Epilogue: Eight months later

Epilogue Eight months later

Griffin

Sun filtered through the trees outside the park gazebo. Bright patches dappled the concrete paths and splashed light and shadows across the blankets, shawls, shirts, and dresses of the wheelchair-bound folk parked there. The overhead shelter’s posts and roof beams sparkled with rainbow tinsel. I wondered how much of the decor had been recycled from Owen and Harvey’s wedding. Lee had stored a bunch of that stuff in the nursing home basement. Waste not, want not.

Owen himself stood at the back of the gazebo in front of a makeshift arch of rainbow balloons, chatting with Harvey in a wheelchair at his side. Streamers fluttered overhead in the light breeze. Not quite the ambiance I’d have gone for, but a work of love, so I wasn’t about to complain.

Pete Lebraun leaned close to my ear and murmured, “Is the whole population of the nursing home here?”

“No,” I whispered back. “We wish, but some aren’t able to leave the building, and some aren’t interested in seeing two queers joined in holy matrimony.”

“Their loss.”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Here comes Shondra.” Pete nodded toward his keyboardist, picking her way between the guests toward the stand with her instrument.

“Thank her for me,” I requested.

“You already did.” As she sat down and played the first rippling notes of Elton John’s “Your Song”, he straightened his shoulders and turned to me. “Ready?”

I tugged my collar a little straighter. “Sure.”

We approached the front of the gazebo from the left. All my attention was on Lee, coming from the right with Kashira on his arm. Man, did my guy clean up nice. We’d gone with suits rather than tuxes, and Lee’s perfectly fitted charcoal-gray emphasized his height and broad shoulders. Kashira wore a bright floral number that suited her too, and she grinned at me as she let go of Lee.

When we reached the makeshift aisle between a motley assortment of chairs from Wellhaven, Kashira and Pete strode forward side-by-side to pace ahead of us toward Owen, her hand tucked in Pete’s elbow. Lee and I walked behind them, holding hands. At the front row, Lee bent to kiss his mother’s cheek. She patted his shoulder, her eyes misty. I ducked behind Lee to do the same. Ellen was more mom to me than my mother had ever been. She murmured, “I’m glad he found you,” and my own eyes blurred.

In front of Owen and Harvey, Kashira and Pete stepped to the sides. Lee and I let our hands slip apart and stopped, turning to face each other.

“Dearly beloved,” Owen said, then laughed. “Folks and friends, family and guests, welcome. It’s not often I get to return a favor these days, and this was a big one. All hail the online ministries that help us celebrate our love the way we want to. I’m grateful to be here to join Griffin and Lee in legal matrimony.” He winked our way. Almost no one in the crowd would know why, but the four of us were deeply grateful our ruse with their illegal matrimony hadn’t come to light. Owen and Harvey were accepted as husbands, living together for whatever time they had left.

Might catch up with us eventually when death came calling, with all its attendant paperwork, but seeing the joy those two had in each other every day, I counted it well worth any cost.

Lee and I would be legal though. Husbands. Any minute now. That was a heady thought.

Owen said to the crowd, “I asked these two guys who proposed to whom, and they didn’t seem to know.”

Lee laughed and I had to join in, because yeah. Somehow, “when we’re married,” had crept into our discussions as an inevitability, like the sunrise. Until one day, Lee said, “We are getting married, right?” And I said, “Yeah. Want to figure out when?”

We teased each other that romance was dead, but it wasn’t. We just did it differently.

“Almost everyone here knows Lee,” Owen went on. Some of the Wellhaven residents applauded and shouted Lee’s name. Owen waited, smiling, until they were done. “Everyone here knows Griffin too.”

Tom, off to one side, shouted out, “Who?”

I called back, “The guy you beat at checkers every week.” Although I was still on parole for another year, I’d finished my community service hours in March. By then, my routine of Wellhaven in the morning and practice in the evening had become part of my life. My songwriting and residuals were bringing in enough income, I didn’t have to find a day job.

