Heartstrings (4 page)

B
lake could fume
about Cal turning him away like a stranger later. The awkward conversation behind him, he let Cal’s friend (girlfriend?) lead him to a small two-seater table against the far wall. They settled onto their stools and clinked glasses.

Regardless of how things had ended with Cal, he could still use this opportunity to learn something about the time they’d spent apart. He did wonder. He’d never stopped wondering.

“So Cal never told you he knew me?” Blake asked, watching the woman—Yanmei—over the top of his glass. She looked to be about their age, maybe a little younger. Today she had her black hair in a braid down one shoulder. She was very pretty. If she and Cal were some kind of item, he hadn’t done too badly for himself.

“No he did not.” The woman scowled off toward the bar. “Calvin’s a pretty tight-lipped sort. He didn’t say a word, even when we went to the concert last night.”

Every so often, she’d look back toward Blake and just grin a bit, disbelievingly. He could tell she was a little star struck. It happened.

“Well if he didn’t tell you much I’ll respect his wishes,” Blake said with a smirk. Privately, he wondered whether Cal had let
any
of his subsequent girlfriends know about him and Blake. Had he really been working in a bar and pretending none of it had ever happened, for five whole years?

Cal had never struck him as that much of an asshole when they were close.

In fact, Cal had always been the opposite: quietly conscientious, aware of the feelings of others around him even if he didn’t comment. Cal was a perceptive guy. Blake was willing to bet money on
that
not having changed.

So that meant Cal was deliberately not bringing it up.

Which meant he was probably into this girl. Or already seeing her. At least, that was the best motivation Blake could guess.

“Would you at least be willing to tell me
how
you two met?” Yanmei looked over at Cal again. The other man was pouring a round of shots from a big bottle of Jose Cuervo, doling them out to a line of middle-aged guys at the bar who appeared to be celebrating something.

“You two just seem very different,” she said after a moment.

“School,” Blake said, sparing her much in the way of detail. “When Cal’s family moved over from Texas.”

Yanmei’s eyes widened in understanding.

“So you’re from the Springs, too?”

“Born and raised.”

Blake remembered the year he met Cal as clear as day. A few weeks into the school year, all the way back in eighth grade, Cal’s family had settled into Colorado Springs. Cal had seemed grumpy about starting school late and rebuffed anyone who put too much effort into trying to befriend him. So Blake had just watched him from afar, amused by the new Texan transplant but not getting that close to him.

They were mere acquaintances until a chance meeting in high school, a few years later.

Blake was fifteen and he’d taken to driving his parents’ old primer-gray van to school in the mornings. One bitterly cold December day, two hours after school had let out, Blake finished serving detention, eager to get his ass home. Only when he turned the key in the ignition, the van wouldn’t start. And no amount of cursing or coaxing or pleading had any effect.

By the time he’d hiked back to the school itself, most of the buildings were locked up. He had just about resigned himself to a two-mile walk in the frigid wind to the nearest gas station to call home when he spotted someone walking across the parking lot.

The Texan kid. Calvin.

Cal had stayed late to spend some time in the gym with the rest of the wrestling team. And as it just so happened, he also had his permit. And even more amazingly, he’d had jumper cables in his truck.

Blake had to admit, while hopping back and forth from one foot to the other in the cold, that he’d never jump-started a car before. So Cal had shouldered him out of the way, sat him down in the passenger’s seat, and set the whole thing up. All Blake had to do was turn the key and rev the engine.

Their friendship blossomed and evolved naturally from there. Blake was determined to pay Cal back, so he invited him out to a hockey game. Cal in turn introduced Blake to the other wrestlers, broadening his social circle from his usual artsy acquaintances. They discovered a shared love of music, and that, as they said, was that.

Blake realized he was staring off into space and blinked, apologizing to Yanmei.

“Lost in thought?” Her eyes twinkled in amusement.

“You could say that,” Blake said.

“So what are your plans for the rest of your time in Denver?”

