Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

turned Devon on. Scott was both disgusted and intrigued at the same time, his eyes seeking out the little nuances and imperfections of Devon's body that he knew were there under the painted-on clothes, as if he was looking for further proof the man on stage was exactly who he was.
    This was Devon's secret? This strange world of fist-pumping, head-banging misfits screaming and grunting words Scott couldn't even understand—if they were words at all. This was what Devon couldn't share with Scott? Not a wife or lover or even a life of crime—all things that had crossed Scott's mind at one time or another. As much as Devon's real life dispelled those particular accusations, it also enhanced other ones, forcing Scott to realize he'd been right all along.
    Devon had been ashamed to be seen with him—Scott's accountant haircut and boring, obsessive rituals obviously too embarrassing to Devon unless it came to fucking Scott in the privacy of Scott's own home. Sliding to the back of his chair, Scott shoved the earplugs further into his ears, his only need at that very moment to shut out Devon's words, Devon's voice… Devon… Devon… Devon.
    "He's awesome, right?" Marshall managed to yell the exact thing Scott didn't want to hear. "Really nice guy. He's good with his fans, too, so it shouldn't be a problem taking Eddie back to meet him after the show."
    "No!" Scott's voice shot from his throat before he had time to think. "That's not necessary. Eddie's just glad to be here. Maybe next time." He faked a half-smile before turning his head back to the rat on stage.
    "Might be his last chance to meet the guys, Scott. I hear they're tentatively retiring after the next couple of shows. Family stuff I think."
    "That's too bad, but I'm sure Eddie's not that big a fan."
    "Could have fooled me," Marshall said, dipping his head to the side where Eddie stood not three feet away, eyes closed, body moving in time to the music—in perfect unison to Devon's body.
    It would make Scott very uncomfortable to see Devon, but at the same time, it would also cause Devon some discomfort as well. And though Scott wasn't generally a vindictive man, putting it in that light made it easier on his head and heart. It was far easier to analyze the situation that way than to give in to the pain he knew would surface later when his adrenaline had diminished.
    "Okay," he said as Marshall turned back to him. "That would be great… for Eddie I mean."
    "Cool."
    Scott wasn't sure how cool it would actually be, and to be perfectly honest, he was hoping Devon felt like he was the one on the hotseat when Scott walked into the room.
    ****
    After surviving the rest of the show plus two encores, Scott was as tense as he could ever remembered being. His palms were sweaty, the pits of his t-shirt soaked through despite the air-conditioned venue being comfortably cool, and he was seriously considering running to the bathroom to throw up. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off Devon; working the stage, beautiful and confident, and holding the crowd in the palms of his hands. It was so hard for Scott to believe the screaming, jumping, cursing man on the stage was the same one who drank lemongrass tea, helped Scott with his chores, and whose favorite spot was curling up on the sun porch with Scott.
    His streaming musings were interrupted by the impact of his nephew's body hitting him square in the chest. Eddie's face was pulled hard in a smile so wide Scott feared it would crack. His little body shook with excitement as he wrapped Scott in a tight embrace. It was so damn hard to be bitter when someone else was bursting with happiness, and though Scott knew he should be the adult in the situation, he had to hold on to a little bitter.
    Once they'd waited for the crowd to thin out and Scott had endured Eddie's non-stop banter about the band and the singer and "oh-my-God wasn't he the coolest thing in the entire world," they followed Marshall to the back of the venue. Scott kept a firm grip on Eddie's jacket again, not for one second believing one of these drug-addled fans wouldn't grab his nephew and turn him into some equally drug-addled boy whore. He'd taken his anti-anxiety meds and sometimes instead of the drowsiness, he experienced paranoia, which was no doubt the cause of his over-zealous imagination. Or was it?
    Eddie was trying very hard to be grown-up about meeting the band, but Scott could see right through it, even in his current state of suspicion.
    "You