I’d quit the other two nursing homes, except for showing up now and then to play piano for the residents, but coming to Wellhaven every weekday kept my life on an even keel. I liked being a part of Lee’s days, knowing who or what he meant when he needed to vent back home.

Like when Zhukov flatly denied permission to hold our wedding at Wellhaven. We hadn’t planned on doing it that way to begin with, but once Harvey and Kashira heard us discussing options, they ran with Operation Wedding, part two. Then, when Zhukov spiked their idea, well, I always did like an end-run around a bully. The park down the block rented the gazebo out for parties. Wheelchairs and even some beds could handle a short trip down the sidewalk. Several of the aides had volunteered their time off to help wrangle the residents, and here we were. The folks who were up for it had helped decorate the gazebo within an inch of its life and even the weather was smiling on us.

Owen waved a dramatic hand. “Look around you. There are a lot of folks here whose lives were made better by the two men standing in front of you. Including mine and Harvey’s. So when they decided getting married was right for them, we all dove into making it happen.” The end of a streamer floated down near his face and he flicked it aside. “With all the glitz and rainbows we could manage.”

Carol called out, “Joe-Joe-Joey loves rainbows! So many rainbows. Look, look!” She started shuffling toward us but the aide near her intercepted her, handing her a balloon, and she fixated on that. My heart squeezed, because Lee cared about her and she was getting frailer and more confused. I doubted she’d be around for our anniversary. We were going to lose some of the people gathered here before many more years passed. I hoped for some of them, watching Lee get married could be a brilliant memory against the oncoming dark.

Owen said, “We need celebrations. We need joy. In a world that always has ups and downs, seeing love triumphant lifts us all higher. Today is about celebrating love. A melding of hearts that took a long and winding road to reach this moment. Twenty-one years ago, two men met and began moving toward love, but life came along and bitchslapped them and said, ‘Sorry, not the right moment, guys.’ Love is strong, though. It perseveres. Twenty years later they met again, and although the time apart had shaped them differently, it hadn’t extinguished that light. And if all those years of change and adventures and losses couldn’t kill the love between them, nothing will.”

He turned to us. “Today, we’re here to see you two say those vows to stay together till death do you part in legal matrimony. When Harvey and I married, there was a big element of up-yours. We’d spent so long being simultaneously told, ‘It’s not as if you’re married,’ and ‘you’re not allowed to get married,’ that finally tying the knot was vindication as much as affirmation. Today is not about that. Today is quite simply about the love of two men for each other. “

His gaze passed out across the audience of musicians and nurses, nursing home residents and cat café people. “Griffin and Lee belong together, so obviously and naturally they didn’t even bother with a proposal.” He leaned my way and murmured in a conspiratorial but totally audible voice, “Yes, I’m going to give you a hard time about that forever, Griff.” Raising his voice again, he added, “In the music Griffin gives us, we see that love. In the well of caring Lee draws from to care for his patients, refilled by time home with his beloved, we see it reflected. In the rings they will give each other, the world will be reminded of that love.”

A resident I didn’t know well began babbling randomly for someone to help her, near the back of the audience. Owen waited until the aides could reassure her, then added, “In the way they chose to share their special day with all of us, we see love.” He turned to Lee. “Will you say your vows?”

Lee nodded and held out his hands to me. I reached for him, and his fingers closed on mine. He said in a clear voice, “I like simple words best. Griffin, I’ve always loved you, even when I was hurt, even when I was angry, even when I didn’t know if I’d ever touch you again. You’re the person I want to see when I wake in the morning, and the one I want holding me when I fall asleep at night. Will you take me to be your husband, for all the days of our lives?”

