Page 31 of Syncopation
Chapter Nine
Five words into the first verse of “Lightning,” Ray knew he’d been right about opening with this song. The thrum of Mish’s bass and the growl of Dom’s guitar were a counterpoint to the growing threat of Zavier’s drums. The crowd—oh, the crowd. He knew most of them were here to see Five Asylum, but there were Twisted Wishes fans out there, too. A whole hell of a lot of them,because they screamed when they realized which song was being played and sang along. Those in the front strained their arms out to touch Ray’s fingers
This was what he’d hoped for, what the band needed. What that fuckass Carl didn’t understand. It wasn’t about the publicity or the gossip rags or schooling or any of that—it was about the fans. The music. The energy. Give your soul over in wordsand notes and beats, and the fans gave you their souls right back in tears and screams and outstretched hands yearning for a single touch.
Fucking glorious, every second. Mish moving like sin and Dom grinding across the stage like he owned it. Behind the large kit, Zavier pounded out the rhythm like he was their heart. Might well have been. Where Kevin had been superb while sober, Zavier wasmagnificent, embellishing on the fly, adding little syncopated beats that made Ray’s heart stutter and swell.
He sang all the harder, hitting notes, throwing himself out into the crowd, and running and dancing up the aisles. The fans erupted, but no one was too disrespectful, thank goodness. Getting back up on stage was a trick, but the next few songs were the acoustical ones, so he hoistedhimself up and sat on the stage edge until he caught his breath and everyone else in the band switched instruments.
Security handed him water, and he drank before rotating and standing up on the stage. Mish had her upright bass, and Dom looked slightly ridiculous in his spiked collar with his delicate wooden guitar, but so much himself that for a moment Ray glimpsed Dominic behind the Dominopersona.
Zavier had come out from behind the kit sans shirt, his tattoos shining from sweat. He was encased in those sinful leather pants, and Ray’s breath caught. It caught a second time when Zavier grinned at him. The purple lipstick, those fucking blue eyes, and the way those pants hugged every inch of him.
Unfair.
Ray spun back around to the audience. “How ’bout something moreclassic?” The fans cheered, and with Zavier tapping out the beat with his sticks, they were off again.
The night seemed to last forever and no time at all. They finished the set, moved back to their normal instruments and soon, too soon, they were bowing after their encore, the crowd, at least under the venue pavilion, on their feet and cheering.
Mish and Dom threw picks and Zavier tossedhis drumsticks. Someone in the front row yelled, “What about the pants?”
Zavier laughed and called back, “Want to keep playing, dude! They’d kick me out for that.”
Sure, the venue, maybe the label, but right now? Ray really wanted to see what was under those pants, too.
But they were being ushered off and the house lights were flickering on for the intermission before Five Asylum tookthe stage.
The moments after they stepped off the stage blurred into a kaleidoscope. Slaps on the back. Zavier’s sweat-soaked body so close to Ray’s, and his grin. Dom’s makeup was a mess, as was Mish’s. Zavier’s purple lipstick was somehow still perfect, and Ray wanted those lips on his. Someone shoved a bottle of water into his hands, and he cracked the cap off and downed half in one gulp.
Gregor from Five Asylum was there, clean and fresh and ready to take the stage. His gaze was shrewd. “Once again, a tough act to follow. You’re turning heads, Van Zeller.”
“Hope you don’t mind.” His voice was rough, and he gulped more water. Five Asylum was renowned and Gregor Daye almost a legend—a bona fide rock star. Ray was tickled at the thought of upstaging him.
A chuckle fromthe star. “God, no. It’s good to see someone stepping up.” Someone behind Gregor tapped him on the shoulder, and he grunted. “Gotta go.” With that, Gregor vanished into a sea of techs and maybe a bodyguard or two.
More water, a protein bar, a change of clothes, some cleaning up, and they were heading out toward the parking lot, where the buses were waiting. One of the security people fromthe venue strode next to him, ear protection dangling around her neck. “There’s a lot of fans waiting for you guys. We set up some lines. I’m not sure how you want to handle it.”
Usually they signed everything they could. “How many is—” The words died in his throat.
Apparently, many was a whole fucking lot. The line snaked around the walkway to keep the fans from milling in the lot oraround the buses, looping back twice. Way more people than normal. This was only their second concert of the tour. “Holy shit.”
She gave him a glance. “You want us to clear them out?”
“No, no.” He turned to the rest of the band. “You up for this?” Both Mish and Dom had ear-to-ear grins.
Zavier hung back. “I’m not really part of the band.”
Mish grabbed his arm and yanked him forward.“Shut up, Demos. You’re coming with us.”
Joy bubbled up in Ray. Yeah, he was, and it was perfect.
Turned out, the fans took to Zavier as much, or maybemore, than they had to Kevin. Understandable. Talented, stunning—what more could you want, other than a tumble headlong into bed? Not that Ray could have Zavier, but like the fans undoubtedly had, it was a pleasant daydream. Hell, theyhad more of a shot.
A young woman with short dark hair and that nervous, happy, dazed look fans got was next for an autograph as he worked his way down the line. Ray had already had so many selfies taken, so he was grateful that she only clutched a CD case. It was scratched to hell and back, and who had CDs these days anyway?
Her eyes were wide and dark, even under the bright venue lights.“Mr. Van Zeller?”
“Ray,” he said, and held out his hand for the CD case. “What’s your name?”
