A Kind of Honesty Read online

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I felt like I’d been sucker punched. I let the silence drift between us and take over with a heavy haze of accusation. His cryptic word choice unfortunately made too much sense to me.

  “Bye, Tim.”

  I tossed my cell aside and pulled the covers under my chin. It was official. In all ways possible, I felt like shit.

  A night spent alternately sneezing and sniffling wasn’t fun. I woke up with a sore throat and cotton mouth. However, I stubbornly refused to let a little cold hold me back. Today was Spiral’s first day back at practice and I wasn’t missing it. I dressed in a long-sleeve concert T-shirt, jeans, and boots in deference to the mid-April chill. But when I stepped outside, I couldn’t decide if it was hot or cold. I made my way down Broadway and stopped after walking a block. I was dizzy and weak. Anyone with half a brain would have called in sick. I hailed a taxi.

  And texted Carter.

  We still on tonite?

  He responded immediately with a thumbs-up symbol. Where?

  Huh. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I typed my address and added, 8pm.

  We could figure out where to go from there. And surely by tonight I’d be feeling better.

  I didn’t. I felt like shit. My bandmates caught on immediately that I wasn’t a picture of health.

  “Dude, I’m going to kick your ass if I get sick. I’ve got big plans this weekend. The kind that don’t go with a box of fucking tissues and Nyquil,” Isaac groused. He held his shiny, white Fender Stratocaster like a shield and scowled at me when I sneezed again. “What have you taken?”

  “Nothing yet. I—”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake! Someone here probably has something you can take.” Rand moved toward the door but stopped when I waved him back.

  “I don’t want to take anything that’s going to make me groggy. I have plans too. I’ll be fine. Let’s do this.”

  Rand, Cory, and Isaac shared a look but didn’t argue. Until I started flubbing the beat more often than I got it right. Two hours later they were anxious to get rid of me. When I wouldn’t leave graciously, Rand escorted me home. And he wouldn’t shut up.

  “I’m worried about you, Timmy. You know what your problem is?” I waited for another crude reply about needing dick. It didn’t come. “You hold too much inside.”

  “Huh?” My communication skills were severely tested by my inability to quell my urge to sneeze every other minute. I pulled out a tissue and blew my nose.

  Rand scooted sideways and wrinkled his nose in disgust. His facial expression cracked me up. I chuckled and rested my head on the backseat of the studio’s luxury town car. The complimentary car and driver were one of the better perks of signing with the label. At least I thought so today. I was steadily feeling worse. I couldn’t wait to crawl back into bed. I closed my eyes for a moment and felt myself drift. The motion of the vehicle pulled me under, effectively drowning out Rand.

  “Hey! Wake up. I’m talking to you.” He pinched my arm, then made a show of brushing his contaminated finger on his ripped jeans.

  “You’re nagging me. Not listening.”

  “If you were feeling better, you’d admit I’m right.”

  I rolled my swollen eyes at him and gave him my somewhat compromised version of a withering glare. “You always think you’re right, Rand.”

  “I’m qualified on this one. I know you, Timmy. We’re like brothers. We’ve been through some crazy weather. Good and bad. And I know you’ve got more inside your head than you’re letting out. It isn’t healthy. If something’s bugging you… get it off your chest.”

  I stared at him in surprise. Rand was not a touchy-feely kind of guy. He was temperamental, passionate, and brash to the point of being a pain in the ass. But he was my family in a completely different way than my blood relatives were. I owed him the courtesy of at least addressing his concerns.

  “I have a cold. It’s not a big deal. I’m probably run-down. Maybe it’s a delayed reaction to the pressure of touring, guest appearances, and the fucking Grammys. The past year has been a trip. I’m not used to”—I gestured to the flat screen imbedded in the plush leather seat in front of me as an example—“this. It’s an adjustment.”

  “That’s what Will thinks too.”

  “Well, he’s smarter than you.”

