6. Chapter 6

When we got back to the house I made myself busy in the kitchen. I pulled out the bowl with the marinating chicken and set it onto the butcher-block island. Then I gathered an onion, a couple of tomatoes, mushrooms, red peppers, and zucchinis to chop. My idea was to make a kabob kind of mixture and grill it all together. Cain helped me by making a tossed salad. Once we were done in the kitchen I grabbed two chilled beers and we stepped out onto the back deck to get the grill going.

When Ray left me there alone with Cain I was nervous it would be seriously awkward or that he might simply be in my way and I'd feel like I was forced to entertain someone I didn't want to. That was not the case. I was stunned at how quickly Cain and I slipped into a natural cadence together. We blended easily, laughed at the same jokes, and enjoyed a lot of the same things. In some ways, it was like I'd known Cain forever.

We grilled the chicken and vegetables together while sipping our beer and then sat at the outside dining area to eat.

"This marinade is delicious," Cain complimented.

"Thank you," Gage said and grinned around a mouthful of salad. "I'm glad you like it."

"Wait, you made this?" Cain asked. "I was going to ask you what the name brand was."

"Why do you sound so shocked I'd make something like this?" Gage laughed.

"I gotta admit, I am surprised," he replied. "The seasoning is complex which is why I thought it came from a bottle."

"A bottle? Now I'm insulted," Gage teased. "I'd never serve bottled anything to my guests—except for beer, or wine, if you prefer that over beer."

"In that case, I offer you a thousand apologies. I am duly impressed with your culinary skills," Cain said and ate another bite of the grilled chicken.

"Here's a fun fact not many know about me," Gage said. "I love to cook—when I'm in the mood, like when the weather is crappy and I can't get outside. I like to create recipes and fuck around with the spice blends to get just the right taste. I also like pairing things together that don't make sense but still tastes delicious. The main problem I have is time. I don't usually have enough free days to spend creating new dishes."

"Oh my god, I never would have guessed that," Cain said as he used a napkin to wipe off some sauce that was clinging to his bottom lip.

My eyes tracked the movement of his tongue as it swiped at his lips before the napkin cleaned off the plump flesh to catch any additional food particles. It was almost like it were happening in slow motion. I had no idea what my fascination was to the action but I couldn't stop watching.

"Did I miss something on my mouth?" Cain asked.

"No, why?"

"You were staring and I thought maybe there was something there and. . . never mind," he said. He reached for his beer and I did the same.

We were quiet for a few moments and I wondered if I'd made him feel weird by catching me looking at his mouth. He knows I'm straight, so maybe he didn't think anything about it and it's just me who feels a little fucked up. I can't explain this odd attraction which means I'd have no chance of deciphering it to him.

I wasn't even sure if attraction was the right word to use to describe what I was feeling. Infatuation maybe? Curiosity about a new person? I don't fucking know but it's confusing the hell out of me and fucking with my head. There's no reason I should be looking at his mouth or any other part of his body because I'm not sexually interested in men. Never have been, and didn't anticipate Cain being the one man I'd met who would make me reevaluate my sexuality. It didn't happen that way, did it? I had no idea.

I was still thinking about this after we finished eating dinner and while we spent the next few hours chatting by the fire on the back patio. Even after I drifted down the hall to go to bed, I was obsessing over what this feeling was banging around inside of me.

I showered and crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling until I heard Cain moving around in the bedroom above mine. His soft footfalls eventually led to the shower water running. I closed my eyes and tried to shut down the visuals trying to worm themselves into my mind. I had to figure out a way to put an end to this peculiar obsession I suddenly had for Cain. I rolled out of bed and grabbed an acoustic guitar I kept in a stand beside the bed. I held it by the neck and stepped onto the deck outside of the glass sliders in my room. I didn't even care it was chilly. I took a seat in a comfortable lounge chair and played until the only noise in my head was guitar chords and nothing else. I don't know how long I sat on the deck playing but when I finally called it a night and turned to head back inside, I noticed the light in Cain's bedroom had gone out.

The next morning when I woke the house was quiet and I found myself grateful for it. I got dressed and washed up and walked down the hall to get the coffee going for us. Then I pulled out the ingredients to make a couple of vegetable omelets and was plating them along with some hashbrowns when I finally heard Cain coming downstairs.

"Just in time," I said with much more cheer than I was feeling. I didn't even have to look up to know he was there. I could smell a soft, clean scent lingering on him that reminded me of cotton sheets but I also detected something else which I guessed was his body wash. Regardless of what it was, the combined scents on his skin was making me want to drag my nose up the side of his neck and into his hair. This was just one more crazy detail I was noticing about Cain that I had no right to be thinking about.

