A red tainted Silence (16 page)

Brave Sprout.

I glanced at Nicholas. I got up from my wheelchair and placing my hands on either side of his chair’s arms, leaned down, and kissed him on the forehead. “Hey, you all right?

Looking kinda pale.”

He nodded, then rested his forehead against mine. “Actually? I’m scared shitless.”

“There’s a dozen cops in there. No one can do anything to us.” I glanced up at Jeff.

“Was everyone searched before being allowed in?”

“Yes, we did a full body scan on everyone.”

I turned back to Nicholas and stroked his face with my hand. “Come on, Nick, we can get through this. Kemma’s here.”

Relief shot across his face. “You’re kidding. Really?” A Red-Tainted Silence

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“Yeah. She’ll help us, okay?”

He nodded, then tilted his face up to me. The door opened behind us, completely exposing us as I bent and kissed Nicholas full on the lips. Such exquisite timing.

“Oh, my God, that’s sick,” I heard a female voice exclaim. I whipped around, grabbed my crutches, and looked past a startled Jenny and a scowling Kemma, who moved protectively to Nick’s side. I stood in the doorway, not bothering to conceal my anger as I zeroed in on the owner of the voice.

“Leave,” I said to her. “Now.”

The woman glared at me, then said something to her camera guy. His eyes widened. He started to speak, anger in his eyes, but she cut him short and stormed out the door in the back. The camera guy followed, shaking his head.

I turned to the rest of the reporters. “Anyone else have a problem with what you just saw, I’ll ask you to leave now.” No one moved. I nodded curtly and forced myself to relax.

“All right. Thanks for waiting all afternoon. I apologize for that, but we had stitches to be removed.”

“How many, Brandon?” one of the guys up front said. “And where?” The reporters all shifted, relaxing. I forced myself to smile. “Twenty-eight, on my back.

Give me a couple minutes and we’ll be ready to start.” Then I left, and Jeff closed the door behind me.

“Kemma,” I said, genuinely relieved to see the journalist.

“Brandon,” she said, hugging me. She pulled back, shaking her head as she cradled my face. “It’s so good to see you both again. And you especially, Nicholas. Scaring us so like that.” She released me and bent down to kiss Nicholas on the lips. He sighed in contentment.

“Good to see a familiar face, Kem,” he said. “How about another kiss?” She laughed and obliged him, and then, shaking her head at him as she had me, said,

“You going to be okay?” She brushed her fingers through his hair, ruffling it. He grinned happily, leaning into her hand like a cat.

“With you on the other side of the table, yes.”

“Ahem,” I said. Kemma straightened and grinned. Now she had the feline look in her eyes. She gave me a kiss, too -- Nicholas yelped and pulled me away.

“You two cut that out,” he said in mock fury.

Kemma pulled back with a laugh. “Sorry, Brandon. Something tells me he won’t share you with me anymore.”

Nicholas reached his hand up to me and I took it. “No. Sorry, Kem,” he said. “My sharing days are over. And so are Brandon’s.”

Kemma grinned. Nicholas cocked his head at me and sighed. We’d both agreed once that if we were straight guys, we’d have a fight over Kemma Steves. Smart, savvy, beautiful.

90 Carolyn Gray

Long, thick hair pulled back into a ponytail, flawless ebony skin, black eyes that were always dancing, and the sexiest lips on a woman I’d ever seen.

Though not as sexy as Nick’s, of course.

“So what can I do for you boys? The natives are getting restless in there.”

“Seething with jealousy directed at you,” Nicholas said.

“I can handle it.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

I glanced at the doorway. “I’d just like for you to field for us if you could, Kemma.

Nick’s still really weak. I’m afraid they’ll ask questions he’s not ready for.”

“I’ll be all right, Brandon.”

I shook my head. “It’s been a rough day. I won’t have you worn out any more than you already are. Where is your doc, by the way?” I asked, my gaze falling on the ever-patient Nurse Goodall. “I thought she was going to be here.”

“She was called into surgery. I’m to keep an eye on Mr. Kilmain.”

“He’ll be in good hands, then.”

Kemma said, “Sure, I’ll be happy to help you guys out. But --” I turned to her, my gaze steady with hers. “You’ll get the full scoop. What we don’t or can’t yet tell the rest of them. How long are you staying in Durango?”

