Press Play Read online

  He made his way down to the sound booth. Studio Three was the smallest, which made sense since he was only one person. He set his guitar case down, selected one of the picks from the inside pocket. He slipped the headphones on and sat down with the guitar on the stool. He adjusted the microphone so it wasn’t so damn close to his face. He did some embarrassing vocal warm-ups while he strummed, stretching out his fingers. After a few minutes, Greg appeared behind the glass in the sound booth.

  “You ready to go?” Greg’s voice was tinny over the intercom.

  “Whenever you are,” Tyler answered.

  The next hour was uncomfortable to say the least. Tyler wanted to make the most of his dollar and use the time wisely. He couldn’t help but wonder what Greg was thinking on the other side of the glass. They got instrumentals out of the way first, then just vocals, then Tyler put them together. Just in case. He liked to have options.

  “That last take was good,” Greg’s tinny voice returned. “You’ve got ten minutes left. Did you want to try another pass on that first song again?”

  Tyler squeezed his eyes closed, taking a sharp inhale. “Yeah, sure. Good idea.”

  He didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t be getting a reimbursement for ten minutes.

  “Ty, they sound great. If you’re not up to it, we can call it a day.”

  “I paid for an hour. I’ll use my hour.”

  “You’re the boss,” Greg replied. Tyler saw him say something off mic he was positive was colorful. The recording light went back on and Tyler did another rendition of the song in question.

  “Anything else?” Greg asked.

  “No, that’s it. Thank you.”

  “I’ll burn you a disc and two drives. They’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “Thanks.” Tyler adjusted the mic again as he got off the stool. He carried the guitar back to the case, putting it and the pick away. He set the case by the door before he entered the control room.

  “Here you go.” Greg handed him a jewel case and two grey thumb drives. “What are you calling this one?”

  “Disconnect.” He set the guitar case down again. The clips clicked as he opened it to tuck the drives and disc into one of the pockets.

  “They’re good,” Greg offered. “I hear a lot of shitty music here, but you always...” He let himself trail off. “How is everyone? I feel like I lost half my family. No one calls. No one texts.”

  “Heath is on tour with Harley Unger,” Tyler reminded him. “Jordan isn’t doing great. Kyle broke up with him a few days ago.”

  “Holy shit! Why?”

  Tyler pursed his lips. “I’m not going to pretend I understand anything about those guys. All I know is that sex and Dylan were involved.”

  “Dylan? That Dylan?”

  Tyler nodded slowly. He had assumed Greg had heard. Evidently he hadn’t picked up the Pick Magazine article.

  “Fuck. That’s gotta be weird for you.”

  “I don’t know what weird is anymore,” Tyler admitted.

  “Has he said anything since the EP? Most of the articles I read were all no comment,” Greg pressed. “Morbid curiosity. You don’t have to answer me.”

  “Tell me how you are instead. Your new guy. He’s good to you, right?”

  “He was, until he wasn’t,” Greg admitted. “We broke up last month.” He gave a nervous laugh. “He wasn’t as nice as I thought he was.”

  “What happened?” Tyler asked, instantly wary of the answer. His eyes roved over Greg’s features, looking for evidence of what he couldn’t know.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s over and he’s out of my life.”

  “Gregory,” Tyler pressed, his tone flat.

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  “You literally watched me piss myself at a haunted house,” Tyler reminded him. “It can’t be more embarrassing than that.”

  “Not that kind of embarrassing.” Greg turned away, starting to reset the booth.

  “Tell me. You’ll feel better if you do. I’m not judging.”

  “He was kinky,” Greg finally spoke up, “like really into some weird shit. It was fun at first, but then...it wasn’t.”

  “He hit you?”

  “He lost control for a minute.”

  “That’s the first rule of BDSM. You never lose control.”

  “I know. That is why I’m not seeing him anymore.” Greg gave him an apathetic shrug. “I don’t want to talk about me. Your hour is up anyway.”

  “Come get coffee with me,” Tyler offered. “We can catch up.”

  “I better not,” he demurred. “It would only remind me how much I miss you, and all your friends.”