I finally looked up from my task and noticed Cain had stopped at the edge of the kitchen. He had on a pair of navy, loose-fitting sleep pants and a plain white t-shirt. His arms were over his head as he enjoyed a good stretch of his long, lean body. I did a double-take when I saw a couple of inches of bare skin revealed below the hem of his t-shirt and a dark, happy trail of hair that disappeared behind his waistband. The day had barely started and I was already crossing boundaries by checking him out. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"It smells amazing in here," Cain said in a sleep-gravelly tone.

It was a basic statement but it sounded sultry to my ears and it made all the fine hairs lift on my forearms. I turned away from Cain and grabbed two plates then loaded them with our food and brought them to the side of the island where four stools were arranged. I made a second trip to the counter and grabbed two mugs and a hot pot of fresh coffee to bring back and set in front of us.

"Dig in and help yourself to the coffee," I instructed. I watched Cain take a seat on one of the stools then season his omelet and fix the coffee just how he liked it—a tiny bit of cream and one sugar. Why I made a note of that detail could only be explained as me wanting to be a good host and know how my guest liked his food and morning beverage. But if I was completely honest with myself, I'd have to admit that I had no idea how the guys in my band took their coffee—or Ray for that matter, and I saw them all the time.

"Sleep well?" I finally asked.

"Like a rock," he said, far more chipper than I could handle. "How about you?"

"Meh, I think I got a few hours but nothing to write home about," I said.

"I heard you playing outside for a while after we called it a night," Cain commented as he shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. I did my best to ignore the soft moan that escaped his mouth as he chewed.

"I hope my playing didn't keep you up," I apologized, "but yeah, I thought jamming might help me sleep."

"Did it?" Cain questioned.

"Not really, but I do have a few new bits and pieces to work on," I explained. "Maybe something might come of it. Who knows. Or I can find a hook to expand it. Time will tell."

"Can you play it for me after breakfast?" he asked.

My fork stopped midway up to my mouth when I heard his request. I glanced at him seated beside me. His eyes were so clear and focused and I saw nothing but genuine interest in the music. It surprised me for some reason. I didn't usually share my work with outsiders until it progressed past a simple idea but, once again, Cain had me feeling at ease to share with him.

"You really want to hear it?" I asked him.

He nodded first, then said, "Yes, absolutely—that is if you feel comfortable playing it for me."

"I guess I can do that," I said and gave Cain a half-smile. I felt a wave of nervousness wash over me and I couldn't place why. I regularly played in front of thousands, so why would playing for one man twist me up in knots like this?

We finished eating and I cleared the plates off the island before putting them into the dishwasher. We both refilled our mugs and then went into the family room to sit. I sat on one couch while Cain settled on the one opposite me. I reached for Amber sitting in her stand and set her in my lap. My fingers wrapped around her smooth neck and I was flooded with the familiar connection I always felt when I held her. She was as much a part of me as my own two hands—an extension of everything I was.

I strummed a bit to make sure she was still in tune. Then I closed my eyes and listened to the melody in my head before the chords I was hearing began to flow through my fingertips. I hummed along with the music before I started to sing but then stopped.

"This is kind of raunchy," I warned.

Cain made a scoffing sound. "Raunchy is my middle name," he said and then smiled. "What's it called?"

"Here For The Sex," I admitted.

"Seriously? Sounds like my kind of song," Cain said.

Love doesn't exist in this bed.

Our connection is purely physical.

No need for games, is what I said.

This ain't close to being biblical.

Don't have to say please.

You know I'll be gone right after the head.

Don't bother with the tease.

It's down and dirty ‘til we break the bed.

Chorus:

We talked about this early.

I'm only here for the sex.

We're good on the surface.

No sense in turning something shallow into deep.

Not when I'm only here for the sex.

The sleaze factor is what gets us off.

You ride me hard and go to sleep wet.

Lick, suck, and fuck until I finally go soft.

Wear me out. I won't have regrets.

Don't worry. I'll be out the door before dawn.

I never promised you a love story.

You can complain after I'm gone.

Better hold on, the skies are looking stormy.

Chorus:

We talked about this early.

I'm only here for the sex.

We're good on the surface.

No sense in turning something shallow into deep.

Not when I'm only here for the sex.

Lately, I had a lot of pieces to songs that never went further than the early infancy stage. This could be another one, although I did go so far as to add in the lyrics. I wasn't sure if this was "Iris quality" or not. For all I knew, this song could be another unfinished fragment to toss onto the dead-end pile.

When I finished playing I opened my eyes to find Cain looking across the ten feet of space that separated us with the coffee table in the middle of the expanse. His face appeared to be flushed, his eyes shiny, and his lips slightly parted like he was about to gasp. He held my gaze, silent and unblinking, and almost looked as if he were fighting back emotion.

"So, that's what I was working on," I said. "Probably won't go any further than it is now but. . . whatever."

"Jesus, Gage," he sighed. "It's pretty damn good in its current state."

