Chasing Death Metal Dreams (14 page)

“Sometimes. He played like a fucking god tonight, though.” Idly, Carlos flipped the page. The previous sketch was of himself, stretched out in bed on his side, the curve of his ass and the strong line of his thigh drawing the eye. He was shown sleeping, his facial scruff growing in, his hair a mess. “What’s this?”

Nate snatched the sketchbook back. “Shit. My imagination. Ignore that.”

“It wasn’t half bad.” In fact, Carlos felt warm. That drawing was fucking sexy. Nate had serious talent. “Hey, do you ever do album covers? If KnifeSwitch can stay together long enough, I want to do another demo, and that concert sketch you did would be great.”

“I’ve done all of Eli’s.” Nate leaned forward. “Yeah, I could do that.” He grinned. “It’ll cost you fifty bucks though.”

“Robbery.” Carlos took the notebook back and Nate let him. He carefully focused on only the top sketch. “I really like it, though. It’s weird enough, but it’s us. It’d need lettering.”

“And inking, and a better layout.” Nate touched one slender finger to the page. “Move Mia up a bit here, put the band name there, album name here. Or is it self-titled?”

“Nope. We did one like that already.” Two years ago and they’d outgrown both the songs and the crappy production values. He still sold it at shows, because it was all they had, but it was rank amateur hour. “We’d call this one
Not Going Under.
”

“Good title. Good song. One of my faves of yours. Okay.” Nate gave him a sideways look. “You want to keep the horns on Foster?”

“Not unless he screws up worse. You could keep the devil tail though.”

“Got it.”

They talked about the cover while the server brought the beer, debating adding some color, and backside art. That segued into recording, and somehow to art galleries and craft fairs and craft beers. Carlos wasn’t aware of time passing until Nate’s phone chimed and he pulled it out. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“Snapchat of Eli about to go on stage.”

“Shit.” He wanted to suggest that they stay put and skip it, but if he was writing a song for those guys he definitely needed to hear them play. “We should go. Hey, does your brother have an album for sale today?” He stood and tossed a twenty on the table.

“A couple.” Nate stood too, stretching in a way that made Carlos really want to skip the show. “But I have all of them at home. You can come back to my place and I’ll let you study Eli’s style before I show you mine.”

“I think I know yours.”

“Oh, young padawan, much of mine, seen you have not.”

“Was that meant to be Yoda? Because there’s nothing sexy about Yoda.”

Nate snorted happily. “True. Just for that, I’ll let you blow me again after the show.”

“You’ll let me, eh?”

“Pay you to?” Nate slid in behind the wheel.

“How drunk are you? Do I look like a hooker to you?”

“You could earn a free album cover.”

“That I might take you up on.”

They had to park even farther away when they got back, but it was a nice night. The edges of the crowd were drunk and distracted, but as they worked closer to the stage, the audience became more focused. Serpentine was onstage, making the ground shake. Carlos leaned closer to Nate and bellowed in his ear, “That song has got to go, too.”

“Tell Eli. Maybe you can cut a package deal for a full set’s worth.”

“After Sparkfest.”

Carlos had to admit, the band had the sound and the look. They moved into covers of “Hangar 18” and then “Enemy of God” that had the crowd moving hard. Then he recognized the opening chords of his own song and leaned forward, grabbing Nate’s arm. The audience was into it. Some guys surfed the mosh pit. He had to admit, there were decent moments, although if he’d written the tune and not just the lyrics, he’d have made a few more changes. Maybe a lot of changes. And ouch, that rhyme was too clean. He made mental notes.

When the song was over he let go of Nate, not looking at him. Nate leaned in close and shouted into his ear, “Well, it wasn’t ‘Hangar 18,’ but it wasn’t half bad.”

“High praise.”

“Damned straight.” Nate bumped his shoulder.

They stood together through the rest of the set. When it was over, they worked through the crowd to the back of the stage. Eli jumped down, his face flushed and wet. “Awesome! Fuck, I love this crowd!” He strode up to them and grabbed Carlos in a one-armed hug, his guitar bumping Carlos’s hip. “Your song fucking killed.”

“I can make it better.”

Eli’s grin got wider. He called over, “Hey, guys, meet our songwriter.”

