Chasing Death Metal Dreams (28 page)

“You are so fucking perfect.”

“Or perfect, fucking. Wait, I used that joke already.” He sobered, dropping the towel to touch fingertips to Carlos’s neck, then his lips. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Better than.” In that moment he willed it to be true.

“I wish I didn’t have to work. Hold that thought, okay? And if you want to just hang here and not talk to anyone, do that. You can touch base with Eli tomorrow.” Nate slid his hand lower to rub Carlos’s chest through his T-shirt. “There’s no rush. Maybe you should take it easy, sleep on it. You have to do what’s best for you, not just him.”

Carlos almost laughed at the concern in Nate’s eyes, not in amusement but in wonder.
How long since anyone looked at me like that, like I matter most?
Maybe forever. He’d never been the easy one to love. It was a blessing beyond hope that Nate seemed to like the challenge. “I’m fine. Do you want a lift to work?”

“Hell, no. No reason for you to go back and forth twice. I won’t say no to a cold pop, though.”

Carlos went and got him one, and Nate chugged it as the AC hummed and the room cooled slowly. When he was done he burped, grinned, and tossed the can into the sink. Untucking the shirt from his pocket, he pulled it over his head and flicked a comb through his hair. “I’ll grab food at work, but you should eat some lunch. See you later?”

Carlos took hold of him, pinning his arms with a strong grip, and kissed him hard. “I’ll be here.” He added another kiss, open-mouthed and deep.

When he let go, Nate staggered back. “Um, wow, I’ll look forward to that. Now I
really
wish I didn’t have to go to work.”

“I hope you get good tips.”

Nate turned and wiggled his ass, showcased in the tight jeans. “I always get good tips.”

Carlos smacked his rump. “Not that kind of good.”

Nate grabbed him, smooched him loudly, and hurried for the door. “Later. Text me. Or if you’re doing something, um, interesting, Snap me.”

“I’ll save the, um, interesting for when you get home.”

“Good thought.” Nate slipped out the door, clattered down the stairs and was gone.

Carlos wandered around the apartment for a bit, then decided he really should run. Clarity. Sometimes working out really hard could give him that. He could use it right now. Not to mention, he kind of owed the guy who was being so good to him not to get flabby the moment they hooked up. Running was good.

He took his phone out with him, and when he was walking back, cooling down, it chimed a text. He stopped under a shady tree, wiped his hands on his thighs, and pulled it out of his pocket.

From Mia:
So, we should talk, I guess, but I’m too chicken so I want to do it this way

He started to text back, then said, “Fuck it.” He hit her contact. It rang four times before she answered.

“Um. Yeah?”

“Hey. Mia. What the hell?”

“You’re not supposed to turn around and call me when I’m being a wimp over texts.”

“Too bad. What?”

There was a long silence on her end, then she said, “I think I’m done.”

He leaned carefully against the thick trunk of the tree, holding the phone tighter. “Done? With?”

“Damn it.”

“With the band? With me?”

“God, no, not with you.” He heard her sniff loudly. “But with the band, with performing, yeah.”

His heart beat faster. “Come on, Mia. You’re a hell of a drummer.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve been doing this a long time, you know? Spending every free minute practicing, or playing, or driving two hours somewhere to hang out for six hours and sell crap and play a one-hour set.”

“It’s worth it.”

“Half the time we don’t even make back our gas money.”

“It’s not just about the money. You know that!”

“I know. But it doesn’t help.” She sighed. “I was offered a promotion at work. Evening manager. But it means I’ll work weekends and a bunch of evenings. I won’t be able to take off to go play a gig.”

“Ooh, you can spend your evenings showing off little lacy things to fat ugly women.”

“Carlos! Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his face. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You’re a real pig sometimes.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I like my job. I want to take this promotion. In fact, I’m going to.”

“Mia!” He spoke faster. “Listen, I might have a gig with Serpentine, writing songs for them. I’ll have a bit of money coming in. If you need more, you could keep our whole cut from any shows—”

“Getting forty bucks instead of twenty, every third weekend, doesn’t make up for turning down a promotion.”

“I guess. Fucking Foster!”

“It’s not just about him. Yeah, that makes it easy to say now’s the time. But I’ve been thinking about quitting for a while. And I only have another three days to say yes or no to the job. So I’m going to say yes.”