  “True,” Rand agreed with a goofy grin. “But I think it’s personal too. Miranda fucked with you and—”

  “It’s over. Lesson learned.” I looked out the window to see where we were to gauge how much longer he’d irritate me. We were traveling east on Houston now. Five minutes.

  “Exactly. Don’t take it personally.”

  “What do you mean ‘Don’t take it personally’? It’s my fucking life! How do I not take it personally?” I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. “You know what’s wrong with me, besides having a cold and annoying friends? I don’t know how to not spin on shit I can’t control. Miranda isn’t my problem, but she’s a symptom of something that scares me. Who can we trust now? Who doesn’t want us because of where we’re going or who we can introduce them to? Who doesn’t want to just fuck a rock star? I’m here for the music, Rand. I don’t care about the rest. Maybe that’s naïve but… it’s true. And it’s why I came to practice when I should have called instead. I can’t stand to be in my head lately.”

  Rand’s uncharacteristic silence was pleasant at first, but then it wasn’t. I sensed a firestorm brewing inside him in response to my outburst. I wished he’d speak and get this over with already.

  “Are you writing a song in your head for me now?” I batted my eyelashes to bug him and felt marginally better when he scoffed and shook his head.

  “Look. We’re gonna get you plenty of fluids and knock you out with some cold medicine. You’ll feel better in a day or two. And then… when you come back to practice, we’re going to try something new.”

  The driver pulled in front of my building, which should have been Rand’s cue to accelerate his speech, but he didn’t move.

  “Spit it out. I wanna go to bed,” I complained as I reached for the door handle.

  “You’re going to write a song.” He spoke in a slow, deliberate tone with an intensity I knew well.

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me. You play the piano and guitar too. Use your arsenal and go for it. It can be fast, slow… whatever you need. The thing is… you need to find a new way to express yourself. You aren’t just a drummer. You’re an artist. Craft something. Let it out.”

  I gaped at him with my mouth open. When the cottony feeling made my eyes water, I swiped at my runny nose with a tissue and nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll try.”

  Rand gave me one of his signature mischievous grins and opened his door. “That’s the spirit! Come on, little buddy. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

  Light from a streetlamp outside my window pierced the corner of the roman blind in my bedroom later that night. I glanced at my watch and did an instant double take. It was almost eight o’clock. I’d been asleep for hours. Rand insisted I take the last two Benadryl in my medicine cabinet with hot tea before escorting me to my room with an ominous promise he’d call later to check on me. I rolled out of bed, threw on a pair of blue-striped pajama bottoms, and cautiously made my way to the bathroom. I winced at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. My coloring was off, and I had huge circles under my eyes. It was a good thing I was home for the night, I mused as I washed my hands.

  I grabbed an oversized sweatshirt and shuffled downstairs. I was hungry but my throat was sore. I explored my barren pantry, hoping to find a can of soup. Or anything edible. A loud buzzing noise startled me from my reverie. I glanced at the intercom with mild curiosity. I swallowed around the razor blades in my throat and pushed the button.

  “Hello,” I croaked.

  “Hi. Want me to come up or are you ready to go?”

  Holy shit! Carter.

  I looked down at my PJs and my schleppy purpl
e Ravens sweatshirt with wide eyes. Fuck. I wondered if I had time to change. I glanced toward the staircase, thinking it seemed too far to go and really… did it matter? Carter was going to take one look at me and bolt.

  “I’m on the fourth floor.”

  I swung my front door open a minute later with what I hoped passed for a smile. It quickly faded. Day-um. What did we have here? Carter was wearing tight, black leather pants with a snug-fitted mesh shirt under a slick bomber jacket. He looked incredibly sexy and ready to party.

  “You look hot,” I commented in a low, husky voice.

  Carter narrowed his gaze, set his hands on his hips, and gave me a thorough once-over. “No offense, but you don’t. You’re sick. Why didn’t you call me? Go on. Sit down or lie down. I’ll make you some soup or something.”