The three other band members crowded around, teasing Nate and shaking Carlos’s hand. A minute later they were pressed into service with tear down. Carlos found himself carrying the snare, walking behind Nate’s tight ass as he wheeled a cab on a dolly. It was a sight worth following. With all the guys hanging about, he didn’t dare do more than look.

Serpentine had an old half-size school bus for a band bus, with the last four rows of seats taken out for gear. Loading was fast and simple with six people working. When they were done, Eli glanced at Nate, then looked at Carlos. “So, you think you can do us another song? Before next weekend?”

“Sure.” He’d been thinking about it, and there were a couple of songs in his notebook that had never been right for KnifeSwitch that might work. Plus music and words were bouncing around in his head in a promising way. “I’ll get together a couple possibilities and let you know in a day or two.”

“Cool.” Eli fist bumped him. “See you later. Don’t corrupt my brother.”

Carlos froze, glancing at the back of the drummer who was locking the cargo door. Nate said, “Just ’cause Carlos knows the good beer when he sees it.”

Eli blinked, then gave them each a sunny grin and turned away. Nate took a few steps back from the bus and said very quietly, “You want to see more etchings?”

Carlos hesitated, but yeah, there was a lot to be said for ending this night with good hot sex. “Sure. Let me text Mia.”

He pulled out his phone and sent:

Got a ride home. You okay with the merch? Take care of my guitar?

He figured she might not hear it, but she must have been on vibrate because a minute later he got back:

Gonna hold the RGA for ransom till you tell me about him

Might be too drunk to remember

Don’t drink and drive

Yes mom. Tell Foster that

There was a pause, then:
I wish

Carlos stuck his phone in his pocket. To hell with Foster anyway. As long as the guy played half-sober, he could get as wasted as he wanted afterward. Carlos wasn’t going to let worrying about it ruin this night. “Mom says I can go over to your house to play.”

“Come on then. If you’re good, I’ll break out the fun toys.”

He grabbed Nate’s arm and growled, “I can be very, very good,” in his ear. When he let go, Nate’s fast breaths were visible even in the uneven street lighting.

“I know,” Nate said. “I’m counting on it.”

Hell yeah.
It was a nearly perfect night.

****

Chapter 7

A couple of days later, Nate set a pan of refried beans on the back burner of his stove and turned off the heat.
God, this was a stupid idea.
Carlos was coming over again, and Nate had casually said, “I don’t work tonight. Why don’t you eat here? I’ve got tortillas and fixings.” And Carlos had said, “Sure.”

And everything had been fine, up until Nate realized he was opening a can of beans and laying out discount-store tortillas for a guy who was actually from Mexico. Sure, he’d left when he was ten, and his Aunt Lisa might be white-bread American, but he probably had other aunts and cousins and whomever there in California making tortillas from scratch and adding fancy spices and not deploying the trusty can opener.

He looked at the stuff on the counter, debating tossing it and telling Carlos his fridge had gone off. They could pick up Thai food or something. Before he could make a move, it was too late. There was a knock on his door. He sighed and hurried to open it. “Listen, I know I said I’d cook, but—” He stopped because that was his dad on the doorstep.

Dad raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you cook?”

“Hey! I’ve lived on my own for eight years. I cook.”

“You’re over at home eating your mom’s good dinners half the time.”

Nate flushed. “Yeah, well, otherwise she just brings me the leftovers anyway.” It was a perk he hadn’t mentioned to Carlos, although they’d shared the chicken salad for a midnight snack on Monday. “What’s up, Dad?”

“You have a second? I wanted you to look through this stuff. Mom’s trying to turn the spare room into a sewing room, and we need to toss a bunch of things out.” He hefted a couple of big tote bags. “These are yours.”

“Um, sure. Bring them in and set them by the couch.”

Dad stepped past him and headed for the living area. Nate shut the door, double-checked that the stove was off, and then went to join him. “You can leave that there. I’ll look at it later.”

“There’s some old photo albums.” Dad dug in one of the sacks, seeming oblivious to Nate’s impatient shifting from foot to foot. “This one. You remember Danny Pasternak? You had such a crush on him.” He pulled out a blue-covered binder.

Nate winced. “Dad, I was eight. I didn’t even know what a crush was.”

“You were cute. You followed him around.”

Dad was acting like he wanted to sit down with the book when Nate heard a car pull up on the gravel outside. He grabbed the binder and stuffed it back in the bag. “I’ll look through it, I promise.”

