Page 1 of The Men of Summer
THE MEN OF SUMMER
Their greatest responsibility might be their most rewarding challenge.
After Dante came to terms with being bi five years ago, he fought for our second chance and we quickly settled into a routine… until life threw us a curve ball. A responsibility neither of us envisioned.
We struggle to find balance while Dante’s on the road with his band. It can get lonely sometimes, but mostly working from home as an ethical hacker, keeping my personal life under wraps, and raising a child who’s not actually ours keeps me busy. I capture the mundane moments Dante’s missing, one photo at a time. We may not be a picture-perfect family, but I can live with that… as long as nobody gets hurt in the process.
I’ll do anything to protect them. A found family. A beautiful family.Myfamily.
CHAPTER 1
UNDER PRESSURE
Dante
Water droplets run down my body. I sprint to pick up the phone, half-naked and cursing under my breath. My ears haven’t recovered from the concert. I unsurprisingly assumed the irritating sound was a figment of my imagination.
“This better be important…” I grumble to myself. Who cares anyway? I’m on my own, yet again. In a luxury hotel, yet again. In a foreign country, yet again. Strike that, Canada is hardly a foreign country, and the usual suspects tagged along. These guys are among the most talented musicians I’ve met, and my drummer Lisa is one of a kind.
The steaming hot shower loosened my sore muscles to some extent. I make atssknoise, preparing to jump down the caller’s throat… Why not text or leave a message rather than bust my balls?
My haste causes the plush towel that’s loosely wrapped around my waist to drop in the middle of the expansive bedroom. “Dammit!” I kick the damp towel away from my ankleand reach the nightstand shortly after the call goes to voicemail. “Seriously?” I shout in frustration.
Shivering from the overbearing A/C, I opt to get dressed instead of checking the caller ID. In less time that it took me to get to the damn phone, I’m donning a pair of black boxer briefs and a T-shirt.
Note to self: Change this irritating ringtone when I wrap up with the intruder who dared to interrupt my sacred post-stage routine.
I internally blame my new manager and decide to stop paying attention to the damn phone. I make a bee-line towards the bar area, grab a bottle of water, and gulp most of it. Don’t get me wrong, I love my new manager… but she’s the type who can’t wait for our next working lunch. The woman is utterly overbearing, yet I can’t bring myself to despise her infuriating ways. She’s too damn good at her job! Her business acumen sent my latest album soaring on the American and Canadian Top 50, and then some.
My first manager, Thomas Swagger, believed in my talent enough to put my name out there. Our different views on certain topics—including my personal life—rendered our collaboration difficult. Despite my success, ignoring the discord turned out to be suffocating. My initial disappointment at the short-term contract didn’t last long. I met Melissa Turner through Swagger, and she’s a whole other beast. In a few months’ time, the petite fiery brunette pushed me and my artistry to grow. Hence, the international tour and my first Coachella in two months.
Yes, my thirtieth birthday party was wild, and I’m living my dream to the fullest! Awesome career and hefty paychecks that are deposited into a savings account, because my parents taught me well. And let’s not forget my amazing boyfriend, who’s been supportive since day one, yet still shies away from the public eye.
Even when we were teenagers and strictly friends, Zayn praised my talents, but my breakthrough single,The Boys of Summer,marked a turning point between us. Was it because I had just come to terms with my long-time attraction to him? Was it because he inspired me to write the hit song when we started dating five years ago? Was it because my fame arrived alongside his own dream job in Silicon Valley? All in all, it solidified our relationship… Our long-distance relationship, that is.
We see each other as much as our busy schedules allow. In the interim, we’ve learned to be creative and became less camera shy in record time, especially when getting ourselves off. Our one constant is Seaside’s mid-August Music Festival where I put on a unique show for my fans. That’s not for another two months, so there’s plenty of time to make plans with some of my family, friends, and former bandmates from Plot Twist.
His Californian life suits him so well that he hasn’t returned to France. Well, that’s only part of the story. In truth, I hate that he feels like he can’t share our relationship with his family. We’ve taken to documenting bits and pieces of our time together—and apart—on our phones. We select a few of our favorite shots to print so that my surprisingly romantic heart can keep these memories close when my music takes me and my crew on the road, which occurs more often than not.
Damn, the phone’s buzzing again! This time, I snatch it and press the green button without looking. Old habits die hard. The deep masculine voice hurtles me back to the present. “Dante…”Thatvoice… It used to be familiar… My blood runs cold. Why does his hesitation make my name sound like a question?
The high from my performance disappears in an instant. Pacing the room, I bite the corner of my bottom lip, torn between surprise, excitement, and anger. What’s gotten intohim? Refusing to let my initial gut feeling prevail, I shake my head in a feeble attempt to clear it.
Inhaling deeply, I use my most collected voice. “Hey, Dad.” Thank God, I got dressed! I sure as fuck wouldn’t have enjoyed this conversation in my birthday suit. I hear his labored breathing on the other end of the line. It’s unlike him to call, especially repeatedly.
If I’m being honest, I wonder why he’s calling at all. A cold bead of sweat runs down my spine. My rational brain must have short-circuited because I’m speechless.
“Son, you there?” He hasn’t called me that in years. He swallows loudly, obviously waiting for me to speak. I fail miserably at getting my bearings, and my lower lip trembles. All I can think is why him, of all people? Why today? Why now? Granted, Oregon is three hours behind, but justwhy?
I bet he can see through my feigned bravado. “What are you doing up so late?” is all I can come up with. My pacing increases. “At least,Ihad a good reason to mess with my beauty sleep.” It’s been ages since I’ve had enough sleep or a proper self-care routine. Work always comes first. I owe it to my fans.
Early in my rising stardom, my mom demanded that I call her after each concert… out of superstition, she claimed. Not because of the distance due to my frequent travels or his blatant preference for Pascual and Pablo, my younger twin brothers, who will one day become football stars… Nah, talking to me every single night—no matter where my music led me—was her way to assert that I was still part of the family, despite my father’s inability to acknowledge my sexual orientation and relationship with Zayn.
When I came out to him, after casually informing him that I had signed my first record deal, he chose not to congratulate me on my success. Instead, he emphasized that lying to my parents wasn’t how I had been raised. Why add insult to injury, right?So I kept my trap shut about Mom being in the know for several months already. He said I’d deceitfully introduced Zayn as a good friend of mine. He never dared to bad-mouth Zayn, who was always polite and respectful. As usual, he blamedme. I’d been too shell-shocked to react. That came a few days later when I accidentally overheard a conversation between my parents. To him, I was a liar and a sinner, but that wasn’t news. What came next marked the end of our threadbare relationship. The asshole had thecajonesto insinuate that he would have preferred if I was gay. According to him, people who are too cowardly to accept they’re gay identify as bi. Whatever…
At the time, we were still living under the same roof, although he and I had renovated the massive attic into a modern bachelor pad. Why bother? I packed a bag, relocated to Zayn’s one-bedroom rental in Palo Alto, and never looked back.
Reflecting on what went down between us, I thread my fingers through my overgrown hair. My cheeks are flushed, and I’m seething.
