near him --”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do, baby bro.”

“I can stop.”

A slow smile crossed his face, but he didn’t seem to hear me. Just stroked his chin.

“Yeah, Nick’s so campy anyway, and you’re such the straight guy ...” He grinned at us. “Don’t think it hurts to keep the audience guessing. You think you can play it straight to him, Brandon?”

I shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

Nicholas grinned. “This could be fun. No one has to know you have a hard-on behind your guitar, Brandon.”

“Nicholas,” I warned.

Jonathan clapped me on the arm. “Just try it. Let Nicholas do his jumping around and whatever he wants, but you play it cool, like it’s nothing. Really, it’ll drive the audience wild, wondering about you two.”

“What about the rest of the band?”

Jonathan cast them a glance. “As long as they don’t know the truth either, and Nicholas sings like he is today, I wouldn’t worry about them. Even Adam can’t deny Nick’s something special.”

So, that’s what we did. My straight guy to Nick’s shtick. He loved it, of course, and Adam had begrudgingly admitted it worked. The audiences ate it up. Word grew about Nicholas -- as I’d known it would. His voice was phenomenal, even without any experience to back it up. The experience came.

Our bandmates didn’t clue in, just took Nick’s campiness as part of the act, and my long-suffering attitude as well. They felt sorry for me, laughing about it as if they were A Red-Tainted Silence

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commiserating with me whenever Nicholas was out of earshot. And I played the role, too --

the “yeah, I’m such a tolerant guy” role, the “geesh, what else can I do, he’s such a diva and we have to keep him happy” role. It was great. Everyone loved it. Everyone.

Except me.

By the time each night ended, whether it was a practice session or an actual gig, I was exhausted from the sheer effort it took to pretend I didn’t give a flying fuck that Nicholas was using me as his humping post. I felt uptight all the time and found my temper heating at the littlest things, though I kept it bottled inside, not wanting to give Adam an excuse to jump on me for anything that might screw up what we had going.

And I didn’t want to disappoint Nicholas. He was working too hard, devoting every spare moment of his time and pouring every ounce of his energy into his singing.

All while holding down two jobs. And I didn’t work at all.

So I took up jogging, thinking that would help release some of the tension, though whenever I’d run however many miles I felt like running that day, I’d return to the house oddly beat. Usually, I barely remembered my run, where I’d been, for how long I was gone.

When Nicholas would ask how far I’d run, I’d just tell him, “To that house by the lake, the one with the blue door.” I showed it to him once; it was about four miles from our place.

He’d been impressed. Jogging was never his thing, though he offered to get a bike and accompany me. I’d politely refused; jogging time was for me.

The months passed, and Ashwood’s popularity grew. Nick’s popularity grew, too --

that’s who the crowd came for, though Adam wouldn’t admit it. We got more and more gigs, and all the fears I’d harbored about what had happened in that alley and over Seth Miller’s threats never materialized.

We lost our bassist to another band, and found a new one. Lee kept to himself outside of work, but he and Nicholas hit it off right away, and soon Nicholas played up to him, too.

Lee took it all in stride, finding it funny. That took the pressure off me some, much to my relief. I no longer worried our bandmates or anyone else would figure out that Nicholas and I were lovers.

And boy, were we. With a lot of patience, Nicholas and I figured out how to make sex work for us, and it was good. Damn good. I was happier than I’d ever been in my life. I didn’t realize, though, that the constant limits set on Nicholas were about to make him explode. At least not until that day when I went for tea and, while I was gone, Adam ordered him to sing a song Nicholas hated, and Nicholas refused.

“Sing it, or you’re out.”

Adam spied me then, still holding the bag with Nick’s tea. “Brandon, tell your boyfriend that he’s out if he doesn’t sing what I tell him to.” Our drummer walked up to us, staring first at me, then at Nicholas. I bit back a curse at Adam’s horrified expression -- guess he’d thought he and Nicholas were alone.

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“What did you just say? You guys are fags?”

Nicholas lifted his chin and looked at them all. “Why, would that matter to you?”

“You’re fucking kidding me. I don’t work for no fags; I don’t care how good you are. I quit.”

One by one our bandmates looked at us in disgust -- all except Lee. He sat down and watched as the others argued amongst themselves as to what to do. Nicholas held my gaze, and I held his, met the challenge in his eyes. We’d talked about this, of course, what would happen if they found out. What we would do.

What we could do.

So even though Adam started to jump around, tried to deny what he’d said, cover up what we weren’t denying, tried to make everyone stay, Nicholas and I were smiling at each other. It was over. We were free.

I felt nothing but enormous relief.

Finally they were gone. Even Adam, who had thrown a chair or two in his anger before screaming at us for ruining everything. Only Lee remained, sitting quietly in his chair.

When Adam slammed the door behind him, Nicholas and I still stood face to face. He brought a hand to his mouth and covered the laugh that escaped. “Oh, my God, can you believe it finally happened?”

I reached for him, spanning my hands over his hips. “It’s about damn time,” I said.

He kissed me, threading his arms over my shoulders. He pulled me tight against him --

the damn boy was hard. Hell, so was I. His tongue pushed into my mouth, and I drank him in, letting my whimpers of need free as I ground against him. His hand sought my butt, slipping under my belt. I yelped -- his fingers were freaking cold.

“Uh, guys, I’m still around, you know. Need a bassist?” I jumped. With a giggle, Nicholas pulled back, but kept his hand where it was. He grinned up at me. “Will we still need a bassist?”

“Of course we will.”