“As long as I need to.” She knew me well -- I’d keep my promise and would make it worth her while. Kemma and I had run into each other dozens of times over the years. She’d heard the good, the bad, the ugly about Dream. She’d kept quiet on an incident or two that could’ve destroyed what we’d carefully built up, including a stunt I’d pulled once that landed me in jail overnight in some tiny town in Texas, and for that she had my eternal thanks and respect. Her expression sobered, and she touched me on the arm, concerned. “It’s not over, is it?” she said softly.

I shook my head, glancing at Nicholas. “No.”

She nodded. “Absolutely I’ll help, then, though this is a friendly crowd. Now. They’re just happy to be here for Nicholas. You know the first thing they’ll ask, though. That kiss was something. What did it mean?”

My face heated, but I shrugged. “Exactly what that bitch I kicked out thought.” Kemma burst out laughing. “That’s what I thought. Great.”

“You ready, Nicholas?”

He nodded. “Better let the SWAT boys in to case the joint first.” For the first time, Jeff grinned. But then he pushed open the door, straightened his shoulders, and strode purposefully inside.

“Into the chair,” Jenny said, taking my crutches. I rolled my eyes at her but obliged.

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First I, then Nicholas, was rolled in. And as I’d hoped, once we were in place in front of the microphones, Nicholas straightened a little in his chair. Kemma returned to her spot, ignoring the few annoyed looks cast her way. I did recognize a couple other faces, to my surprise. Jenny took a chair off to the side, where she wouldn’t be in camera range. Her husband, Rex, slipped in at that moment and stood beside her. I nodded to him and he nodded back, his expression serious. It was hard still for me to believe that my crazy, fun-loving cousin had married such a solemn guy.

But then, likely people would have the same bemused thoughts about me and Nicholas.

Jeff and Mutt stood behind us, against the wall. Nurse Goodall hovered protectively behind Nicholas.

And, in the back and along the sides of the room, were a half-dozen uniformed cops, and the detective was there, too.

Okay. Well, if there was any question that Nicholas was still in danger, all the firepower in the room would clue in even the most ignorant.

I leaned over to Nicholas and looked him in the eye. “Ready?” He grinned. Color heightened his cheeks, emphasizing his paleness. “Carry on, Kimosabe.”

I laughed and turned to the cameras, the journalists, the reporters and adjusted the microphone. “Thanks for coming. Nicholas and I are glad you’re here.”

“I’m ecstatic I’m here,” Nicholas quipped.

The audience laughed.

“How does it feel to be a free man, Mr. Kilmain?” He leaned forward to the microphone and eyed the guy who’d spoken. “You can call me Nicholas. If you want. I’m not that much older than you, you know.”

“All right, then, Nicholas, how does it feel to be free?” He looked at his IV bag. “I’m still attached to this thing, but I’m good. The worst was yanked out yesterday.”

“Nicholas,” I warned.

“I’m not gonna tell them. Don’t worry, Brandon.” He winked at the audience. “He gets embarrassed so easily.”

“Tell us what, Nicholas? Come on --”

“About the dick monster.” The reporters laughed. “You wouldn’t believe all the things they had connected me to. That was the worst, though. It was such a relief to finally be able to pee on my own.”

I shook my head.

“Brandon said you guys had your stitches out today. How many did you have?”

“Want to see?”

92 Carolyn Gray

Always the showman, even after all he’d been through.

I watched as all eyes focused on Nicholas. As always, I faded into the background while the spotlight trained on him. He illuminated; I reflected -- there was never a question about that, and this was no exception.

He ever so slowly stood. There was no faking how weak he was, the pain-bright eyes, the sudden paling of already ghostly skin. Murmurs of shock and dismay filled the room.

Nicholas had no business doing this, but I kept my mouth shut. If showing his scars helped exorcise demons, who was I to stop him?

Nurse Goodall helped him stand, all but supporting him. I glanced at the reporters, saw the surprise and the sympathy on their faces as this once-vital guy known for his boundless energy had to be assisted to his feet and supported as, with visibly shaking hands, he opened his robe and pulled up his shirt. Cameras flashed as he exposed the vicious swath across his stomach and side, the jagged path the staples had left all the way up to mere inches below his left armpit.

He let his shirt fall and, with Nurse Goodall’s help, eased back into the chair.

The questions came fast, then.