“Probably catch up with family, friends. That sort of stuff. We play another show at the arena tomorrow, then we’re filming at Red Rocks.”

Yanmei let out a soft, thoughtful hum. She glanced over toward Cal again. Blake could plainly see gears turning in the young woman’s mind, although to what purpose he couldn’t guess. At least until she filled him in on her idea.

It turned out, Yanmei had a proposition for him.

A proposition that made Blake’s mouth stretch into a grin so big that his face hurt.

A proposition that would make Cal
so
mad.

He couldn’t wait.

* * *

L
eaving
The Garage with Yanmei’s phone number in his back pocket, Blake caught a cab. He contemplated going straight to the hotel, but there was something he wanted to grab at his old house.

Blake’s parents had once owned the single-story brick affair on the outskirts of Aurora, but after his first album went big, he had insisted on buying it off them. They’d always wanted to move out to the West Coast to be closer to his other relatives, and buying the house was his way of giving them financial help in a way they’d actually accept.

The neighborhood wasn’t the greatest anymore, Blake noted, as the cab took him off the interstate. There were broken bottles by the side of the road, other garbage in the gutters. Half the shops in the strip mall down the street were shut. Winchell’s was still selling hot donuts twenty-four-seven, thank God, but the rest of the area was just about unrecognizable.

Blake paid the driver extra to wait while he strolled up the driveway.

The house was little more than a brick box, with only five rooms. It had felt bigger when he was growing up. All his old furniture was still there, his old posters still up on his bedroom walls. Only his parents’ stuff had been moved out, and even then they’d left most of the heavy things behind.

The guitar case was right where Blake had left it, standing upright in his closet.

C
al could tell
something was up the second he pulled into the parking lot at work. There was a big, unmarked white truck parked alongside the building. The first—and admittedly crazy—thought Cal had was
did I miss a payment? Is someone here to repossess my shit?
But the bar had been paid for in full since his dad was forty, so that was ridiculous.

Equally ridiculous was the number of non-Garage staff wandering in and out before the doors opened.

What the hell?

Ready to make a scene, Cal marched into the taproom. But any authority he’d summoned to use on these people died when he saw who else was there.

Yanmei. And beside her, Blake. Fucking Blake. Why?

His eyes took in the rest of the scene: the stage, which was typically only used for karaoke, had a few tables cleared away from it. A small drum kit was set up in the back. Two of the black t-shirt guys were setting up speakers and another had a couple cheap lights on stands.

They were setting up for a concert.

Blake was setting up for a concert in his fucking bar.

He wanted to grab the nearest t-shirt guy by the shoulder and ask who the hell gave them all permission to do this, but Yanmei’s presence pointed to a single culprit. Was she out of her mind? Sure, he gave her a lot of authority as manager, but this was the sort of thing one really should ask for permission from one’s boss for.

“Cal!”

There she was, hollering his name. She jogged up to him, grinning, and did a little turn on the floor, spreading her arms to show off the stage fixtures.

“What do you think?”

Cal was flabbergasted.

“What do I think? I think you organized a concert without my permission, let a bunch of people into my bar, and need your ass beat.”

Yanmei’s expression crumpled. She stopped dead in her tracks.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” she said. “Like, a
good
surprise.”

“How is any of this good?”

Now she was eyeing him like
he
was the crazy one.

“Uh, a top-forty artist is playing a secret show in our bar
for free
. You can’t put a price on this kind of advertising. And we’re going to be packed tonight.”

Those were all things that were factually correct, but what about his authority? What about asking him for permission?

“I just can’t believe you didn’t let me know first,” Cal said, aghast.

“You’re always telling me to take some initiative,” she countered. “With advertising and stuff.”

“This isn’t advertising! This is letting a stranger turn our bar into a circus!”

“He’s not a stranger to you. I figured any friend of yours was a friend of mine.”

Cal took a step back from her and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not happening. Maybe if he clenched his eyes shut and clicked his heels three times, he’d wake up back in Kansas.

Yanmei looked worried now.