Nicholas smiled, then looked at Lee, laying his head on my shoulder as he did so. “Um, Lee, yeah, we will. It might be a while yet, though. No more covers except on special occasions. We’re writing our own songs from now on.” Lee stood and walked over to us, slinging his bass guitar case over his shoulder. I watched him, looking for any sign of disgust, but it simply wasn’t there. “No problem. You guys know where to find me, right?”

Nicholas said, “Yes.”

Lee nodded. “Good. Take your time. It’ll be worth the wait.” We watched giddily as he walked away. It would be more than a year before we were able to call Lee back, but when we did, he merely said, “Okay, I’ll be right there.” A Red-Tainted Silence

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* * * * *

“Hey, you feeling better?”

I sputtered as Nick’s arms circled around my shoulders. I slammed the computer shut.

“When did you wake up?” I asked, reaching up and hugging his head. I turned and kissed his smooth cheek, trying to hide how jumpy I was. I hadn’t heard him walk up to me. “Mm, shower and a shave, and I’m all skuzzy.”

“You look beautiful to me.”

“Flatterer. Let me go.”

He released me and I stood, pulling him away from the computer. I didn’t want him near it. He laughed as I collapsed onto a couch and tugged him after me. He just had on sweat bottoms and a t-shirt, and his hair was still damp. He nuzzled my neck, making me grin.

“You’re wet. Cut that out, Nick!”

But he didn’t listen. He pushed me down on my back, then, with impressive agility, considering he was still so sore, scooted himself between my legs and lay on top of me. I moved my legs around him and wrapped my arms around his back. Damn, I loved this, the constant reversal of our roles. A heated thrill ran up my spine as he adjusted his body, holding himself up so he could look down at me. Then he shook his head, sending water droplets all over me -- and all over the new couch.

I laughed and pushed my groin into his. Damned if the man wasn’t getting me hard again. But the look in his eye wasn’t what I expected to see. He sighed and leaned his face against the back of the couch, more or less propping himself up on one elbow so he wouldn’t smash me.

“What’s wrong?” I said, feeling an edge of wariness.

With one finger, he traced a line down my face. Hesitancy clouded his eyes. He pressed his lips together, then sighed. “I’m worried about you.” I stilled. “Why?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible. My conversation with Jonathan floated into my mind -- and the memory of him and Nicholas talking about me the night before.

“You know why,” he said, as if I knew full well what he was talking about. Which I didn’t.

“I’m fine, Nicholas.”

“I want you to talk to someone about what happened.” 314

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My temper flared. I didn’t want to hear this from him, too. “I already told Jonathan no.

I’m fine.”

“If you’re fine, then why not at least talk with someone? It was pretty obvious that deer head --”

Sightless eyes. Spilled guts, blood everywhere -- I pushed against Nicholas. “Let me up.”

“No.”

I pushed harder, squirming out from under him. I saw his wince of pain, but I didn’t, at that moment, care. That shame would come later. I nearly fell off the couch, trying to get away.

“Stop, Brandon.” He sat up and hugged one of the pillows. I looked away from those devastating, knowing eyes of his. “Why are you so upset, if you’re fine?”

“I told you and I told Jonathan, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“So why did I find blood on your shirt?”

I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“When you threw up last night, in the bathroom. Why did you throw up? What upset you this time?”

“Are you spying on me, Nicholas?” What the fuck was he talking about? A cold, steely, phantom hand gripped the back of my neck. “What the fuck is this? I am not fucking sick in the head; I don’t need anyone in my business. Leave it alone!” His face had paled, but I didn’t care. “You are my business,” he said.

“Not about this I’m not.”

“I think you need --”

I clenched my jaw until it hurt. “Leave it alone, Nicholas.” He stood and grabbed me by the arm. “Just hear me out --” I wrenched from his grasp and headed for the kitchen. He followed, of course. He never could leave things alone. Mutt looked up from the kitchen table where he was eating a sandwich. Great. Well, fuck, he’d heard us have sex, might as well hear this, too. I yanked open the refrigerator and pulled out a beer.

Nicholas took it from me. Took it from me.

“It’s not even noon yet.”

“Give me the beer.”

“No.” He hid it behind his back.

“I don’t need this shit, Nicholas.” I turned to open the refrigerator again, but he pushed it shut.

“You need help. And you don’t need a beer.”

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I clenched my hands, turned on him, and yelled in his face, “I don’t need some fucking shrink peering into my brain! I’m fine. Can’t you understand that? I am fucking fine!” The bastard didn’t even flinch. “Then why are you screaming at me?” he said with infuriating calm.

“I’m not screaming!” I turned away, didn’t want him to see the tears swimming in my eyes.

I heard him set the beer down. It was all I could do to keep from leaping for it. But I’d show him. I didn’t need it. I didn’t need to see a shrink.

“At least talk to Dr. Anson again. You threw up blood when you got sick last night.” I whirled on him. “I did not! I did not throw up last night!” He stared at me, mouth agape. “You don’t remember?” Blackness crowded my vision. Fear punched me in the gut. You don’t remember? I pushed past him and into the laundry room. My new car’s keys were hanging on the rack on the wall. I grabbed them and yanked open the door.

“Brandon, wait, where are you going?”

I slammed the door behind me and half-stumbled down the stairs. Cold slapped me in the face. I didn’t have on a coat, and the wind chilled me to the bone. Every breath I breathed in seared my lungs. I didn’t care. I pressed the alarm button and grimaced in satisfaction as my new Lexus -- my car, and I hadn’t even driven it yet -- flashed its lights and the doors unlocked.

I got in, ignoring Nicholas. He stood at the top of the stairs, his arms wrapped around himself. Just watching me.

Mutt, the bastard, was halfway down the stairs, pulling on a coat. I started the car and took off, knowing full well Mutt would follow.