“I will.” I cleared my throat. Months of voice coaching had brought me back to where I’d been before the benign polyp— and thank God, it had proved benign— upended my life. I’d thought a few times of writing a wedding song and performing something for Lee. But I didn’t want our vows to be a performance. So I said simply in return, “I never met anyone whose heart spoke to me like yours does. We both lived and grew and changed in those twenty years apart, but we came together again knowing it was right at last. Will you marry me and grow old with me, however that plays out?”

“I will.” Lee’s response came strong and clear. I’d asked him a few times if he was prepared for the fact that I’d be growing old a lot sooner than he would. He’d pointed out that Harvey was a lot younger than Owen, and it was Owen who was still on his feet. We never knew what life had in store. He wasn’t going to let a stupid thing like an age difference rob us of one minute more. As I stood holding his hands and staring into his gorgeous gray eyes, I was glad my almost-husband was such a strong man.

“The rings?” Owen asked our best people.

Pete dug my box out of his pocket and Kashira unearthed Lee’s from somewhere in her skirt. As she passed it over, Lee caught the side seam of her dress, pulled the fabric in a wide drape, and said, “It has pockets!”

A ripple of laughter ran through our audience, mostly from the women.

Lee opened his box, took out the ring, and handed the empty container back. I did the same with mine and we faced each other again. For a moment, time stood still, standing there surrounded by the people who meant the most to us, rings in our hands, hearts full. Lee grasped my fingers in his. I realized my hand was trembling. He slid the gold band over my fingertip, worked it down where it belonged, and grinned.

I took his hand in turn and eased the matching band onto his fourth finger. The strength of his hand in mine, the trust he gave me in this moment and always, echoed in my heart. I rotated the ring, edging it over his knuckle and then lower to seat at the base of his finger. No longer shaking, I raised his hand to my lips and kissed him right there, above that golden band.

Owen announced, “By the power vested in me by the state of Iowa, I pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss.”

I’d have kept the kiss light and chaste for the sake of our mixed audience, but Lee hauled me to him, put his hand behind my head, and kissed the hell out of me. I closed my eyes and let him lead. I was safe in his hands.

When we came up for air, our friends and family began cheering. My face was probably flushed, but I kept a grip on Lee and turned to face them. Ellen had her fingers pressed to her lips, her eyes damp, but beside her, Yolanda cheered and whistled. Quinn beat a thundering crescendo on the top of an empty box off to the side of the gazebo. Harvey pumped his good fist.

Then Shondra played a chord, and the members of Chaser Lost, plus Mandy and Colby and a couple of my other LA friends stepped forward and began to sing Pete’s hit “You’ve Done It Now!”

Lee hugged me to his side, his smile ear to ear, as our friends celebrated our marriage in enthusiastic rockstar style. Half the audience sang along, the rest nodded and toe-tapped and faked the lyrics. When the line, Fuck, you’ve gone and done it , came around, the volume got loud. People grinned. Pete tipped his head to me, still belting the vocals. Lee squeezed my hand.

I thought back to a dark day a year ago when the only person at my side was my lawyer, and I looked guilt and prison in the face. I’m sorry, Linda, I thought now. So sorry. But I’m going to live and love and be a good husband to Lee. I’ll probably screw up again, please God never that badly, though. But I’m going to live my life with my songs and music and friends and my beloved, and do the best I can to be worthy of the time I have left on this earth.

If this’d been a cheesy movie, there’d have been a cut to a white dove flying overhead or a convenient ray of sunshine, forgiveness from above. But in real life, if I were Linda or her family, I wouldn’t give me that satisfaction. What I’d learned in the last year, from Lee and Ellen and some therapy too, was that I had to go on without being forgiven. I could go on. I was allowed to have joy.

And standing there as a rude rock song echoed from the people around me and smiles wreathed their faces? As I leaned against the big, solid bulk of my husband with my fingers wrapped in his? This was joy, in one pure, perfect moment.

Lee

In the quiet of our bedroom, I reached up and tugged Griffin’s tie free of its knot and slipped the royal blue silk from around his neck.

