Page 23 of Syncopation
Chapter Seven
How they made it through the next two weeks before the tour officially started, Ray wasn’t sure. He did know, when he climbed onto the bus with Dom, Mish, and Zavier, that he was grateful for the hours they’d be on the road. No Carl, no practices, just the bus and the tour. He could crawl into his berth, close the curtain, and ignore the world.
Practicing with Carlbreathing down their necks had been hell. At first, he’d been complimentary after the festival performance, even noting that Ray’s song choices had been decent. The label was certainly impressed—Carl had imparted that, too. But after a few days, the jabs returned. Whenever Ray had the rest of the band work on getting the blend just so, Carl called him lazy. If Ray rested his voice, he was weak.
He wasn’t...at least he didn’t think he was. Maybe he didn’t have the blisters and sore muscles the others had, but he still had been focused the entire time.
Nothing meant more to him than Twisted Wishes—he wished he could make Carl see that and get the man off his back. At least Carl wouldn’t be here on the bus with them. Ray eyed the space they’d inhabit for the next couple of months.Thank god.
Touring would be a break from all of Carl’s noise. At least Ray hoped.
Dom threw his backpack down on one of the couches and flopped next to it. “Home sweet home, or something.”
Mish headed down to the berths and dropped her bag into a lower bunk. “Dibs.”
Zavier stopped in the middle of the aisle, eyes a bit too wide. “Wow.” He sounded surprised. Amazing—something thatstopped Zavier Demos in his tracks.
Ray settled onto the couch across from where Dom sat. “I thought you toured in Europe with the symphony?”
Zavier didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat down next to Ray and placed his bag between his feet. “We did tour in Europe, but not like this.” He glanced around the bus too openly and too honestly. “We took buses between cities, but they wereregular coaches. This is—” He shook his head. “I knew musicians lived out of their tour buses on the road, but I had no idea.”
Yeah, did take some getting used to. A little kitchen and table. The berths for sleeping. A lounge in the back. A bathroom with a shower. All the comforts of home, packed into a vehicle. The first time Ray’d ever walked onto one of these buses, he’d stared at everythingtoo. It was luxurious in its own way, until it became your home for weeks on end.
Mish returned and took the seat by the table. “So what was it like in Europe?”
Great. More Zavier stories. Ray pushed himself off the couch and took the upper bunk across from the one Mish had claimed. Not that Zavier told many stories, but Ray was on Zav overload. That voice, those arms, the way his shouldersand back rippled without a shirt.
This tour was going to behell.
Zavier’s chuckle burned into Ray’s soul, and despite wanting to remain annoyed, he leaned against the berths and listened.
“You have to understand that a symphony is about a hundred musicians, plus instruments, plus a crew, plus support staff, plus press. It’s nothing like what we’re doing.”
Ray couldn’t help himself.“Shit, how do you even move that many people around?”
The bus rumbled beneath them. Oh. They’d be heading out soon. He reclaimed the spot by Dom, because stumbling when the bus lurched forward would be fucking embarrassing, and that was far worse than being turned on by sitting too close to Zavier.
Zavier leaned back against the leather cushions. “Mostly the support staff did the heavylifting, along with the host cities. We also spent days in one place, and traveled by bus between close locations, and by plane if the city was farther away.”
“So, more like a vacation than living on the road.” Dom adjusted his glasses and looked longingly at the coffeepot. “How much you want to bet that thing’s on the fritz?”
“It was a lot like a vacation.” Zavier rose and headed towardthe coffeemaker. Just then, the bus lurched, but goddamn him, he didn’t even break his stride, let alone stumble.
Ray hated that man. He also wanted him.
He closed his eyes as the bus pulled out of the lot onto the road. Truth was, he didn’t hate Zav. He was growing to like the bastard, and he certainly respected his talent and work ethic. No complaints, no issues, just focus and deferenceas they perfected their songs.
“This isn’t bad coffee.” Zavier’s voice was soft over the ever-present whine of the engine. He held open a bag of some fancy-label grind and sniffed it.
“Coffee’s never bad,” Mish said. “Maker is usually a piece of shit, though.”
“Let’s see.” Zavier set about making a pot. He found a case of water and used the bottled stuff, and soon the pot was gurglingaway. “So far, so good.”
Dom rooted in his backpack. “It’s only day one.” He pulled out a book and started reading.
Zavier chuckled. “I have a way with machines.”
“You have a way with everything,” Ray muttered.
