Time Out of Mind

  He tried to relax. “Oh. I thought Mevi was just overreacting.”

  “No.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Your boy loves you,” she said, softly enough no one could hear her. “And—I cannot emphasize this strongly enough, which is why I’m repeating myself—he’s deathly afraid of outing you.”

  “He’s a very good boy.”

  “That he is.”

  Tilly got her bags from the security guy watching them for her and they followed the driver out the backstage door. There were already crowds gathered around the area, held back by security and fences, looking for autographs.

  As their car slowly cruised past the people, Tilly stared out the window. “And here I thought what we did was crazy. This is like a whole ’nother planet in comparison to the movie biz.”

  “Thanks for whatever you did for them,” he said, mindful of the driver up front.

  She shrugged, finally turning to smile at him. “Helping friends out. Working out some anger issues. Evening the karmic scales. What’s not to love about that?” Her smile transformed into a manic, toothy grin that made him chuckle.

  “Same ole Tilly.”

  “Never thought sadism would serve me well in professional life.” She sighed. “Should have gone to law school. I thought about it, but I had so much experience with my mom and stuff that nursing seemed better. Job security.”

  “It worked out all right. Besides, you’re never too old to go back to school.”

  She snorted. “Yeeaah. I don’t think so. I have the munchkin to take care of, and the guys, and a job.” A sigh escaped her. “Honestly? I had thought about looking into it before the munchkin. But I don’t want to leave her alone. She’s my miracle. I’m not an old hag. Maybe once she’s old enough and is in school full-time, then I’ll look into it. Right now, these are magic years, and I’m blessed beyond measure. I refuse to miss any more time with her than I have to.”

  When they reached the hotel, which was on the way to the airport, Doyle hugged her.

  “Thanks,” he whispered in her ear. “Whatever you did, I appreciate you having my boy’s back.”

  She smiled. “That’s what friends do. I know if I needed you, I could count on you. In fact, you were there for me when I needed you a few years back.”

  She patted his cheek. “It wasn’t just Loren and Ross who kept me vertical. A bunch of you did. You, Gilo, Tony, Leah, Abbey.” She choked back a ragged sigh. “Kaden. I know I didn’t let you all help me as much as you wanted to, but I appreciated the love and support you gave me. I love you guys, even if I don’t get to say it as often as I’d like. I don’t ever want to leave it unsaid, because I never know when the last time I’ll see someone is.” She leaned in and hugged him tightly one final time. “Kaden drilled that lesson into me.”

  Doyle got out and waved as the car pulled out. As he walked through the lobby and headed for the elevators, he glanced toward the hotel bar. It was dark inside, and laughter and music loudly rolled from the entryway.

  There were times he missed drinking, until he really stopped and remembered why he used to drink.

  To forget.

  To escape.

  To temporarily numb mental and emotional pain, which always slammed home with a vengeance later.

  Maybe I should look up a meeting.

  He’d gotten sober before discovering and without the help of twelve-step meetings. It didn’t mean he didn’t occasionally find them helpful. A reminder that he wasn’t alone in the world, and that he wasn’t the only one struggling sometimes.

  Turning away from the bar, he opted to head upstairs. He had his noise-cancelling headphones with him. He could put on a meditation album and ground himself. Once Mevi returned, he’d need Doyle to be focused and centered, ready to be his rock, if necessary.

  And his boy would return to him, despite the nagging, tenacious anxiety that kept wanting to bubble up with a vengeance.

  After we’re through this, I need to find a counselor for myself and deal with this shit.

  After taking a shower and donning a pair of shorts, he worked through his tai chi form and then meditated with the music for thirty minutes. That helped relax him a lot. The past week had been especially crazy, with the additional stress on Mevi, and Doyle had neglected to take time for him.

  After turning out most of the lights, he stretched out in bed and opted to turn the TV on and channel surf until he stumbled across an old Abbott and Costello movie and left it there.

  * * * *

  The after party had been amazing, the energy great. Without the fear and stress of financial ruin looming over his head any longer, or Erique’s bullshit, and knowing that Doyle awaited him back in the hotel, Mevi was able to fully focus on the fans. Especially on the praise they lavished on the three new numbers he’d played.

  For the first time, he was able to take their words to heart and not second-guess everything.

  Unanimously, they’d loved the songs.

  His band had loved them.

  He hoped Doyle had liked them, especially since they’d been for him.

  Specifically for him.

  On the ride back to the hotel, Bonnie snuggled against him. “You coming back to my room? It is our tradition. Don’t want to jinx the tour, do we?”

  He wondered if Doyle was even still awake as late as it was. “Would you mind if I did for a little bit? I’ve got a couple of things I want to work on.”

  He had his iPad with him. In fact, he had it out on his lap and was working through composing some lyrics. Not as good as having a guitar in his hands and being able to pluck out chord progressions with them at the same time, but he could work out the worst of the song in his head on the iPad, then fine-tune it tomorrow.

  “No, I wouldn’t mind.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I never mind, you know that. Especially now that my old Mevi’s back.”