He blew out a breath and opened his collar. “As incredible as you look in that suit, I’m glad to get out of mine.”

“Likewise.” I draped our ties on the dresser, shrugged out of my jacket, and hung it away because that suit cost more than any clothes I’d ever owned.

“The wedding went well, don’t you think?” Griffin reached past me for a hanger.

I laughed and bent to brush a kiss on the back of his neck as I passed. “It was perfect. Everyone had a blast. And Owen tipping his food over the head of that paparazzi and pretending to be senile was awesome.”

Griffin sighed. “I’m not sure why that dude still shows up now and then. I’m really old news. I’m not even doing Rocktoberfest this year.”

“He has some kind of fixation. But seeing him with pasta dripping down his face was satisfying.”

“Yeah. True.”

“And then Harvey knocked his phone out of his hand and ran over it with his wheelchair.” I grinned. “I do like our friends. Speaking of, Yolanda said to tell you she can die happy now.”

“I hope you told her she’s not allowed to die anytime soon.”

“Yep. And Chaser Lost gave her a VIP pass for Rocktoberfest, so she said maybe she’ll hang on until then.”

“I don’t have half her energy.” Griffin unbuttoned his shirt.

I paused to watch his chest being revealed. Mmm. “She’ll probably outlive both of us,” I agreed absently, more of my attention on Griffin’s bare skin than the conversation.

He looked up, caught my eye, and turned sliding the shirt off his shoulders into a strip tease.

From the living room, where Cinder wasn’t supposed to be right now, something thumped.

We froze, eyeing each other.

“I swear I shut her door,” Griffin said. We’d built an awesome cat room in this new apartment for Cinder to spend her nights, trying to limit the nighttime cockblocking and disasters. She’d seemed fine with sleeping there, but this wasn’t her first escape.

I suggested, “She’s a minion of darkness. She knows teleportation.”

“Or she’s learned to turn door handles. I’ll go see. Don’t get started without me.”

I’d been half hard since we got in my car, dragging a set of plastic bedpans behind us with “Just Married” written in white lotion across the trunk. I was more than half hard now. I called after Griffin as he disappeared into the hall, “I’ll start with my socks, but don’t take all night.” I tugged the socks off and tossed them into the hamper, listening to his voice in the living room while he lectured Cinder on the error of her ways. He was no doubt doing the stern spiel for my benefit, but it made me smile.

I decided my shirt could go too. That would only put me a little ahead of him.

His steps passed, no doubt carrying Cinder to her wonder-playground with every toy a cat could want. Then he appeared in the doorway. The heat in his eyes took my breath away as he stared at me. “What happened to just taking off socks?”

“You were slow.” I unbuckled my belt, popped my button above where my dick strained the charcoal-gray fabric.

“You are so fucking hot.” Griffin eased behind me and turned us to face the mirror, his hand splayed on my bare belly.

There was a time I’d have peered into that mirror and hated what I saw. Now, the desire in his touch and the darkness of his eyes made it impossible to feel unattractive. I saw a salt-and-pepper-haired sexy man standing behind a big, hairy bear of a guy, both of them staring at the mirror like they could eat each other alive, their hard dicks tenting their dress slacks. If that was the start of a porno, I’d click on it.

I twisted to get to Griffin’s mouth for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too, husband.” He kissed me again. “Sounds good, right?”

“Sounds perfect.” I dragged the hand he’d pressed to my stomach down to where it might do some good and moaned as he cupped me through my slacks.

“You don’t mind that we didn’t get a real honeymoon somewhere exotic?” Griffin mouthed at the side of my neck below my beard. “Next year, once my parole’s over.”

“I’m not much of a traveler anyhow.” I tilted my head to give him better access.

A crash from out in the kitchen broke us apart.

“Crap.” Griffin stared at me. “I swear I shut her door this time.”

We hurried out and found Cinder sitting there innocently washing her face while one of the kitchen chairs lay on its side.