“I can’t talk you out of it?”

“No.” Her voice dropped lower. “Carlos, you’re way better than me.”

“Bullshit.”

“Way more determined, then. You’re too stubborn to give up, and that’s good. In a few days I’ll want to hear about this gig with the Snake-boys.”

“It’s just writing a few songs.”

“For a band that’s moving up. You’ll be great.”

I don’t know if I can do this without you.
They’d been together for a long time. “I’m kind of used to you,” he muttered.

“Aw, how sweet. I’m used to you too, snookums.” Mia’s laugh was unconvincing. “But you know I’m right. It’s time for me to let this stupid dream go.”

“It’s not
stupid!
”

“Hopeless, then. And I won’t mind getting away from rooms full of drunk guys whose only reason to like watching me play is ’cause it makes my boobs bounce.”

“You have actual fans. Real ones.”

“A few. They’ll live.”

And what about me? Will I live?
“I guess I should say congrats on the promotion.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

“I hope it works out.”

“Me too. And I still want to hang out sometimes. I want to see Nate again. You know, I don’t know if I could have done this if you didn’t have Nate. It helps knowing you’re not alone.”

“So if I ditch Nate, you’d stay in the band?”

She snapped back, “Would you ditch him? If the answer was yes?”

“Jesus, don’t ask me that.” Without trying, the sound of Nate’s voice in his ear, the driving heat of his body, the gentle press of his lips on skin, came to Carlos in a vivid flash. “No. Maybe not.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“So now what?”

“So now I’m going to hang up and get drunk, baby. You do whatever works for you. And in a couple of days when the hangover fades, we can talk about the equipment and the practice space rent and all.”

“Right.”

“It’s for the best. I know it.”

“I guess.”

“At least now you don’t have to audition a bunch of guitarists with egos bigger than their talents.”

He didn’t answer that.

After a moment she said, “Sorry. I’m trying for the bright side. I’m sorry I killed your band, Carlos.”

“Foster mortally wounded it. This is like a mercy killing.”

“God, don’t make me cry.”

“Why would that make you cry?” His own eyes were dry and aching.

She sniffed. “Hormones? Dammit, keep the name, okay? Maybe you’ll relaunch KnifeSwitch someday.”

His chest hurt too much to breathe. “Hang up, Mia.”

“I love you, Carlos. You’re still my BFF.”

“Bye.” He touched the phone, then slid it into his pocket.

The air was warm, and sweat dampened his shirt until it clung to his back. At least he was in the shade. The branches overhead barely moved in the still of the afternoon. He turned around to stare at the tree trunk. An ant made its way upward, navigating the ridges and grooves of the bark. To the ant, those little clefts were deep valleys, and the raised parts were mountain ranges, hiding the unknown future. “It’s all bark, little ant,” he said. “No gold in them thar hills.”

Nate’s mother said from behind him, “Carlos?”

He jumped and whirled around. “What the
fuck!
” Then he saw the bottled water she was holding out to him. He felt his face flush with heat. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“No, I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I saw you coming back from your run, and I thought you might want some water.”

“That was nice of you.” He took it, opened the cap, and drank. “Yeah, real nice, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I take it Nate’s at work?”

“Yeah.”

“He likes you a lot, you know.”

“Um, I hope so.” It felt so odd, having someone’s mother, his
boyfriend’s
mother, standing there smiling at him for being gay with her son. He kept wanting to look over his shoulder.

“He’s had a couple of other boyfriends through the years,” Rebecca said thoughtfully. “He got hurt pretty badly when they broke up. Especially the guy that cheated on him.”

“I can imagine.” Nate was nothing if not up front, and he’d have been really hurt to find a guy he cared about was a liar. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Good to hear.” She smiled at him. “You seem distracted, and I don’t want to intrude. But I’m looking forward to getting to know you better. Nate’s been so happy lately.”

“I’m, um, glad. Uh, me too, you know.”

“Well, maybe you have lots of friends and family around and don’t need more, but I want you to know that any boyfriend of Nate’s is a friend of ours. So if you need anything, remember you can ask us too. Okay?”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Carlos.” She turned and headed back toward the house, across the back lawn.