“You’re really not happy about this, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

“I can cancel,” she offered. “At least probably. I’ve already put word out to a couple guys, but there’s probably still time—”

She sounded choked, rushed, on the verge of panic. Cal could see it in her posture, the way she withdrew a little, folding her arms tightly over her chest.

Suddenly, he felt like an asshole.

She’d only been trying to help. Sure, it had gone exceptionally wrong, but she thought she was doing him a favor.

He clenched his teeth, let out a frustrated growl. If she canceled now, she’d look like an idiot in front of professionals who respected her. That wasn’t fair. But if he didn’t force her to cancel, he’d have to stand in his own bar and listen to fucking Blake Bradley, Country Superstar take it over. He wasn’t sure he could handle that.

Maybe he could just go home sick.

Although that would undoubtedly get back to Blake, who’d take it as a victory, the smug prick.

No.

Cal would grin and bear it. Because that was what Cal did.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. Yanmei regarded him doubtfully, but he forced a smile.

“You sure?”

“Positive. I shouldn’t be shitty with you about taking that initiative.”

“I’ll say.” She paused, squinted one eye at him, assessing him in silence. “One of these days, you and I are going to have a sit-down and you’re going to tell me what the deal is between you and him.”

Cal couldn’t help but dart a glance over to Blake, who was obliviously tuning his banjo over by the stage.

“The deal?” He tried to plead ignorance.

“I’m smarter than I look. Come on, give me some credit. You threw Blake in my lap like a hot potato yesterday and now you stomp in here like you’d happily burn the bar down to get rid of him.”

Cal released a heavy sigh, his chest deflating. Was it that obvious? He thought he’d handled things at least semi-diplomatically.

“Blake said you two were friends,” Yanmei said, offhand.

“Well, he left out a fair bit.” Cal paused, unsure how much to tell her. He settled on, “We had a falling out.”

“Oh.” Yanmei sounded contrite. Cal wasn’t trying to guilt trip her, though.

“Just let him play,” Cal said. “You put a lot of work into this. And I trust your judgment. If you think it’ll be good for the bar, I’m sure it will be.”

As much as Cal wished he could lock himself away in a bunker far from Blake’s influence, he wasn’t so upset that he’d trample all over Yanmei just to get free of him. She deserved better than that. And really, this was Blake’s fault, because he’d had the opportunity to tell the truth about their past.

Cal avoided looking at the stage as he made his way over to the bar. He had a long night ahead of him. As soon as he’d confronted the truth—how badly he still wanted Blake—he’d had difficulty coping. Half a decade apart hadn’t dulled the talons of those feelings at all. It still rubbed him just as raw as the day he’d realized Blake didn’t want him in quite the same way.

He typically avoided drinking on the job, but he wondered if today qualified as extenuating circumstances.

Cal mixed himself a gin and tonic, muddling some mint leaves and trying not to look up at the man who only ever wanted him as a friend with benefits.

P
laying tiny
, stripped-down sets was a pleasure Blake didn’t get to enjoy too often. At least not in these days of headline gigs and around-the-clock interviews. Sneaking off with Carlo to play a casual, bare-bones, banjo-and-percussion-only gig at The Garage was a dream come true.

Sticking it to Cal was the icing on the cake.

Blake wasn’t sure what the deal was between Cal and Yanmei, and after a half day in her company, their relationship remained a mystery. They seemed much closer than a boss and an employee, and she spoke of him with a reticence that could possibly have been interpreted as romantic...

Why did he even care, anyway?

Blake grabbed a big can of Coors for Carlo and a bottle of water for himself, then took the two steps up onto the stage for a quick sound check. Once Yanmei opened the doors, the sparse crowd inside grew thicker. The two of them had put out feelers—nothing concrete, just teasers, a couple of obscure Facebook posts—hinting obliquely at the show’s location and existence. It appeared to have done the trick.

By the time Blake and Carlo started into their first number, the building was packed to capacity. Cal and Yanmei and some skinny guy Blake hadn’t seen before were run off their feet at the bar. The beer was flowing, the set was cozy and intimate, and in that moment there was no place Blake would rather be.

