Page 36 of No Rhyme or Riesling
Another message came through, with Trevor naming the band for whom they were opening.
Adam blinked.Holy shit!No wonder Trevor didn't want to do a measly wedding. Not when they'd be opening for such a famous group. Adam almost texted back, offering to match whatever the band was getting paid for that gig. But there wasno way he could rob the band of this chance. He'd never forgive himself.
Me: Knock 'em dead!
Trevor: :D You know it!
Adam set his phone aside with a sigh.So much for that. He couldn't sing at the wedding all by himself. He'd need a band. But there would be no way to find one in time. Not one that had the right sound and energy and would be willing to let him take their singer's place for a night.
And without the prospect of a show, he wouldn't have anything to distract him from the date looming just over the horizon.
Adam went straight to the kitchen and poured himself a drink, swallowing it down before he could talk himself out of it again.
Then he hid the bottle where Haven wouldn't find it.
Chapter 13
_________
JOHN
JOHN TAPPED his thumbs on the steering wheel, eyeing the clock as he drove home. A small part of him was tempted to press the gas pedal a tiny bit more, nudging the truck over the speed limit, but he knew it would be pointless. Unlike the absolute morons who insisted on constantly speeding and cutting into traffic, creating the very messes they were trying to get out of, he knew it wouldn't actually save him any time. Seconds, maybe, if that. And that was assuming he didn't cause an accident on the windy country road.
So he clenched his jaw and steadily continued on his way. But—Christ!—he couldn't wait to get home.
He'd worked late again last night, so there hadn't been any time to sit down with his guitar. Now, though, it was Friday night, and he'd actually made himself leave at a decent hour despite still having a pile of things to do. It was already getting to be that time when they needed to strap up some of the vines so the sunlight would reach the coming fruit. Plus more bottling. They'd done the rosé and a few others earlier in the year, of course, but now it was time for more. John sighed. So much to do!
But all he wanted was a nice, quiet evening. Tomorrow morning, he could get caught up with his bills and chores, then spend the rest of the weekend working with those phrases Ward had inadvertently given him. John had tried playing them through his mind any time he caught a spare moment to think, but without his notebooks in his hands, the words kept slipping away and refused to take any sort of cohesive form.
Plus, the rhymes kept eluding him.
John muttered a curse and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, focusing on simply getting home. On doing one thing at a time. He'd take a shower, get something to eat, then grab his guitar and his notebooks and try to make the words flow.
He finally pulled into his driveway, feeling a little bit of the week's tension start to fall away as the oak trees surrounded him, blocking out the world.
Then he noticed Adam's car.
John blinked in surprise as he pulled into the garage. They didn't have plans to get together that night. As far as John knew, Adam shouldn't have been off work until ten, when the coffee shop closed.
He shut the garage door, grabbed his things, and stepped inside the house. John heard the music first, blaring from his stereo system. One song came to an end before he could recognize it, but he knew the next one right away. The opening strains of Phil Collins's “In the Air Tonight” were as familiar as the back of his hand. Despite his preference for country, this was the kind of music on which he'd been raised.
Then Adam began to sing.
John quickly removed his boots and crept beyond the doorway. He found Adam in the kitchen, surrounded by absolute chaos. There was flour all over the counter to the left of the sink, while the sink itself and all the counter space to theright of it were piled high with dirty pots, pans, and other dishes. The oven was on, but John couldn't smell anything yet. Maybe Adam had only just put in whatever dish he'd made.
But instead of starting on the mess, Adam stood in front of the open refrigerator, staring into it while his haunting voice sang along with the music.
John froze, watching the boy. Adam slowly reached out, his fingertips grazing a bottle of chardonnay that sat inside the refrigerator door. The boy stopped there, the haunted look on his face sending a chill right down John's spine.
The song's drum break crashed through the house, changing the energy in the air. Adam banged his head to the beat, swaying almost drunkenly where he stood, causing him to turn just enough that he spotted John.
Adam yelped and slammed the refrigerator shut. “Holy shit,” he panted, looking around at the mess he'd made. “I didn't hear you come in.” He darted over to the sink. “I let myself in with the key you gave me. Hope you don't mind. And I didn't know what time you'd be home but I wanted to surprise you and then I got hungry so I figured I'd make dinner while I waited–”
“Why aren't you at work?” John asked when Adam finally broke off to take a breath.
Adam shrugged one shoulder, his back to John while he tried to start cleaning, only to wind up making more of a mess instead. The flour seemed to double in volume, spreading down the counter and even winding up on the floor. “It was weirdly slow,” Adam replied as he worked, “and we were overstaffed, so the boss sent me home. Except Haven's spending the night with Theo so my apartment was too quiet so I came over here instead.” Adam paused and finally looked directly at John. “Unless you don't want me here…”
John crossed the space in a few, long strides, shoved a pot out of Adam's hands, then grabbed the boy's face, crushing their mouths together.