Carlos stared after her, then turned back to the tree. The ant was still climbing, backtracking, like it was looking for something. “Are you confused too, little ant?” Carlos sucked down the rest of the water, gulp by fast gulp. It was good, but it didn’t fix his whirling brain. “Hey, insect, you know where there’s anything fermenting out here? I think I need a drink.”

****

Chapter 14

The next Saturday, Nate was sketching some fresh ideas for a Serpentine album cover, and Carlos was lounging on the bed across the room, watching a video. Abruptly, footsteps thudded up the stairs outside, and there was a pounding on the door. Nate jumped, drew a crooked line, and cursed under his breath. At least it wasn’t ink. He gritted his teeth and set his pencil down. Carlos looked up at him, eyebrows raised, and Nate met his glance with a shrug.

He stood up from his sketchboard and strode to the door. When he yanked it open, Eli stood on the landing, breathing hard, his face dark and stormy.

Nate snapped, “Hey! What the hell? You made me—”

Eli cut him off, pushing past him into the apartment. “Where is he? I know he’s here. That piece of shit he drives is parked out there.”

Carlos jumped up off the bed and stood, frowning. “Me?”

“Yeah. You.” Eli strode forward into the bedroom and poked him in the chest. “Motherfucker! How could you do that?”

Carlos batted his hand away angrily. “Do what? Breathe? Fuck your brother?”

“Stop!” Nate hurried over and grabbed Eli’s wrist. “What are you doing?”

“You know what he did?” Eli turned to him, and Nate was stunned to see actual tears welling in his eyes. “He fucked us all over for a stupid hundred bucks!”

“I what!” Carlos shoved him back, palm against his chest. “I never did anything for a hundred bucks. You couldn’t pay me enough to fuck you,
pendejo
.”

“Yeah.” Eli turned back to him, his lip curled in disgust. “You’re all about sex and money, huh? Just like Nate’s other boyfriends. Losers, leeches. But you’re the worst.”

Nate yelled, “Eli! If you don’t start explaining I’m gonna kill you myself.”

“You want me to explain?” Eli stuffed a visibly shaking hand in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Read that.”

Nate took it and unfolded it, a printed email. He turned toward Carlos to let him read over his shoulder, but Carlos just stared at Eli with a cold, narrow-eyed gaze.
Okay, read it aloud, then. He should know.

“Hey Serpentine, I heard you play at Sparkfest. Your best song ‘Tongues and Ashes’ was copied from my blog, date July 10 2011. See link. You stole that song. You are cheats and phonies. I’ll tell your label and your manager and everyone. Or I’ll put your a thief on YouTube and who will buy your shit then? Your going down.”

Nate swallowed. All that came to mind was, “Bad grammar. For a song writer.”

Carlos looked at him blankly, then glared at Eli. “You can’t
believe
that shit.”

“I didn’t. But then I checked out the link, and there it was. Sure enough. “Tongues and Ashes” lyrics, almost word for word. Alongside what this bastard was having for lunch in 2011 and poems about flying.”

“Impossible.” Carlos’s face darkened. “Who is he? Show me!”

“Damned right, I’ll show you.”

Carlos strode to the bed, picked up the tablet, and shoved it at Eli. “Now.”

Eli jerked it out of his hands, set it on the table and clicked through some pages. “I need the link from my email.”

Nate waited, his pulse fast and furious, stealing his breath.
Impossible. I know Carlos. I’ve seen him writing, hour after hour.
But a harsh little voice reminded him that he thought he knew Garrett too, until suddenly he found himself tied up and helpless. He thought he knew Darryl, until he found out about the other guys, and the lies. Deke, until finals were over and he didn’t need Nate anymore. He remembered asking to see Carlos’s work, more than once, and having the notebook snapped shut in his face.
Please, not again. God, please, no.
He didn’t think he could handle being made a fool of again.

Eli tapped the screen one more time, yanked it back when Carlos made a grab for it and held it out to Nate. “There.”

Nate took the tablet. The blog name was
Better With Grass
and the logo was a pot leaf outlined in gold. No actual blogger name, which maybe wasn’t a surprise. The entry was dated 2011, and among a description of getting high and a list of all the food eaten while high was, “
I also wrote this poem. I like this one. Maybe might publish it someday.
”
The lyrics were almost word for word the ones he’d heard the band practice a hundred times in the last two weeks.