Page 14 of Secret Hudson

Royce tosses the shirt onto a chair and reaches for the Tom Waits one he’s putting on in its place. Only he doesn’t...put it on. Just holds it in his hands while I try to keep my eyes lifted above his collar bone and away from the muscles that continue to dance under his smooth skin with each move he makes.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits, but I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about. I’ve yet to see him do anything he isn’t stellar at.

“Not good at what?”

His gaze meets mine, that same hint of insecurity I saw before is back. “This. Meeting men. Connecting. Dating.” He grimaces.

“You’re joking. You’re fucking Royce Lemmi! Sex on a motherfucking stick with musical talent coming out of your ass.” My rational mind tells me this is his thing, his game, his line, but my gut tells me something completely different. Behind all of that rugged rocker exterior, is someone broken. And lonely.

“Yeah, I’m fucking Royce Lemmi alright.” He shakes his head. “Some days it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m on the road more than I’m not, and when I actually stay put, I’m holed up in the recording studio. I live in a bubble, surrounded by four of the most fucked up individuals you’ll probably ever meet, all of which I would die for in a heartbeat, because that’s the kind of love we have for one another. Aside from them, the only great passion in my life is my music. And the harsh truth is, anyone else coming into the picture will likely never top either one of those on the list of what’s most important to me.That is, of course, provided anyone can even get through the thousands of horny women throwing themselves at me night after night, because I’m a gay man living in a public closet with mirrored walls I can’t seem to find my fucking way out of.” He stares down at the T-shirt still in his hands. “So, yeah, I’m not good at this...but after today, I kind of wish I was.”

I have no fucking clue what comes over me. Maybe it’s the sight of Royce being so vulnerable. Or maybe it’s a more primal need to feel his skin against my own, but I take several steps toward him and reach my hand up to his face, cupping his cheek, the soft stubbles of his five o’clock shadow brushing against my palm.

“I think you’re better at it than you know.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

ROYCE

Tonight, I play with a completely new energy surging through me. For the first time, I truly get what happened to Derek on theLife from the Ashesalbum and then Blaise on the last two we released. It's an inexplicable change, completely out of one’s control, and the frightening and undeniable fact is it could affect me just as negatively if the fates see fit to shift course at any point.

As of yet, they’re giving no indication of the sort, however. On the contrary, after finishing the show, I make a temporary appearance at the after party before slinking off with Hudson.

He takes me back to his mother’s shop where we sit and talk and laugh for hours. This time I make the coffee, just in case he's still under the impression that my interest in him is in any way related to his barista skills.

“This is pretty good, by the way.” He smiles and takes another sip.

For some stupid reason I feel my face getting red. One minor compliment about my coffee making skills and I'm reacting like a twelve-year-old facing a first kiss during an awkward game of spin the bottle. “Yeah, well, you spend enough mornings with Ava, and you learn to brew a pretty solid pot.”

He nods knowingly. “I take it she doesn’t have a very sunny disposition in the a.m.?”

I shake my head and swallow in a hurry. “Oh, no. She’s her usual perky-but-snotty self. It’s more like she has a spaz disposition. Wait ‘til you see her in action for yourself. Walks around like she’s got fucking blindfolds on, bumping into things and knocking shit over. Mostly we just try to make sure she has a reasonably clear path to the coffee maker. Since walking a straight line is definitely not within her pre-caffeine capabilities.”

Hudson chuckles softly. He has a mild, gentle way about him. A quiet strength that makes me want to be near him almost as badly as that sexy as hell smile of his does. Only for a completely different reason.

“So, tell me. What do you like to do when you actually have the night off to yourself?” He taps the rim of his mug with his finger.

That's a damn good question. “Honestly? I don’t really do all that much. Playing music has always been my favorite past time, and even now that it’s my job so to speak, I’m still perfectly content sitting at home alone, messing around with my bass or goofing around on whatever other instrument I have lying about that catches my eye.” I shrug. “Sounds kind of sad and boring when I hear it out loud.”

“Not at all. Sounds like you’ve learned how to be comfortable with your own company. Enjoy it even. Not everyone knows how to do that, you know? And I think that’s kind of sad actually.” He takes another drink of his coffee, but his eyes remain fixed on mine the entire time. Usually, I can only take so much of that.

Constant eye contact bugs me from most people. But not him. Not Hudson. Probably because I'm so mesmerized bythose dark brown almond shaped eyes of his, I have very little desire to look at much else myself.

“What about you? What do you like to do when you’re not here running the store or taking phenomenal pictures?”

He laughs. “I’m totally going to sound like I’m copying your answer, but seriously, I don’t do anything all that exciting either. I’m addicted to the view through a lens. I don’t even care what I’m looking at. It could seem like the most mundane thing, but when I’m behind the camera, everything is different. I see things. Notice details, flaws, beauty – amazing, breathtaking beauty – I’d never see otherwise.”

His entire face lights up as he speaks, and I understand exactly what he means, how it makes him feel. Music has always done the exact same thing for me.

“You know, that’s pretty rare too. Feeling so passionate about something. Being able to pinpoint exactly what brings you joy in life. I mean, I used to think it wasn’t. I’ve been playing with the guys since I was sixteen, and we all live for it. Music, I mean. We’re obsessed. Perfectionists in a lot of ways, and we work really fucking hard, always pushing ourselves to be better, to grow as artists, but we love it. There isn’t a day that I wake up and think, ‘shit, I really don’t want to play today’.” I stop for a moment trying to recollect my thoughts. I was going somewhere with this. “Fuck. I got derailed there. Sorry. Anyway, my point was, somewhere along the way I grew up and I started meeting other grown-ups. Dating them. And I noticed how many people there were who just sort of wandered through life aimlessly. No passion. No desire. No dream. Just, whatever. Sure, most of them want to do well, make money, but you can’t live your fucking life like that. Well, maybe you can.But why the fuck would you want to? And why the fuck would I want to be with someone so disconnected from their heart? Their spirit?”

Hudson stares at me intently. He doesn’t say anything. Almost instantly, I begin replaying my own little rant in my mind, hoping against all hope that I said such insightful shit, he's still letting it all sink in. Just as I'm coming to the end of it and starting to panic because it's really all just a long-winded babble about nothing Hallmark hasn’t already put into a card about fifty-thousand times in fifty-thousand different ways, he sets down his mug and stands up from his seat.

“Could I take your picture?”

What? “Right now?” As often as I’ve had my picture taken in recent years, I still sort of require some time to pep myself up for the whole ordeal. I kinda hate it. Pictures are a lot like mirrors, and I hate the shit out of those.

“Yeah. Right now.” He gestures with his hand for me to get up. Confused, but annoyingly desperate to make him happy, I do.

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