Page 17 of Syncopation
The urge to tame that energy and calm those fears gripped Zavierlike a vice. Ray was lithe, strong, and responsive to rhythm, exactly the kind of person Zavier loved to fuck. But he had seen how a wild temper could play out between sexual partners who had to work together, and he’d had enough items thrown at him this year.
Maybe if Ray got his shit together...
No. Not a wise option.
“It’ll be better when we’re on the road. Less time to brood, andCarl’s happier if he can see results.” Mish dumped a dustpan of shards into the trash.
“If Carl cared enough to pay attention, he’d see the results.”
Mish grinned. “You’re starting to sound like one of us, Zavier, honey.”
“Honey?” He raised an eyebrow at Mish.
“Don’t fight me on it. You’ll lose. All you boys are honey.” She had a smile like Nadia’s, though years younger. So hegave in.
“Fine—but only you.”
“Somehow I don’t think either Dom or Ray would call you that, even if you let them.”
“Which I wouldn’t.” He washed his hands in the utility sink by the laundry and dried them on his shorts. “I’m guessing we’re not practicing anymore today.”
After a couple of weeks, they’d finally made it to the third album and had been polishing off a fast-paced trackthat had some heady rhythmic and seductive beats. Ray had sung nearly every repeat, eyes closed to listen, unconsciously moving and thrusting to the song. Zavier would’ve played that line all day long to watch Ray swing his hips so.
Then Carl had walked in and informed them they had to pack up their gear after tomorrow, because they were heading east a half week early to play a gig they’dknown nothing about at some music festival.
They weren’t ready—nearly there, but not quite. Not enough to pack up tomorrow and drive across the country.
Ray had held it together well enough until Carl had left...but then the cursing started.
And here Mish and he were, cleaning up. Dom had followed Ray out of the garage, hopefully to try to calm him down.
“We need to at least getthrough ‘Dark Dreams,’” she said.
That’d been the band’s breakout song. Moody, angry, and fast. It had a sound that younger fans loved—but also hooked into something nostalgic in people a generation older. Twisted Wishes had tapped into the past and dragged it into the present.
“That would be the smart thing.” Zavier studied the door both Ray and then Dom had rushed through. “I guess weought to see what the damage is.” He wasn’t talking about glassware.
They found Dom sitting on the couch in the living room, head in his hands. “He’s being himself again.”
Mish rolled her eyes. “Oh, lord.”
That didn’t sound good. “Where is he?”
Dom gestured up. Upper deck, then. That had been Ray’s sulking spot as of late. Zavier climbed the stairs, and yes, Ray was in his favoritelounge chair, eyes closed, hands curled into fists.
“I’m very sorry to have wasted your time, Zavier.” A detachment to those words. “But I don’t think we’re going to need a drummer much longer.”
“Don’t fucking start with that shit.” Zavier settled into a chair next to Ray. “I’m not in the mood and we have work to do.” He put his feet up on the footstool.
Ray stirred. “For what? Wecan’t play that festival.”
They really had no choice. Saying no to the label wasn’t an option, even if angry, snarky Ray thought it was. “Tough shit. We’re playing that festival, so we might as well prepare the best that we can.”
Ray practically choked on his laugh. “We don’t even have a playlist! I have no idea what songs or—anything!”
The terror of failure was so clear in his expression,in the play of his muscles. The overwhelming fear that they’d step on stage and blow it.
These practices with Twisted Wishes proved that wouldn’t happen. Zavier knew the band, and he knew Ray. “Bullshit. You have a list. You’ve been crafting it in your head since the day I played ‘White Hot Midnight’ for you.”