“She’s nine freaking pounds,” I said. “How does she do that?”

“Time to find out. Get your phone.” Griffin scooped up the cat and led the way to her room, while I followed, digging my phone out of my pocket.

In the playroom, Griffin checked Cinder’s litterbox, her electronic food dispenser, and her hanging toys. Then we set up my phone on the windowsill with the camera running on Facetime, put a few bits of kibble in her chase toy, and backed out, firmly closing the door.

Griffin accepted my call on his screen and we put our heads close together, watching. Cinder whacked the toy across the room, pounced on a kibble bite, then stalked toward the door. Her tall climber stood in the corner and she scurried to the top, crouched, and leaped down, snagging the door handle in both front paws as she passed.

The handle turned. The door opened a crack as she landed. Cinder hooked her toes around the edge and pulled the door wider. She sauntered out, then froze, staring up at us.

“Hah!” Griffin said. “We have you. Your secret has been revealed.”

With an indifferent twitch of her tail, Cinder headed for the living room.

Griffin and I looked at each other.

“It’s not that late,” I suggested. “She just wants her evening routine before bedtime.”

“But I want to get fucked,” Griffin muttered. “Maybe a chair under the doorhandle?”

“We’ll buy a hook tomorrow,” I told him, despite my dick still holding out hopes. “We can give the cat her evening cuddles. We have time. All the time in the world, now.”

“You might. I’m closer to my expiry date and I don’t want it to be from blue balls.”

I hip-bumped him and headed for the living room.

Griffin followed me, murmuring, “Your ass looks edible in those slacks.”

“Thank you.” I sat on the couch, picked up the remote, and clicked on the TV. Something random appeared, travel maybe. I didn’t much care. Griffin sat behind me in the corner of the couch and I reclined onto his chest.

The damned cat, as was her routine, jumped onto my knees, turned a circle, and settled down, purring. I patted her in spite of myself. “If you didn’t knock so much over and bite Daddy’s toes in the middle of the night, you wouldn’t have to stay in your playroom,” I told her. She closed her eyes and rumbled softly.

Despite the low ache of need in my groin, I let my eyelids droop and tucked my head back on Griffin’s shoulder as I petted Cinder.

“This is nice,” Griffin murmured. “Although I still want to be fucked once she’s ready for bed.”

“It is nice.” I took his arm and pulled it across my chest, a loving barrier against the world. For once, I wasn’t worried about anything or puzzling out anything other than how long it would take Cinder to settle into her evening doze and be ready for bed.

“You know, I almost sang my vows today.” Griffin’s chest vibrated behind me as he laughed. “Not sure why I thought that would be a good plan.”

“Does seem a little over the top.”

“I’d been writing that album material for Amy Lenardo and I think I was stuck in composing mode. My lyrics were a lot flowerier and more eloquent than what I did say.”

“I liked what you said.” I squirmed back farther, feeling the bulge of Griffin’s dick behind my ass, half-hard but not insistent. I’d work on that later. “Did you actually come up with something?”

“Oh yeah, a whole song.” He chuckled.

“I want to hear it.”

“It’s embarrassing now.”

“Gimme, gimme.”

“Only for you.” He hummed a note, then began singing softly in my ear. The words flowed honey-sweet. Yeah, a bit much for the wedding but here, with our cat on my lap and Griffin’s arms around me, the melodic lilt of destiny and forever and together turned the moment to gold. This was my Griffin, my bard and my lover, and I got to keep him for all the years to come. Life didn’t get better than this.

###############

If you enjoyed watching Griffin take the stage at Rocktoberfest, check out the rest of The Road to Rocktoberfest 2024 series by an array of talented authors. 17 stories of rock stars, almost-stars, guys making their first grab for the gold ring, and the men who fall for them. Hot, sweet, angsty, nostalgic, real – stories to fit every mood.