  “They were your friends too.”

  “I was just your boyfriend and they liked me. They stuck with you after the break-up.”

  “Did you try calling them?”

  “No.”

  “There you go,” Tyler declared. “You can’t say they left you, if you didn’t try to reach out yourself.”

  “Still, it’s not a great idea.”

  “Raincheck then.” Tyler held out a hand. “Until next time?”

  Greg considered it for a moment before taking his hand and pulling him into a tight, brief hug. “Next time. Good luck on your next release. They’re really good. If you need help with mixing or layering, let me know.”

  “Thanks.” Tyler lifted his guitar case again. “Later.”

  “Bye.”

  Tyler let himself out of the recording booth. He paused in the lobby of the studio while he waited for a ride share car. It wasn’t until he was getting back out in front of the apartment that he realized; seeing Greg had been uncomfortable. It hadn’t been the same as the almost euphoric sensation he’d had at seeing Dylan. There hadn’t been any hitch in his heartbeat, churning in his stomach, or nervousness. Only mild anxiety about seeing the guy who had broken up with him. But it was official. He wasn’t in love with Gregory Perkins.

  ***

  [YOU] Can I borrow your back-up laptop? Mine is being weird.

  [HEATH] What for?

  [YOU] TuneTable release. We talked about it?

  [YOU] I just need to do some minor tweaks on the tracks.

  [HEATH] Sure. If it isn’t on my desk, ask Jack. His is about fried and he refuses to let me buy him a new one.

  [YOU] K. Thanks!

  Tyler set his phone back down on his desk and closed his own laptop. For whatever reason, it was being incredibly slow to load and layer two of the tracks he’d recorded earlier that day. He was probably going to upload the tracks of simultaneous play, but he liked to fiddle around. TuneTable fans liked the roughness.

  Heath’s room was strangely clean since the man hadn’t been in it for a month. The desk, however, was empty. Tyler groaned, pulling out the phone and texting Jack.

  [YOU] Do you have Heath’s laptop?

  [JACK] Yes. Why?

  [YOU] Mine is being weird and I need to finish a thing. Can I get it back for the night?

  [JACK] Sure, but you’ll have to come get it.

  [JACK] I just started making dinner. I can share, if you’re hungry?

  [YOU] That’s okay.

  [YOU] Is Dylan there?

  [JACK] No. He usually goes to a meeting after class or grabs coffee.

  [YOU] I’ll be down in a minute.

  Safety ensured, Tyler tucked the phone in his pocket. He grabbed his keys on his way out and took the stairs instead of the elevator, and it didn’t take long before he was knocking on the door of Jack’s apartment.

  “Hey.” Jack was wiping his hands on a towel. “The laptop and charger are on the coffee table.” He stepped back toward the kitchen. “You sure you’re not hungry? I’m just making ramen, but I have plenty.”

  “No, thank you,” Tyler declined the offer. He made his way over to the laptop. “I had a bowl of cereal when I got home.”

  “Ty, that is not adequate dinner,” Jack scoffed. “I know you’re capable of cooking.”

  “I�
�ll order something in later,” he admitted. “Or, wait until Jordan gets home and see if he wants anything.”

  “Ah. How is he?”

  “He’s...not great. He sits at the garage working on that bike all day. When he gets home, he starts scribbling in a notebook all night. On the bright side, we’re probably going to have a couple of fucking awesome songs when we’re ready to record.”

  “Tyler,” Jack admonished.

  “I know, I’m being a dick. How’s Kyle?” He asked more out of politeness. He and Kyle had once had words. They still didn’t particularly like each other.

  “He is also hiding out in his work right now.”

  “Um,” Tyler’s eyes darted around the room. “Whoa, I’ve never been in your apartment before. This is spooky.”

  Jack laughed. “Why? The layout is the same as yours. We just set up our living room differently.”

  “Exactly. I like it. It has good flow. We boxed ours in.” He looked around. “What’s the canvas? Something you guys need hung?”

  “No!” Jack took a step forward, but it was too late. Tyler was already too close and taking it in.