“It’s hard to get rid of things.” Dad hovered, looking down. “Your mother’s good at that, but I kind of cling to stuff, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Nate figured that without Mom, his dad would be halfway to a hoarder. He was by far the more sentimental of the two.

“Maybe I should find space in a closet and put those away instead.”

“I don’t think there’s a closet you haven’t stuffed full.” He reached for Dad’s arm. “Thanks for bringing them over. I’m about to eat, though.”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll leave you to it then.”

He had Dad halfway to the door when there was a knock that had to be Carlos. Dad looked at him, that eyebrow raised again. “You’re expecting someone?”

“Yeah.” He knew his face was red.

“You’re cooking dinner. A date?”

“I guess.”

“Are you going to introduce me to him?”

Nate huffed a breath. “Well, I can hardly hide you in the closet.” He let go of his dad’s arm and went to open the door. “Hey, come on in.”

Carlos handed him a six-pack. “I brought beer.” Then he caught sight of Nate’s dad and took a step back.

Dad came on over, a welcoming smile on his face, hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Nathaniel’s father. You can call me David.”

“Carlos.” He shook hands guardedly.

Dad didn’t seem to notice. “Well, you don’t need me here. I’ll head on back to your mother’s cooking and leave you to yours. Although Carlos?”

“Yeah?”

“If my boy burns whatever he’s making, you’re both welcome to take potluck with us.”

“Dad!” Nate glared at him.

He just smiled. “Nice meeting you, Carlos. Don’t let me have any of that stuff back, Nate.”

When the door closed behind him, Carlos said carefully, “Stuff?”

Nate waved toward the bags. “Old stuff. Mom clears it out, Dad tries to find a reason to keep it.”

“Hah. It was the other way round in my tío’s house. Tía Lisa loves crafts. She keeps saying, ‘You never know when you might need a plastic hose or a roll of netting.’ She has drawers full of stuff. My cousins always had great Halloween costumes, though.”

“She sounds cool.” Nate tried hard not to poke at the sore places in Carlos’s family background, but he always sounded happy when he mentioned his aunt.

“She is. She loves art. She’d be crazy about you.” For an instant they stared at each other, then Carlos added, “If you ever met, y’know.”

“Sure. She knows you’re gay?”

“Knows all about me and is cool with it. She’s great. Probably saved my life.”

Nate couldn’t help a glance at Carlos’s wrist, and although he snapped his eyes up fast, it wasn’t fast enough.

Carlos looked rueful. “Yeah, man, she was so mad at me about that.”

“
Mad
at you?”

“Well, scared first, ’cause it bled pretty good even though I mostly missed the vein. Then mad as hell. She asked me if I’d forgotten I could go to her for anything. She yelled. But she had my back, even when she was confused as hell about what I needed.”

“I’m glad.”

Carlos headed for the stove. “So what are you actually burning? And is there lots, ’cause I’m starving?”

Nate came and stood behind him as he poked a spoon in the pot. “It’s refried beans, American style. Which means from a can. And, um, stuff.” He waved at the peppers and salsa and fixings on the counter.

“Great.” Carlos gave the beige glop in the pot another stir.

“You did not just say great to that.”

“All it needs is a bit of spicing up. What do you have?”

“Pepper?” He pointed at his cupboard. “Garlic powder?”

“Okay, this may be harder than I thought.”

Carlos dug through his fridge and took out some bacon. As he laid the rashers in a pan, there was a rustling sound overhead. Carlos jumped and swore. “What was that?”

“The cat. Ghost.” Nate looked up over Carlos’s shoulder at the pointed little white face peeping over the catwalk. “Bacon. Even the most aloof creature can’t resist it.”

Carlos followed his gaze. “She’s cute. I almost thought you were making her up.”

“Wait. Just how crazy did you think I was?”

“Okay, maybe not making her up. But she’s been invisible.” Carlos flipped the bacon over, then looked up again. “Hey, little cat, smells good, eh?”

At his attention, Ghost hissed softly and backed away. The catwalk swayed, showing her route to her favorite enclosed perch.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “She’s not super friendly, huh?”

“She was feral. That means, born wild. I’m fostering her for the animal shelter, getting her used to people. When she’s better, she’ll go up for adoption.”