  He shooed me toward the giant red sofa in the great room and pointed meaningfully at the stack of pillows lying at one end. I took the hint and lay back, staring up at him in bewilderment. He clucked like a mother hen, then reached for a throw blanket before perching his ass on the edge of the cushion. I flinched when he set his cold hand on my forehead. He brushed my hair out of my eyes and gave me a wan smile.

  “I don’t think you have a fever, but you look like hell. How do you feel?”

  “Like hell,” I confirmed.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No. I’ve been asleep all day. I was just scrounging for something when you got here. The cupboards are kinda bare.”

  “Hmm. There’s a bistro on the corner at Second Street. I’ll order some chicken noodle soup.”

  “They don’t deliver.”

  “I’ll pick it up.” He had his phone out and was already looking up the listing.

  “No, don’t worry. I’m o—” I paused to sneeze, then continued. “—kay.”

  “You’re not okay. I’m taking over.”

  His commanding tone brooked no argument, but as lousy as I felt, I couldn’t quite let go.

  “Carter, you don’t have to—”

  He held up his hand in an authoritarian manner that turned me on in spite of my condition. It had to be the leather pants.

  “I don’t do anything I don’t want to, Tim. Ever.”

  My cock swelled slightly at his take-charge tone. I was far from fine, and yet, I couldn’t deny I was glad to have him here. He emitted a cool, calm veneer that allowed me to just… relax.

  “Good to know.”

  “Right. So when did you last take anything? Where are your tissues? Do you have throat lozenges? You need water.” He moved with purpose to the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards until he found the glasses. He poured water and brought it to me with a stray box of Kleenex he’d spotted on the counter. “Well?”

  “Uh. I had medicine at noon, I think. But I don’t have any more.”

  “How’s your throat?”

  “It hurts. I can’t give a decent blowjob for at least another day or two.”

  “Still capable of making bad jokes. I think you’ll be fine.” He tousled my hair playfully, and then bent to kiss my forehead before heading to the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

  True to his word, Carter was back within a half hour. Once I’d reopened the door, I was given strict instructions to lie back down. I was too fatigued to argue, so I curled up on my corner of the sofa and surreptitiously watched him move around my kitchen like he owned it. He hummed while he worked, pulling out bowls, spoons, and napkins.

  “Sit up. Here you go.” He set a bowl of chicken noodle soup on the coffee table and handed me a couple tablets. “Take this first.”

  “What is it?”

  “Cold medicine, dummy. And Advil. You look achy and uncomfortable. You need to relax. I bought cherry-flavored cough drops too. Go on. Why are you staring at me?”

  “Because I can’t believe you came back. I look like shit, I feel like shit, and our deal doesn’t extend to caretaking. Why bother?”

  “Don’t be an asshole,” he deadpanned. “Do as you’re told and don’t argue.”

  I chuckled at his annoyed expression and took the medication as instructed. He handed me a bowl of soup once he was satisfied, then picked up his own and sat on the opposite end of the sofa. We ate in companionable quiet for a few minutes. I marveled at how unweird this felt. Having a leather-clad hottie serve me soup after dishing out throat lozenges and cold medicine should have seemed peculiar, but it didn’t. It was… nice.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “You’re welcome.” Carter gave me a lopsided smile, then returned his attention to his soup.

  He looked at home. Almost like this evening was a variation of a routine we’d worked on for years. We had seen a lot of each other over the past couple weeks, but those encounters were sexual only. I’d actually liked that we weren’t trying to go through the motions of some “dating game.” I’d thought we both appreciated the distant but friendly aspect of our arrangement. Now I wasn’t so sure because at the moment I liked this much better.

  “Where were we going tonight with you dressed like that?”

  “A private underground club in Chelsea.” He stood abruptly and moved toward the kitchen.

  “Are you leaving?”

  Carter turned when he reached the island and cocked his head. “No. I was going to grab some water. Do you want me to go?”

  “No. Come back and tell me about this club.”

  Carter let out a half laugh as he helped himself to a glass of water. “Crop. Have you heard of it?”

  “Ooh. The leather bar with the sexy go-go dancers. Yeah. I haven’t been in a while, but I like that place. Are you still going?”

