Page 102 of Hope & Harmony

“Do you still want to do the tour?” Gino asked.

That heavy weight was still on their shoulders. “We made commitments—to the band, the crew, the label, all those promoters and venues. We can’t just cancel.”

“It happens. We wouldn’t be the first.”

“I want to play our songs.” He spread a hand over Gino’s chest, bracing for impact, for Gino’s reaction to his next words. “One last time.”

He jolted, as Bennett expected, but a cleared throat later, he asked, “What do you need to make it bearable? To make it the farewell tour you want?”

Gasping, Bennett drew back and gazed again at his husband. Conviction shone in his eyes, expression unwavering. “Are you for real?”

He laughed, and the gentle rumble was even better than the music of his pulse. “Yeah, babe, I’m for real. Tell me what you need to put one foot in front of the other, to get behind that micand be the sexy, fierce front man of Middle Cut everyone is there to see.”

“I think they’re there to see the sexy bassist.”

Gino smiled. “Let’s both be honest, they’re really there for Roscoe.”

Bennett laughed out loud, the last thing he expected on a day that had started so awful. How their beefy drummer with his knotty nose, grizzly smile, and missing canine tooth had the entourage he did would forever be a mystery. Maybe it had something to do with the flannel or being an ex-hockey player, two things Bennett, being from San Diego, knew little about.

Gino gave him a soft shake, refocusing his attention. “What do you need, B?”

He rolled onto his back and considered this new possibility, a different road than the freeway he’d thought was the only option. A slower, more scenic route they could drive along at thirty-five miles per hour instead of their usual breakneck speed. “I’d like to enjoy the places we visit, maybe stop at some new ones along the way. Not do three nights on the same stage, then dash to the next. And if we have to sacrifice any cities, I don’t want them to be places we’ve never played before. I want to go to those places and explore.”

“Not gonna argue about a couple days off in San Francisco with you.” Gino shifted down onto the bed, draping himself along Bennett’s side, arm over his waist, head resting on his shoulder. “What else?”

Fingers carding through his husband’s chestnut hair, Bennett remembered a time when it was longer, when their lives and shows were simpler. Not easier—those were the days of cup of noodles and bad coffee—but the music, and playing it with each other, was the center of their world. “Do you remember that charity gig we played in Santa Cruz when we were nobodies?”

Gino laughed. “We were like six-point font at the bottom of that show poster.”

“It was one of the best sets we ever played.”

“Your beat-up old Martin, my upright bass from high school. Was that the night we found Roscoe?”

Bennett nodded. “He played piano with the group before ours. You told him to stay there on the bench and keep up.”

“You want to go back to the trio? Or just you and me?”

He shook his head. “No, I like our fuller sound now, but I want to do it simpler. Acoustic, like we did for that show. Stripped down and laid bare. That’s what I want to leave our fans with. The real us.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m sure that’s enough turmoil for you and Gavin to sort.” Their manager wouldn’t be happy, but he was their friend first. He’d met them at that same show all those years ago. He’d get it, even if it did make his life a temporary living hell. “Do apologize to him for me.”

“I told you, no apologies. But I want you to do something for me too.” He picked up his hand again, thumb skating over the scars once more. “Call Britt. Make an appointment. Don’t reschedule it.” He chuckled at how well Gino knew him. He’d already rescheduled three times with his therapist. His laughter died, though, when Gino added, “And ask her for a referral to a couple’s therapist.” He wound their fingers together. “I’m not giving up on us.”

This time Bennett lifted their joined hands, lips lingering over Gino’s knuckles, hope infusing his words for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long. “I don’t want to give up on us either.”

CHAPTER 3

“For the health of ourselves, our bandmates, and our crew, we’re making some changes to the upcoming fall tour. Gavin, if you will please.”

Bennett had to give Gino credit. Over the past week, he’d moved heaven and earth to make the tour Bennett needed happen. As their manager went over the shows that had been cut, mostly second and third nights in the same city or shows in towns where they’d played numerous times before, Bennett wondered if the sea of reporters could tell his insides were as rough and tumble as the ocean had looked that morning under a dark gray sky, a rare summer storm rolling in. Did they have any idea that under his usual leather and denim, he felt as fragile as Gino’s mom’s fine china? Hell, the only things holding him together today were the hour-long call with Britt that morning and Gino’s hand wrapped around his on the table.

“Will there be more dates announced to make up for the canceled ones?” a reporter asked once Gavin finished going over the details.

“Will there be a back half of the tour?” another shouted.

“I’ll take that one, Gavin.” Gino leaned forward in his chair, the lines of his shoulders and back tense. Did the reporterssee beneathhisjeans and tee that he was as strung tight as his upright bass? Probably not, distracted as everyone was by the sexy smile that made fans swoon. “Yeah, so, I’ve never lied to y’all, and I’m not gonna start now.” Wasn’t that the truth. One of their early labels had suggested they keep their romantic relationship a secret. That same night, Gino had called his mother and told her to do her worst with the wedding. And Liz had—they had their nuptials at her Rancho Santa Fe mansion, big and ostentatious, the opposite of under the radar, their truth out there for everyone to see. And today, Gino was bearing more truths. “Bennett and I have been on the road for more than two decades, and these last five years, man, they’ve been incredible. Beyond our wildest dreams, and we are so very grateful, especially to our fans. But things lately have been hard. We’ve been rehearsing for the new tour, and we’re realizing we’re not twenty-somethings anymore. Hell, we’re closer to fifty than forty at this point. We’re tired, and we hurt, in our joints, in our minds, and in our hearts.”

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