And if you started my Rocktoberfest books here, check out Cam and Erik, navigating Cam’s severe social anxiety as they try to bring his incredible but hidden talent to the Rocktoberfest crowds in Hidden Blade .

Hidden Blade Chapter 1

Erik

It began with a song. Well, a voice and a song. And a look. A combo that practically knocked me off my creaky wooden chair in the cafe, which is hard to do because after fifteen years in the music business, I’d heard a lot of amazing voices and a lot of good songs. But this kid. Jesus.

He came out on the little stage and sat down sideways on a stool, not making eye contact with the audience. Some guy— a friend or a roadie about his age with a mass of dreadlocks and jeans draped with chains— set up a modest amp and plugged him in while the kid fiddled with his Ibanez, tuning strings that sounded just fine to me. Then his friend set the mic in front of him, gave him a thump on the shoulder, and left the stage.

The kid glanced at the audience once, eyes so blown wide and dark I couldn’t make out their color even though I was sitting close. His long hair lifted around his face, and when he swept the clinging strands back impatiently, they crackled with static. Without an intro, or even his name, he played the first chord, picked his way through an intricate run of notes, opened his mouth, and sang.

And fuck, he had the tone and the range. He could growl like Jeff Becerra and then soar clean and pure, soft like an angel, or sharp as a knife. He never faced the crowd again. Sat sideways, stared offstage at a wall like the flat paint was his hope of salvation, and sang about pain and transcendence. He didn’t even let one song end before segueing into the next, leaving the rest of us confused about whether to applaud or hold fire and wait.

After his third song, before the last note had faded, he unslung his guitar and stood. We were on our feet by then, shouting and stomping, even some devil horns hitting the air in this modest cafe that held maybe fifty people. He waved behind his back as he hurried off the stage, ducked around the little curtain on the side, and disappeared.

To my left, my drummer said, “Who the fuck was that and why the fuck are you letting him get away?”

Both fucking good questions. I leaped to my feet and pushed my way through the crowd to the curtain. I wasn’t the only one shoving in that direction. Half the audience seemed to want a word or an autograph, or a hard fuck, probably, because his lost-boy look would appeal to a lot of folks. But as one of the night’s performers, I had a right to head backstage, so the bouncers let me past.

There wasn’t much to the back of this place— a couple of narrow halls and storage rooms, the bathrooms, a kitchen off to my left that was off-limits. (And the chef was six-three and had a big knife. No one messed with him.) The Black dude who’d played roadie pushed past me as I hesitated, eyeing the empty hallways.

I grabbed his sleeve. “Hey, that singer. Who is he? Where can I find him?”

Dude shook off my grip, thick brows coming together in a hard glare. “You don’t. He’s gone.”

“Look, I have a band.” I dug in my pocket for one of our cards. “Hellsbane. You may have heard of us. We played an hour ago.”

He took the card, glanced at the logo. “Nope.” Didn’t even do me the courtesy of handing it back, just dropped it. “Now if you get your fat ass out of the fucking way, I have an amp to clear off the stage.”

“Hey.” I squatted, picked up the card, and held it out again. If there was any chance of getting that voice for my band, I had no pride. “Look, just give him that. Tell him I’d love to play with him or record with him. Anything he wants to try out. I think our sound and his would work awesome together.”

“He doesn’t play with anyone.” But the guy stuck the card in his pocket, which was a step up from the floor.

“I’ll help you clear the stage,” I offered. If singer-guy was gone, this dude was my best shot at making contact. “I can coil cables with the best of ’em.”

“I still won’t give you his name. But hell, yeah, you want to carry a fucking fifty-pound Mesa for me, I won’t say no.”

Anyone who’s played the circuit of clubs and bars has schlepped their share of amps and speakers. I followed him back onto the stage and picked up the amp while he grabbed the mic, stand, pedal and cables. He led me out through the halls to the parking area where our bandmobile sat rusting on her wheels. He had a boxy blue Volvo that, unlike our girl, had no logo on her that I could see.

