“A turd bucket?” Declan widened his eyes comically. “I’m not using them. I never said a word.”
“You don’t have to. Everyone knows the story. Xena left the band and broke up with Justin who had a brief fling with Tegan. You knew about it and got jealous, so you set them up and made sure Xena walked in on them. Blah, blah, blah. It was titillating a year ago, but it’s boring now. Everyone has moved on. It sounds like you’re the only one who hasn’t. Why not? You’re a good-looking guy. I’ve heard you’re a great musician too. What the hell is the matter with you?” I huffed, barely resisting the urge to lean across the table and smack him upside the head.
“Why do I feel like I’m getting my ass kicked?”
“Maybe you are.” I sighed dramatically and sipped my coffee. “I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry. I’m just trying to put the pieces together.”
“It’s easy. Zero is a band. I’m one guy trying to build a band. No one really knows me.”
“So you admit that you’re riding an old story to get noticed.” I tapped my fingers against my cup and gave him a shrewd once-over. “You do realize they’re going to mute your music by bringing up your old drama. If you’re looking to be a one-hit wonder…congratulations. You’re on your way. If you want more, you’d better rethink your branding. Hooking up with Sandstone isn’t in your best interest.”
“And what is?” he asked sarcastically.
I stood slowly and picked up my cup. “I don’t know. That’s for you to figure out. Good luck.”
“Hold up. Can you help me?”
“How?”
“Be my manager too.”
I wasn’t sure how long I stared at him, but it was long enough for my mouth to go dry. I pulled my ChapStick from my bag and liberally reapplied as I mulled over his suggestion.
“That would be the definition of a conflict of interest.”
Declan shook his head and stood. “It wouldn’t have to be. We could change the story. Or retell it our own way. I don’t know how to do that. I’m a musician. But you do. You’re good at spinning stories. Why not take me on too?”
“I don’t—”
“You don’t have to answer now. Think about it. Can I get your number?”
“Well…uh. I guess so.” I rattled off my number while madly working through the twenty-five ways this was all a bad idea.
Before I got through the first three, Declan patted my shoulder and raised his cup in a toast. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
Oh. Fuck.
* * *
Once upon a time when I still believed in fairy tales, I was pretty damn sure my dads were the smartest, strongest, and coolest men on the planet. One was a movie guy, the other was a music man…the producer and the professional songwriter. They had important jobs. The kind that made some of my classmates give grudging nods of admiration. They might have thought I was a dork, but they hummed Gray’s songs and talked about Dad’s movies, which I figured gave me some kind of immunity from getting my ass kicked on the playground every day. However, their cool cachet didn’t erase the vapid curiosity about their relationship.
I couldn’t remember a time when Gray wasn’t in my life. Or a time I didn’t think of him as a father figure, though I was always made well aware that Sebastian was Dad. I’d always thought they’d insisted that detail was significant because of our shared DNA. It wasn’t until much later that I realized it was part of their own make-believe story. To the outside world, they were best friends and roommates. Their closest associates knew they were more than close buddies, but no one talked about it. And neither did I. Dad was my father, Gray was my godfather.
Semantics and bloodlines aside, Gray was the one who taught me basic life skills, like how to ride a bike and how to memorize multiplication tables. He was approachable and easy company. He had high expectations and he could be very strict but was endlessly patient and loving. When Dad and Gray split, I divided my time between their homes evenly, just like every other child of divorce. And I hated it. I had a hard time adapting to the shift in dynamics. Once I did, it was the same ol’ story…Gray was easy, Dad wasn’t.
Dad worked all the time and when he was home, he wasn’t always accessible. He had a high-stress job and important clients to impress. Without Gray around to fill in the spaces, we were a little lost around each other. He didn’t know how to be a parent, so he tried to be my friend instead. Rules were slim to nonexistent at his house. I could stay up late, eat what I wanted, and watch anything on television. None of that flew at Gray’s house. After a few times of going to bed early with a sore butt or being grounded by Gray, I smartened up and realized I might be better off applying my own brand of structure when I was with Dad.