  “This is Dylan’s work,” he spoke after careful consideration of the style and the content.

  “Fuck.” Jack groaned.

  “When did he do this?” His voice went quiet. He sensed the emotions playing across his face, unable to suppress them. Anger was winning.

  “Over the weekend. He wasn’t ready to give it to you as an official response.”

  “Well, I can’t ignore a literal framed reply, can I?”

  “I told him framing it was stupid. He wanted to see how it looked. He doesn’t know how he feels yet. It was a knee-jerk reactionary thing.”

  “It reads pretty bluntly to me.” Tyler set the canvas back down. He succeeded in shoving the emotions down, leaving his face eerily blank. “Thanks for the laptop. I’ll get it back to you tomorrow. Let me know when you want to pick it up.”

  “Tyler, you weren’t meant to see it yet. Don’t—” Jack couldn’t let him walk away without more context.

  “It’s fine. I have an answer. Honestly, it’s a relief.” Tyler stepped backwards toward the door. “It hurts, but it hurt more not knowing.”

  “Don’t give up. Give him more time. He’s...he’s different,” Jack insisted.

  “I don’t know if I have the time left to give,” he said. “See you later, Jack.”

  Tyler took the elevator back up to the apartment this time. He set the laptop on his desk, powered it in, and immediately began editing the full-track songs instead of messing with the layering. Within a half hour, he had uploaded the three new songs to TuneTable.

  It wasn’t the resounding “no” in the last frame of the comic that sat most uncomfortably in him. It was the frame depicting Dylan, crouched on the floor of the Rose room. The strains of the (wildly inaccurate) music notes, stabbing him, made him feel the worst. A close second was the presence of an unknown person beside him in each of the panels, seeming to get closer to him in each one. For every ounce of him that knew he wasn’t in love with Greg anymore, he knew he loved Dylan Montgomery.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Hey,” Jordan slipped into the booth at the Java Pub across from Dylan, “how was your day?”

  “Fine. How was yours?”

  “You remember when you told me that seeing Tyler made you feel like you were going to vomit up your heart? I get that now.” He took a drink from his coffee cup.

  Dylan grimaced. “You haven’t tried talking to him? It’s been a few days now.”

  “I don’t know what to say to him.”

  “I can’t help you. I don’t know what to say either,” Dylan admitted. “You were working on the Henderson today?” A change of subject guaranteed to get Jordan into a better mood.

  “Yeah.” Jordan brightened considerably. “The machinist got me the first set of parts, so I got to start some reassembly. I might have it done before Christmas.”

  “Great. If it doesn’t snow, my Dad can enjoy it for all of five minutes.”

  Jordan grinned. “It’ll be worth the wait for spring.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “How’s your Dad’s project coming?”

  “He’s been busy in DC, so he hasn’t been home. Sorry, no news on your Great Bear.”

  “Super Cub,” Jordan corrected.

  “Right. That. Death trap, whatever it’s official name is.”

  Jordan’s smile softened. “Thank you, by the way. For not letting me have my way with you the other day.”

  Dylan smiled over the lip of his own coffee mug. “It took a lot of willpower on my part. I didn’t want you to regret it, if you manage to work things out with Kyle.”

  “I appreciate it. I don’t think I would have regretted it, but it’s probably best we didn’t anyway.”

  Dylan hummed, turning back to his sketch pad. His sandwich was only half eaten, and his latte had gone cold long ago. He was trying to create a character portrait for Jack. He’d given him a detailed description of the lead in his novel. Jack hoped having a visual would help him connect to the character more. Dylan had looked up how police do witness sketches, and used that as inspiration for some of Jack’s descriptions. He was doing a rough sketch first for approval before scanning it in to finish it digitally.

  “That looks nice,” Jordan interrupted. “Does this mean you’ve sidelined the comic?”

  “I’m working on what I had started, but it feels really,” Dylan fought for an adequate word, “masturbatory?”

  “I get that. Why not do an original comic that has nothing to do with your life?”