  When they went to her room, he cast a glance toward his room door across the hall and hoped Doyle wouldn’t be upset with him. Doyle had told him he understood work came first, and that he would always be okay with him having to work. Especially given the unusual profession and hours and working conditions he was under.

  She had a large double king like theirs, also not a suite. The hotel’s suite floor had been under renovation, so they’d been stuck with smaller rooms.

  “Can I get you anything?” Bonnie asked him as he took the far bed to spread out his notebooks and iPad, the bed it was obvious she hadn’t been sleeping in.

  “No.” He slipped his glasses on. “I just want to work on this before I forget the lyrics. You know how that goes.”

  She stood between the beds, her hands on her hips. “That’s all?”

  “Huh?” He finally looked up at her and realized she was half undressed.

  “Mevi. Seriously?”

  “You know what it’s like when I get an idea. I can’t let it go. If I do, it’s gone.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’m taking a shower.” She headed toward the bathroom. “You can join me if you want.”

  He knew he couldn’t keep putting off this conversation with her. He was going to have to tell her the truth that he was gay, and that Doyle was…his.

  Rather, he was Doyle’s.

  Fully.

  Completely.

  The sad thing was, he didn’t know if he trusted her beyond revealing that much. He didn’t know how mad she’d be at him. For years, their pattern had been falling into bed together on tour. Sometimes even during long studio recording sessions.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed her company, but he’d also seen it as a chance to not be alone, to help hide the truth about himself, and to boost the band’s image. He was actually glad when she dated others, because it took the pressure off him. Living away from her and the others had given him a ready excuse not to drop by, or vice-versa.

  The drinking had also been part of that. Building a wall, a cocoon instead of letting Bonnie help distract him, which only filled him w
ith more guilt. Doyle was absolutely right about that. He’d used the drinking to shield himself from Bonnie, especially. Allowing him to more easily lash out at her. When the financial mess was uncovered, he’d used it as a crutch to get him through.

  One more excuse.

  When was the boy from Cheyenne, Wyoming, going to finally cowboy up and own up to his truths?

  A yawn escaped him and he leaned his head back against the headboard as he played back the chord progressions he’d just programmed into the software. No, nothing like a real guitar, but a good starting point.

  He tweaked the lyrics a little, and did it again.

  He was so freaking tired. He’d barely slept the night before, and no time for a nap today.

  Closing his eyes again for a moment, he thought about the lyrics…

  * * * *

  At some point in the night, Doyle startled awake and realized he was still alone in the room. An old monster movie played on the TV, but it wasn’t what had awakened him. Voices out in the hallway, possibly a door shutting.

  Like someone trying to stay quiet.

  Someones.

  He got up and walked over to the viewfinder, removing the wad of tissue to see what looked like Troy and Garth walking down the hall, already past his room. Across the hallway, the door to Bonnie’s room was swinging shut, and he knew damn well that was Mevi he’d caught a glimpse of going inside.

  They’re just friends. They work together.

  Now wide awake, Doyle turned on one of the lamps and sat up in bed, unable to focus on the TV. He grabbed his phone and saw not only was it nearly two a.m., but he had no messages from Mevi.

  After waiting nearly an hour, Doyle texted him.

  You coming back to the room?

  No response.

  Five minutes later, he grabbed his room key and walked across the hall. He lightly knocked, a little startled when Bonnie opened it sooner than he’d expected.

  “Shh! He’s asleep!” She stepped out, pulling the door nearly shut behind her. It was dark inside and he couldn’t see past her into the interior. She wore a satin bathrobe and it was obvious she’d showered.

  Old anxieties roared to life with a vengeance inside him. “He didn’t come back to the room.”

  “He’s fine. He’s sober, don’t worry. He didn’t drink anything. He was never alone. I stayed with him the whole time.”

  At war within him, Doyle’s promise to Mevi to let him be the one who broke the news to the band about their relationship, versus the Dom who wanted to shove her out of the way and go get his boy.

  Not to mention the man who still held himself responsible for Mevi’s sobriety, even though he knew only Mevi could truly do that.

  “I should get him and put him to bed.” He started to step past her, but she shifted to the side, blocking his way.

  “Just let him sleep. He’s worn out. It’s been a long day, and he’s exhausted.” She wore a defiant air, as if daring him to try to get past her.

  It was her next words that hit like a punch in the balls. “I’ve got it from here. I’ll take care of him. We’re all grateful to you for keeping him sober and helping him get his feet back under him. I don’t know the full details of the deal Clark made with you, but we’ll tell him to pay you in full for whatever time was scheduled, including any bonuses he negotiated.

  “I really had my doubts that Mevi would be able to get it together, but he did. Our old Mevi is back. We’ve known him twenty years, and this is the best we’ve seen him in a while. He even told me tonight he’s looking forward to getting back to what he does best. I know he couldn’t have done it without your help.”

  “Not exactly done yet. What about the rest of the US tour?”