He’d forgotten how much fun music could be, sometimes. Without Rhett around kicking up a fuss, he and Carlo joked and fucked with each other during the set, trying to throw one another off with time signature changes or the spontaneous addition of “Cripple Creek” to the set list.

Blake played a couple of the Sinsationals’ newer songs, but just the big radio hits. A decent chunk of the crowd sang along, especially to “Sneaking Out,” a song Blake imagined just about everyone could relate to. Who hadn’t snuck out after curfew to fool around and stargaze with their special someone?

Sometimes, when Blake sang it, he felt like a fraud. Not because he’d never done it—he’d snuck out on more nights than he’d stayed in as a youngster—but because it hadn’t ever been for
love.
Not like it was in the song. In a song, you couldn’t say you lied to your parents and snuck out at night to spend the night with a different guy or girl every week. People only wanted you to admit you broke the rules for someone special.

That was a truism Rhett had nailed into his skull during their sessions for their sophomore album. And as much of an asshole as Rhett was, he wrote damn good pop songs. Blake couldn’t argue with the results.

But just because he didn’t argue didn’t mean that style of songwriting felt right. Sometimes, it rang pretty hollow.

Overall, though, the show was an upbeat affair. They played a couple drum-thumping hoedown songs, a sea shanty, and assorted other bits. The audience loved it. Blake loved it, too. He left a mental note to have Rich, his publicist, look into talk-show appearances or other gigs where he could play solo or just with Carlo. He needed it.

Throughout the hour-long set, he stole glances toward the bar. Cal looked so overworked that he scarcely glanced up. So overworked that at one point, Blake actually felt kind of bad.

Watching Cal in his natural habitat was an intriguing thing. For starters, he moved so differently now. His every step was possessed of the quiet confidence and sure-footedness of a man who knew his capabilities and wasn’t afraid of anything. He handled rowdy drunks with the same finesse as chatty customers. He wasn’t Cal the New Kid anymore, not by a long stretch.

Admiring that capable body language resulted in the inevitable study of Cal’s body itself, which Blake observed unabashedly. Cal was built like a truck these days, his figure cut with the muscle of a man who worked for it out in the real world rather than in a gym. He wasn’t sculpted like a bodybuilder, he was sculpted like a man who kicked asses for a living.

That combined with his scruffier hair, the tan he’d since acquired...

If Cal wasn’t attached to Yanmei in the romantic sense, he probably had to beat the would-be suitors off with a baseball bat.

* * *

A
fter his set
, Blake mingled with the crowd. He shook hands, took a few selfies, bought beers for strangers, drank beers that strangers bought for him, and generally let his hair down. His management team had condoned the show, but none of them had turned up for the actual gig, so he relaxed a little.

Before he knew it, Cal was shouting from the bar that it was last call. That meant... shit, was it two in the morning?

Blake hadn’t put much thought into the gift he’d retrieved from his childhood home, but now it weighed heavy on his conscience. He’d lugged it all the way out here. But now that he had, the idea of actually approaching Cal and giving it to him seemed far-fetched. In fact, Blake couldn’t convince himself that Cal was even worth it.

He thought maybe the years would have softened his anger, but they hadn’t. Cal had walked out on him. And the band. He’d turned his back on all of them.

Blake’s original idea of giving him the guitar hadn’t even been for forgiveness’ sake. It was more so he didn’t feel like throwing up in anger every time he opened his closet door. Now, faced with the task of delivering it, he wasn’t sure he could follow through.

Yet the more he thought about it, the more he realized that giving the guitar away was the best course of action. If he couldn’t summon the guts, he’d feel like a wuss for the rest of his life. He’d look back on this moment any time he was doubting himself. He’d use it as ammunition against himself.

Blake stretched and set his glass aside, heading out through a side door to where the truck was parked. The case was right where he’d left it, standing up against the wall of the trailer.

If Blake had to stand out there in the brisk night air, summoning up the courage to approach his old friend, nobody had to know.