Page 27 of Rocking Cedarwood

“You think he will?”

“I’m sure. I lied. I said I had a summer job.” He closed his eyes. For the first time since he’d formed the band, he wasn’t looking forward to playing. The music wasn’t soothing his soul or easing his mind.

Dexter groaned. “I thought Leif could be the one. I did. I fell hard for him.”

Michael opened his eyes. “We all make mistakes. Some are bigger than others.” He stood. “I need to shave my head and pretend to be a rock star. I don’t feel like one, but I get to play one.”

Dexter opened the bathroom door and stepped into the aisle. “We’ll get it straightened out.”

“I don’t see how. Leif might have opened his mouth, but this was my doozy of a secret. I never should’ve tried to lead a double life.”

“You did what you needed to do in order to have what you wanted.”

What he really wanted was to be back in bed with Niall and fucking their way through their first full day off school for the summer.

* * * *

Niall looked at his phone for the hundredth time. He loved the texts he’d gotten from Michael over the last week. Seeing him was better, but he appreciated the little notes. Part of him still wondered what the heck was so important and top secret about Michael’s job. Why was he being targeted by the coalition? He was gay. So what? They’d known that all along. Something didn’t make sense, but what was he supposed to do? Throw a fit? Picket? Scream? That wouldn’t do any good. He’d learned that with his ex, Kurt. The tighter he’d tried to hold, the more Kurt had wanted to get the hell away from him. He could still hear Kurt insulting him and laughing as he moved his stuff out of their shared apartment.

He refused to make another mistake and push Michael away. But how did he know he hadn’t done so already? The date and the sex afterward had been off the charts. To him, they’d clicked. According to the texts, Michael cared about him.

Can’t wait to see you at the concert.

Miss you.

The day job would be so much easier if I had you across the hall.

His heart fluttered when the messages came in. He couldn’t wait to hear from Michael and treasured the texts. Did that make him a pushover? He wasn’t sure. Here he was blindly accepting Michael’s story and going along with Michael’s rules, even when down in his guts he didn’t totally buy into what he’d been told. He knew something wasn’t right. People didn’t just disappear for the summer unless they were deployed by the military, or maybe he worked on a cruise ship?

Niall groaned and turned the phone over to hide the screen. According to Michael, he was downtown. He could go look for Michael’s office building, but why bother if he didn’t know which building to look for? He didn’t want to waste the gas or the time when he had other things to do. Obviously Michael wasn’t that invested in spending time with him, or he had a really good reason not to. Why he couldn’t share that reason was beyond Niall, but he’d keep those thoughts quiet for now. He turned his attention back to what he needed to do around the house.

For the last week, he’d been busy painting the parlor and sitting room as well as doing yard work, but he’d been alone. He crossed off the days until he reached the only thing on his calendar. He still couldn’t believe Michael knew someone at the arena and could get the ticket. It was unreal. Still, he’d see Michael after the concert.

He checked the clock function on his phone. In less than three hours, he’d be seeing Bandit live. He smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt and ruffled his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t going to win any awards, but he looked good and wanted to impress Michael.

Niall glanced out of the window. A limousine had parked in his driveway. What the hell was that there for? He opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.

A man in a sport coat strolled up the walkway. “Hi. My name is Dexter Tryor and I’m here to give you a ride.”

“I didn’t order a limousine.” He crossed his arms and widened his stance. Looking tough had never been his strong point, but he’d try. Good thing he could tamp down the fear. From his time in the classroom, he’d learned to project a calm facade.

“Sorry, I didn’t explain.” Dexter bowed his head. “You were given a special ticket and backstage pass to the Bandit and the Blackhearts show, correct?”

“I was.” How did Dexter know about this? And why did this guy look familiar?

Dexter strode up to the bottom of the steps. He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and widened his stance. He smiled and reminded Niall of every boring, stuffed-shirt lawyer he’d seen on television—too smooth but a little slimy around the edges.

“I’ve met you, haven’t I?” He wasn’t about to cross the lawn to the limo without a little more explanation. He‘d seen Dexter’s face before. “Ashley? Or were you the one who tried to keep Steve Moore in the Cedarwood district?”

“Yes, I represented him, but the school district decided to go in a different direction and Mr. Moore found better employment.” Dexter squared his shoulders and looked Niall in the eye. “Now, about the tickets. Part of that package was a limo ride to the concert. Courtesy of Bandit, himself.”

“Bandit is in the limo?” Bandit…the man he loved to see onstage, had been the reason he’d been given the tickets? But Michael said he knew someone at the center… Niall stared at the man. His words made sense, but he had no idea what the hell the guy was getting at.

“No, he’s at the venue doing sound checks. He wanted to be here.” Dexter reached into his pocket. “I’ve got a video message for you.”

“A what?” He knew what a video message was, but things were getting a bit surreal. He crept to the steps and stopped. Dexter turned the phone around, and sure enough, a video played.

Bandit, in his bald, pierced and all-black-attired glory, stood beside what appeared to be a bus or an RV. His dark sunglasses gleamed and the labret piercing below his bottom lip jiggled when he smiled. The black T-shirt gripped his upper body like a second skin and when he flexed his arm, the tattoo of the snake bulged. Niall wished he could see Bandit’s eyes. Something about the way the man carried himself and his crooked smile reminded him of Michael. But Michael worked in an office—hewasn’tBandit. Still, Niall focused on the screen.

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