“So what happened to you while in captivity, Nicholas?”

“Did you think you were going to die?”

“Did you give up hope?”

“What did Blevins do to you, Nicholas? Other than give you that scar?” I glanced desperately at Kemma.

“Tell us about that kiss,” she said.

“Ah, well,” Nicholas said, shifting in his chair, focusing on Kemma gratefully. “What kiss? Oh, you mean the one out in the hallway?”

“Yes. That kiss,” Kemma said. “What did it mean?” I pulled my microphone to me. “Exactly what you thought it meant.” I glanced at Kemma, at the other journalists. Maybe a couple sort of embarrassed faces, but nothing unexpected.

Ah, yes, that was easy, I thought. Easier than I thought, surprised at the lack of reaction. Maybe Nicholas had been right that people who knew us wouldn’t be surprised.

That the tape’s existence really hadn’t mattered. That thought was sobering, considering it had colored every major decision I’d made over the past nine years.

“So, what does this mean for your fans, guys?” another reporter asked. “You know what they’ll want to know.”

At that question, the room hushed. I wasn’t so conceited as to believe every person in this room was a Dream fan -- maybe only a handful -- but this was why they were here, of course. Why they’d been sent.

A Red-Tainted Silence

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When word had gotten out about Nick’s kidnapping, the music world’s eye had swiveled to Murrieta, California, where I was visiting my parents in their new home. I’d done what every fan had hoped I would -- dropped everything and gotten involved in the search for Nicholas.

According to Marisa, the internet fan sites had gone nuts. Brandon Sightings, as she called them, were reported daily (only a handful of those were legit -- I pretty much stayed low), and every conceivable scenario for what was happening to Nicholas and what I was going through was spit out, chewed on, torn apart, speculated on, even freaking celebrated.

That last disgusted me so much I forbade Marisa from telling me about anything she read on the internet anymore.

But even while Nick’s whereabouts weren’t known, even when the very real possibility that he was dead somewhere existed, the speculation that this would bring us together again roared across the world.

Now the world would see if they were right.

“Here we go,” Nicholas whispered beneath his breath. He glanced at me, his eyes bright with anticipation, then fading with concern. In his eyes, I could read what he couldn’t voice.

Are you sure?

I nodded, then reached my hand out to him. He took it. Cameras swiveled. I smiled at him, gave him a little shrug. He shook his head, nodded to me. You do it, his eyes said, and he squeezed my fingers. I gripped his hand, hard, feeling my chest tighten, unable to take my eyes away from him. Our surroundings faded. All I saw was him. We’d said it once in private, but now -- now we were about to totally commit ourselves.

And I wanted it. Wanted it bad.

He tugged on my hand. I knew what he was asking, saw the unmistakable randy desire in his eyes. Countless times he’d looked at me like this on stage, while performing, in front of people -- a blatant invitation to come on over, Brandon, and show them what we are. What we mean to each other.

And how many times had I ignored him? Just kept on playing my guitar, or the keyboards, feigning ignorance, faking my reaction, casting a mask over my face so that no one could see that I was alternating between dying inside from desire and from shame?

Those days were over. I couldn’t fake it anymore. My mask was shattered, my heart unfrozen. Our audience held no terror for me -- not over this, at least. I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and regret as I thought about all those times on stage, in front of thousands of fans who knew -- they knew -- what we were, and I’d cruelly ignored Nicholas, killed the hope in his eyes so often that finally his playful antics lost their inspiration and simply became part of the script.

Sing the chorus, flirt with Brandon, sing the next song, grind on Brandon -- no, wait, supposed to hug Brandon by the third stanza of the second chorus of the eighth song. It all 94 Carolyn Gray

became rote. It all became uninspired. What had been a beautiful thing between us had died into normalcy.

Nicholas squeezed my hand, his eyes questioning. Had the pain of those memories reflected in my eyes just then? My heart burst open at that moment as I looked at the man I loved more than life itself, the man I had almost -- gladly -- given my life for that he might survive. My breath quickened, my hands spasmodically clasped Nick’s, and he held on, rubbing my fingers with his thumb, trying to soothe whatever had brought the panic to my eyes.

Give them what they want.

And I did. I leaned across the arm of my wheelchair; he did the same, the joy and relief in his eyes unmistakable as he realized I wasn’t about to bolt. Our lips met, and we kissed --