I shook my head to cast his comments aside. I'd been in this business long enough to know gold when I heard it and this tiny scrap was just that—a scrap. A nugget of notes that didn't necessarily add up to the brilliance I was known for.

"Let's call it a work in progress," I said.

Cain chewed on his bottom lip. "Can I make a suggestion?" he asked hesitantly.

My gaze hit him again and I almost rolled my eyes but I refrained. Part of me wanted to say he had a lot of nerve to think he'd have something of merit to add to my music skills but that was pure arrogance talking. After such a long stretch of creative nothingness, I should be listening to anyone who was willing to give me pointers—or in this case, listen with fresh ears. I literally had nothing to lose.

"Go ahead. Hit me with it," I said, doing my best to keep the sarcasm out of my tone, although I wasn't sure I'd succeeded.

"When you play the second verse, drop to a minor chord, then shift up to a major when you get to the bridge. I'd even slow it down a half beat when you drop. It'll add the emphasis you need for the chorus. I think the chord change is your hook."

I tipped my head in disbelief at the words coming from his mouth. How the hell did he know about major and minor scales? He scheduled interviews for a living, for fuck's sake.

Cain raised a hand. "I know, you think I'm crazy and I don't know what the hell I'm talking about," he said and he was correct. That's exactly what I was thinking. "In the beginning when you're in the major key, you're pulling the listener up a mountaintop but by dropping to a minor just before the bridge you'll give them the real depth of the mood you're creating with the song. It'll be full-on intensity with the build and unexpected drop before you lift them up again."

I ran my fingers through my hair. "I have to ask, Cain. How the fuck do you know this about music?"

"Fun fact about me," he said, repeating my words from earlier about cooking. He leaned forward on the couch, "I majored in music theory in college and minored in business."

"Then why didn't you do something in music—instead of being an assistant?" I asked.

"It didn't seem practical," Cain explained. "I may have a gift for hearing things others miss but I'm not a singer, nor do I have the stage presence needed to be an actual performer. Business made more sense and I'm organized to a fault, which makes me perfect to be an assistant."

I was still stunned when I started playing the melody again.

"Try it this time with the drop and see what you think," Cain urged, and I did. I played it how he suggested and suddenly I had clarity. Cain's idea gave the piece a moody atmosphere exactly how I was hearing it in my head. I had no idea how he did it but it felt like pure magic. I grabbed a notebook and pen sitting on the coffee table in front of my knees and quickly began jotting down phrases, the words coming faster than I could write them, and I kept on going.

I could feel Cain's eyes on me but I couldn't look up at him. I was in the zone and feeling lighter than I had in weeks—maybe months. I didn't want to break whatever spell he had me under until the noise in my head quieted. A few minutes later my hand stilled and I smiled at what I'd done. I was floating—levitating in a way I wasn't sure I had before this moment. I tossed the pen onto the notebook when I finished and slowly lifted my gaze to find the man who had helped me rediscover my voice again.

Cain.

His eyes were glued to mine as if waiting for a nod of approval or a grunt of discord. I could tell he wasn't sure which way I was going to go. Part of me wanted to leap across the room and embrace the hell out of him as a way of saying "thanks." The sane thinking part of me knew that wasn't a smart move.

When I remained silent, Gage spoke instead. "Did something just come to you—a song maybe?" he asked with hesitation.

"You brilliant motherfucker," I almost sighed the words to him. "I think so."

"Let me hear it—please," Cain pleaded.

I began to play the melody again and fucked up at the point I wanted the lyrics to come in and started over. Cain was sitting on the edge of the couch, listening; waiting until I had the timing just the way I wanted it. My fingers flew over the fret board, sliding back and forth with skillful precision. I was intoxicated by this sensation and it was shining through in the music. Then I brought in the lyrics and I was off—launched into space from the barrel of a cannon. I hadn't even noticed Cain had come to sit next to me on the couch, as if he needed to be closer in order to hear every nuance of what I was playing.

It was a rush like no other when the elements of a new song locked into place like this. I knew I had Cain to thank for his input of brilliance and I wasn't sure how I would do that. I'd definitely have to give him some kind of song credit if this piece was ever recorded but for now, I was the conduit to give this song wings to fly free.

Bad To Good and Back Again

You got high when I was low.

You touched the sky and I let go.

I was lost while you stole the show.

You couldn't do me right and that's all I need to know.

Go ahead and run but I'm gonna walk—

Far away from you, who are you to talk.

Don't act so shocked, you were just playing pretend.

You knew we would crash. You knew this would end.

Chorus:

You're always on the wrong side of right.

Best to keep our fists out of it.

I refuse to let you bait me to fight.

You're not worth any of it.

Only you could see the bad in something good.

You're blind to anything else.

Your last chance is gone now—baby.

It's time to take a look at yourself.

Chorus:

You're always on the wrong side of right.