  “Nah. It won’t be the same without you. The plan was to watch gorgeous, scantily clad men writhe on poles, then make our way to the hotel next door and writhe against each other. We can play cards instead.”

  “Cards?” I furrowed my brow in mock confusion. “How did we go from go-go boys to Go Fish?”

  “You gotta be able to do it all, baby.” Carter chuckled as he reached for my foot and set it in his lap. “Are you tired?”

  “No. I’ve been asleep all day. I’m actually feeling better now. Maybe I can rally and we—”

  “Another time. Just tell me about your day.”

  I scoffed. “I slept. The end. How about you?”

  Carter crossed his left leg over his right knee and sat back on the sofa. He managed to look nonchalant and completely at home.

  “I woke up at five, went to the gym, then the office. The market was all over the place today, which meant I was dealing with nervous investors and clients who—”

  “Dude, I’ve been Rip Van Winkle all day. Don’t put me back to sleep. Why don’t you just tell me one good thing and one bad thing that happened today?”

  “Okay. Um… I had a setback with a client who wants to micromanage his holdings and—actually that wasn’t terrible. Sharing the elevator with Sharon from Accounting was worse.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with her?”

  “Nothing. She’s sweet. But I think she has a crush on me. It makes for uncomfortable close-proximity encounters.”

  “Poor guy. Does she stutter and blush when the resident hunk says hello?” I asked with a smirk I ruined with a sneezing fit.

  “Bless you.” He handed me a tissue, then folded his arms across his chest. “She won’t talk to me at all. It’s weird.”

  “You’re the boss. She’s probably intimidated.”

  “Whatever. Let’s move on. The best thing was… I guess it’s now. This is good.”

  My eyebrows shot to my hairline. “If this is a highlight, your social life is in seriously bad shape, Cart.”

  Carter chortled merrily and nodded in agreement. “Maybe so. I don’t go out much anymore. I could usually drag Zeke out once in a while, but now that he and Benny are together, I’m the proverbial third wheel. It’s not the same. So yeah, it’s been ages since I tried these pants on. I wasn’t sure they’d fit.”

  “So
leather bars aren’t really your thing?”

  “No. I liked the idea of going with you, but the club scene doesn’t do it for me anymore. Every time I go I feel like the Crypt Keeper. I’m too old for the places I used to go, and I’d like to think I’m too young for the ones I know would welcome me with open arms. I’m not looking for a sugar daddy and I definitely don’t want to be one. I am not taking on a barely legal college kid who’s more interested in my bank account than me. You can’t trust the guys you meet at bars and clubs. That’s where you go when conversation with an intelligent adult is the last thing on your mind.”

  “You wanted to keep the intellect level within my range tonight, eh? A loud club or a game of Go Fish,” I groused playfully.

  Carter threw his head back and laughed. “No offense intended. I promise. I equate leather clubs with sex and Go Fish with kids.”

  I creased my brow with mock dismay. “Exactly! So you really are just using me for my body, then.”

  “Well… yes,” Carter replied with a mischievous grin.

  “Don’t worry. I’m fine with keeping things… shallow. I won’t get any bright ideas about relationships. My mom would freak the fuck out if I turned up with a boyfriend, anyway,” I huffed.

  “Why? Didn’t she like your last boyfriend?”

  “She liked him fine. But that was because she didn’t know he was my boyfriend. My mother thinks I’m straight. Period. She doesn’t get bisexuality. She’s convinced the record company made it up to sell records.”

  “Got it.”

  Something in his tone made me feel defensive, though I could tell it wasn’t his intent.

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  Carter raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “It doesn’t matter to me what you tell Mommy, Tim. My experience with bi men hasn’t been particularly stellar. It’s just as well we both know we aren’t walking down the aisle anytime soon.”

  I bristled, but instinctively I knew his angst wasn’t directed toward me. I cocked my head slightly and kicked his knee.

  “What did that asshole Lance do?”

  “Lance didn’t do anything. Why do you ask?”