  “I’m sure you want to get back to your life.” She touched his arm and it took everything he had not to yank away from her. “He really feels like a different person now. Like he’s more relaxed. Who knows? Maybe things will even be different between us this time around.” She laughed. “I’m sure the rest of the band would appreciate that. Us not getting into it halfway through the tour and ripping into each other like we usually do.”

  Doyle’s life lay inside that room, through that door that he couldn’t enter.

  A life he’d given up so much for despite all common sense and reason telling him he was making a huge mistake.

  “So you and Mevi are…back together?” He struggled against the urge to throw up, hoping he was wrong.

  “Sure looks like it.”

  Doyle grasped for something to say, anything.

  “I wish you all the best,” he numbly managed.

  She actually rose up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I’m hoping he’ll finally make an honest woman out of me this time around. I’ve waited long enough for him.”

  He knew her smile might come off as playful in other circumstances.

  He hoped he’d managed to pull a calm, dispassionate mask into place. “Okay, then. Please wish him well for me.”

  “I will.” She slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.

  Fighting the urge to puke right there in the hall, Doyle turned, unlocked their room door with trembling hands, and quietly shut it behind him.

  After taking a deep breath, he surveyed the room, started taking inventory of where his stuff was, and planning how to pack. That’s when he spotted his phone.

  Walking over, he picked it up and scrolled down to Tate’s last text, which he hadn’t deleted yet.

  He replied.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mevi awoke disoriented and confused. The room was dark, the slight glow of full-on daylight visible around the edges of the blackout curtains.

  Then he sat bolt upright, realizing this was not his room.

  “Fuck!”

  “What?” Bonnie mumbled from the other bed.

  Fumbling, he found the lamp and switched it on so he could locate his iPad and check the time. “Shit! It’s after ten o’clock!”

  “So?” she grumbled. “Thanks for leaving me hanging last night, by the way. Jerk.”

  He found his room key and gathered his stuff in his arms before he raced for the door. “Why did you let me fucking fall asleep?”

  “Jesus Christ, what difference does it make?”

  He fumbled the key card in the lock and froze as he walked in.

  The room hadn’t been made up, but it felt…

  Empty.

  “Doyle?” No one in the bathroom.

  Dumping his stuff on the first bed, he threw open the closet.

  Doyle’s stuff was gone.

  Hands trembling, he dug his phone out of his bag and realized it was still on silent. And he found the texts from Doyle. The first from last night, about an hour after he’d gone into Bonnie’s room.

  You coming back to the room?

  And then one from just two hours earlier.

  Bonnie made it clear you’re back together with her and told me my services are no longer needed. I wish you well. I’ll forward Clark a list of references if you need further help.

  It felt like his balls had been twisted off.

  He tried calling Doyle, but it went to the man’s voice mail. He didn’t know if it was the message he’d been using while with Mevi, or a new one.

  “You’ve reached Doyle Turner. I will be out of contact for a couple of months, working with a client. You can leave a message at my work number at 714-555-2299 and it will be given to me. Thanks.”

  When the tone sounded, Mevi still left a message. “Doyle, I don’t know what Bonnie told you, but no, that’s not true. I’m not with her. I fell asleep over there working. Please, call me! I love you.”

  He shot him a quick text with the same message, begging Doyle to call him.

  He stormed across the hall, but of course Bonnie’s door had swung shut behind him when he’d left. Pounding on it with his fist, he didn’t relent until she finally opened the door.

  “Fuck! Mevi, what the hell?”

 
“What did you tell him?”

  “What? Who?”

  “Doyle. What the fuck did you tell him last night?”

  She wore a long T-shirt that covered what he suspected was the fact that she wore no panties under it. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “Well, you’d already crashed for the night when he knocked. I told him we didn’t need him anymore because you were back with us. Told him we’d have Clark pay out his full contract and any bonuses. Why?”

  Mindful of two housekeeping staff watching, he stepped inside her room, forcing her back, and shut the door behind him.

  “What the hell did you tell him about us?”

  “He asked if you and I were back together, and I told him I hoped so. That it sure looked like it.” She shot him a glare. “Although I sure as hell wasn’t expecting you to fall asleep working last night. That wasn’t exactly romantic.”

  “Oh, fuck.” He turned from her and fought the urge to put his fist through a wall. “Please tell me you’re kidding, that you really didn’t say that to him.”

  “Why? It’s the truth, isn’t it?” She crossed the room to follow him. “That’s what we do. I thought maybe this time it’s different now that you’re sober and everything’s working out. It feels…different this time. You feel different this ti—”

  He wheeled on her. “Because I’m gay and Doyle’s my boyfriend!”

  Her jaw dropped. “What? You’re not gay.”

  “Yeah, I am. You don’t think it’s odd I never dated anyone all these fucking years? All the times I had trouble getting it up and blamed it on being tired or drunk?”

  “What?”

  “I’m fucking gay, Bonnie. I always have been. I hid it from my family and I hid it when I got to LA and I kept hiding it because of the band’s image. Did he say where he was going?”

  “Going?”

  “Yeah, going. Doyle’s gone. He packed his stuff and left.” He tried calling Doyle again, but again, straight to voice mail. He didn’t leave another message.