Best to keep our fists out of it.

I refuse to let you bait me to fight.

You're not worth any of it.

I finished playing the song, letting the last note just hang for a beat in the room among the dust motes twinkling in the sunlight that bathed the room. I was almost afraid to look at Cain. The moment was so intimate and I felt stripped bare. The air was thick with promise and I wasn't sure which end was up. Then I felt his fingers squeeze my biceps. The touch drew my gaze to him and my emotions were too close to the surface. I couldn't speak. I wasn't sure I was even breathing.

"Jesus, fuck, that was incredible," Cain exclaimed. "The birth of a song—and it's a damn good one!"

"Your suggestion is what lit the fire," I admitted.

"That wasn't me," Cain said. "It was the combination of killer riffs and lyrics you seemed to pull out of nowhere in under ten minutes," Cain added.

"Bits of what I just wrote have been rattling around in my head for days but I couldn't find the music to hang the words on, until just now," I said.

"Is this how your process works?" Cain inquired. "Does the music typically come first or do the lyrics?"

"It's different each time," I said and sat back on the couch, my body and mind coming down from the adrenaline rush. Cain followed my shift by doing the same. His shoulder was no more than a foot away from mine and at this proximity I could see all the different sparkles of color in his eyes. They weren't just blue and gray. I could distinguish lots of different colors, like sapphire, and cobalt with flecks of cerulean. The window light behind our heads highlighted every detail about him and I found myself wanting to touch his face, cheeks, maybe run my thumb over his lips, and feel the coarse stubble of his five o'clock shadow tickle my palm.

"I'm so blown away," Cain said, which pulled me from my trance. "Your talent just seems to seep from your pores."

I knew he was stroking my ego and I won't deny it felt good hearing him say these things, but him being this close had me all mixed up. My thoughts jumbled into non-sensical words that had no order for me to speak them. I managed a nod and not much more, other than a lame sounding "thanks." I owed him more than that, but what?

"Your voice was made for singing," Cain said in a lower register that almost gave me chills.

"What'd you mean?" I asked.

"Even your speaking voice sounds lyrical, like you should be singing everything instead of talking."

"Like living in a musical?" I laughed at the oddness of his comment but Cain only returned a faint smile.

"I know what I'm saying makes me sound like a lunatic, but I really can hear things others don't," he explained. "I don't just hear music as a whole. I hear each layer, every instrument, octave changes, tempo, major and minor shifts—all of it, like a full composition. Music to me is a language all its own. Even though music is universal and artists work with the same set of twelve notes to every octave, the music that is created sounds vastly different from one composer to the next. It's all about how the musician hears those notes in their head. I think the end product we hear is beauty and chaos swirled together with genius. It's as simple and complicated as that."

Jesus, his words were heavy. I'd been playing and creating music since I was a kid but after hearing how Cain listened to music, I felt like I had no idea what I was doing. I agreed with everything he said but I'd never taken the time to think about it that deeply. It was just something I did. Cain had ripped something open for me and I realized I was looking at this entire process with a new appreciation and a fresh perspective. I felt positively energized.

And what was he saying about my voice? He thought I sounded lyrical when I spoke. His words were flipping and twirling around inside my head like music itself. I found something soothing and spiritual in almost everything that came out of his mouth. I knew there was nothing special about me—but him? Jesus, I'd never met anyone quite like Cain and the pull I felt to him was palpable. I didn't know where to go with these new feelings I had for the music—and for him, but I was curious to see what happened next. Although I had no clue as to what the next step would be.

He'd flown across the country to start a new assistant job with me but what I was finding was that he was completely unsuited for that job. I had no doubt he would be an amazingly organized assistant but I had a totally different job in mind for him that I believed would showcase his natural skills. He had a gift he'd never tapped into and I was hell-bent on utilizing it. Mixing his musical instincts and knowledge and my brand of creative genius sparked a flame in me that I wanted to watch explode into an inferno.

"Would you be interested in collaborating with me?"

My question floated between us and for a very long and agonizing second Cain didn't respond.

"You want me to help you write music?" he asked incredulously.

I swallowed hard and said, "Yeah, I think we'd be great together." I couldn't believe the question had left my mouth. But I had no intention of taking it back now. As anxious as I was by this turn of events, something a lot like hope bloomed deep in my chest. I'd never wanted help with the writing process before and anyone who'd ever suggested hiring a collaborator to work with me in the past was scorned to the nth degree.

But now? I was rethinking everything I knew about music. Cain had shed light on the way I looked at this process and now I was finally able to see through the dense fog I'd been stuck in for months. There was no one else I trusted enough to write with and if Cain wasn't interested in working with me then I was back to square one all over again.

Then he gave me a subtle head bob in agreement and my heart soared.

"Sure, I'd love to," Cain said and a slow smile overtook his face. "Show me the pieces you have."