“This is me.” He unlocked the back and I eased the amplifier inside, then stepped away so he could stow the rest of his gear. When he had everything settled, he turned and gave me a wry look. “Still not saying anything. But thanks, dude.” He walked around to the driver’s side, swung up in the SUV, and tapped the horn. I jumped farther back, and he reversed away from the wall, wriggled through a turn in the tight space, and pulled away down the alley without— as far as I could tell— so much as a backward glance.

The cafe’s back door had locked on closing, so I had to walk all the way around and go in the front. Jase, my drummer, had saved my chair and when I dropped back on the seat, he said, “So? Who is he? You get any traction?”

I shook my head. “Not even a name. He was gone like a vampire when the sun rises, before I even got back there.”

Jase thwapped my shoulder. “Erik, you fuckup, what the fuck? What were you doing, sticking your thumb up your ass? Did you hear him?”

I elbowed him back, equally hard. “Yeah. So did everyone else. Getting back there was like crossing a mosh pit.”

“Well, shit.” Jase slumped in his chair and stuck out his long legs, tripping up some blond in a short skirt and Docs. He immediately jumped up to grab her arm and switched on the charm. “Jesus, sorry, gorgeous. That’s not usually how I get girls to fall for me.”

She pulled free but didn’t flounce away in the face of his thousand-watt smile. “Oh yeah? What usually does work then?”

“His wit and sparkling personality,” I said, because I’d seen this game play out a thousand times before.

“And my drumming.” He tapped a quick roll on the tabletop.

“You’re a drummer?”

He pushed up his T-shirt sleeve. “I didn’t get biceps like these from lifting weights.”

“And I’m out.” I stood and jingled the van keys. “I’m driving Matilda home with our shit. See you tomorrow.”

“Sure. See ya.” His attention was already fixed on the cute barely-legal blond who had to be fifteen years younger than us, but who was returning his smile with interest.

I didn’t bother to fight my way through to the back halls again. The next act was setting up, four guys and a big drum kit, and they wouldn’t appreciate me in the way. As I wove between tables and chairs to the front door, a couple of people called my name and said shit like “Great set!” and “Sounded awesome.” I waved but didn’t go over to shoot the breeze the way I usually would with fans. Not sure why I wanted to hustle around back, like that kid with the Ibanez might magically appear again. But I did. And he didn’t. Because no fucking kidding.

Matilda started up with a cough and a cloud of smoke that reminded me I’d skipped on her repairs longer than I should’ve. Something about fuel injectors. I patted her dashboard and promised her a spa day as soon as my next paycheck cleared. She tended to sway on tight turns, so I went slow rounding the corner. Everything was tied down real good in the back, from my Fender to Jase’s kit to Brandy’s bass and the amps and speakers and all, but no sense taking chances. Then the road was clear and I hit the gas.

Dark had fallen a long time back, and home was still an hour away. Nothing unusual in driving even several hours roundtrip to make twenty bucks apiece playing one short set. Hell, we traveled that far for the free exposure sometimes. Still sucked dead rats, when I had to get up and head to work in the AM. At least Jase might get laid out of it. He often did, which was why he drove his own car instead of riding Matilda with me.

I wondered about that singer as I drove home on autopilot— whether he lived near the venue or also traveled an insane distance to play his three songs to the wall. Where he was from and why I’d never heard of him and whether there was any chance I’d ever get to talk to him. Our band desperately needed a lead singer better than me. That kid was it. Best I’d heard in fifteen years.

Which didn’t explain why, as I pushed Matilda at her top speed through the darkness, the thing that stuck in my mind was the long, slim column of his neck and the high cheekbones, the shape of his mouth, and the way his wide eyes had met mine, just once, before he began to sing…

Find out why Cam disappeared, and what Erik can do to help, in Hidden Blade . On Amazon and currently in KU.