  “I’m not a story person. I’m great with art and flow for short pieces. Doing a whole comic? Eek. I’ve been thinking about opening official commissions and listing some old pieces. Travis helped me set up my website for selling. I was going to ask if you minded if I did a piece or two of you? Not to sell! Just to add to a portfolio for a website.”

  “Sure,” Jordan nodded. “That reminds me, Tyler donated those pieces you gave him. They apparently sold for a ton of money at the charity auction. Tiffany has a list of people who want to get in touch with you, if she hasn’t contacted you already.”

  “I think she tried to call me last week, but I was in class. I haven’t gotten back to her yet.”

  “Well,” an unfamiliar voice rang out before Dylan could continue, “I run into one of you, and now here’s another.”

  “G-Greg,” Jordan looked startled. “Hey, man. How are you?”

  “Fine.” The man looked amused.

  Dylan gave him an appraising look, trying not to judge too quickly. He failed spectacularly. This was Greg?

  “Who’d you run into earlier?”

  “Tyler had a recording session booked today.” The man gripped his coffee more tightly as he ran his fingers through sandy hair. “It was awkward at first, but it turned out well.”

  “Right. Tiffany figured out some contract thing with TuneTable. I’ve been staying out of the mess.”

  “He told me about Kyle. I’m sorry.”

  “It is what it is, right?” Jordan glanced at Dylan who had returned once more to his drawing. “Uh, Greg, this is Dylan.”

  “I see,” Greg didn’t sound surprised. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  He held out a hand, which Dylan stared at for a moment before looking up at the man.

  “Finally?” He repeated.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you over the years.” Greg lowered his hand when it became obvious that Dylan was not going to shake it. “I feel like I know you.”

  “I’m sure,” Dylan intoned. “Unfortunately, I know absolutely nothing about you.” He grunted as Jordan tapped him in the leg. “What? I don’t. You’ve literally talked about him once.”

  “You’ll have to excuse him. He gets disgruntled when he’s interrupted while working,” Jordan apologized. “Are you still seeing that new guy?”

  “
No,” Greg shook his head. “Broke up about a month ago. I’m staying single for a while. The last one wasn’t great. Seeing Ty today made me nostalgic.”

  “He has that effect on people. Doesn’t he, Dylan?”

  Dylan grunted, unamused. “Nostalgic is not a word I would use to describe my feelings toward Tyler.”

  “I’m sure I’ll have more colorful words eventually,” Greg admitted. There was a beat of silence. “Dylan, how are you settling back into New York? You were in LA, right?”

  Dylan felt his jaw tighten for a moment. He wasn’t sure why he was so irked by the man. He didn’t even know him. He was attractive enough, though not what anyone would call a looker, so to speak. Normal. Thin, but not muscular. He looked comfortable in a fitted t-shirt and some faded jeans. He was wearing boots, which he supposed were appropriate for fall. He had a bohemian string bracelet around his wrist which, after taking in the colors, Dylan recognized as the bisexual flag. He had no other adornments otherwise.

  “I grew up here,” Dylan replied coolly. “It’s been fine.”

  “You found work here then? Or—”

  Dylan made a silent thanks as his phone began to ring. He glanced at the screen. A tiny photo of one of Stuart Leeman’s artworks and STU stared back at him. “Sorry, I have to take this.” He shifted a little further away from the other two men to answer the call. “Hello?”

  “Is this Mr. Dylan Montgomery?”

  It wasn’t Stuart on the other end.

  “Yes, this is Dylan Montgomery. Is this not Stuart Leeman’s office?”

  “Yes, I’m Mr. Leeman’s executor,” the voice on the other end replied. “I’m calling to inform you that Mr. Leeman passed away about an hour ago.”

  Dylan felt a jabbing pain in his chest. “Excuse me? What happened?”

  “You knew about his cancer diagnosis?”

  “Yes, he told me when we spoke back in June,” Dylan answered. “I saw him three days ago when he visited my class. He was fine.”

  “These things happen.” The person’s tone softened. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Montgomery. You were on his list of people to notify at the time of his death before we released a statement to the public. I’ll be in contact soon with more information about the funeral and the reading of the will.”