The Gift

Chapter 3: The Long and Winding Road-2

August

The bus shuddered and slowed, and August opened his eyes to still-dark skies.

“Morning, sunshine.”

The closeness of Doren’s voice shocked him and he looked up quickly, confused and displaced. Heat flooded his cheeks. Oh, God, no. Please no.

“I’m so sorry,” August muttered, struggling upright. “You should have pushed me off.”

Doren snorted. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just burst into flames the moment we made contact.” He dropped his heels on the floor of the bus, stood, and left August to himself.

Within seconds August could hear people digging out luggage, banging and cursing. The conversation between the musicians amped up; they laughed between themselves, no doubt having a good ol’ time. He knew he needed to get his ass up, get himself in gear, and make sure all of Doren’s stuff got where it needed to be. He should make sure the room was ready and up to par. There were probably phone calls to make, confirmations to ensure, and hell, breakfast preferences to arrange for morning. He couldn’t quite convince himself to start any of it. Instead, he sat for a long stretch of minutes, staring blankly at the entrance to the hotel.

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” August told himself, listening to his voice echo in the empty vehicle.

There was a time in August’s life when he stood back and let people do what people did without getting in the way of any of it. He was raised to let his parents make the decisions, to listen to his superiors, and smile and nod. Stand with the crowd, not against it. Be part of the scene, but don’t fight it. Complying had made both his parents very comfortable. His father was an executive director at a marketing firm. His mother was the distributions manager for a cosmetics company. They both went to church on Sunday and were active in their community. They did, in fact, spend far more time with others than they’d ever spent with him. When August finally worked himself free of that knot, retreating to college to pursue music as not just an escape but a career, he’d been convinced he’d never go back to it—that he’d never have to because the music industry was so fresh. Inclusive. Open-minded. College had proved that falsehood immediately. The professors, the staff, even the other students had been just as boorish. They were either better than everyone else, knew more than everyone else, or were just downright full of themselves. But because of all of that, there’d been this…possibility. As he’d packed, he’d told himself this would be the perfect way to get back in stride. However, the longer he was there, the more he was realizing that all he’d ended up with was more crap. Even the industry’s heroes were turning out to be more of the same. Doren was just a smug prick with an indulgence for showing off in front of a crowd.

August took a deep breath and was just about to stand when Doren hopped back in the bus. He stopped. He peered. He walked up one step and he leaned against the railing. They didn’t do anything except look at each other for what seemed like an eternity. It was Doren who broke the pause. “So, you coming?”

It was now or never. Tell Doren to pound off and go home, a couple of hundred bucks lighter from the return bus fare, or take the bull by the horns and tough it out. Maybe he’d been expecting too much to believe Doren would be anything but a smug prick. Doren was in the throes of becoming the ‘Next Big Thing’ and people had been treating him like he was made of gold for months. And hadn’t August just told himself that he was going to have to learn to deal with a jerk every now and again if he hoped to make it in that field?

Doren lifted his eyebrows, as if to question August’s lack of response, and finally followed with his hands. “Come on, August. Are you doing this or not?”

August shook his head and stood. “Of course I am. Let’s get this show on the road.”

* * * *

Doren

It was official. August hated him. Doren had seen it written all over August’s face while August sat in the bus trying to figure out if he was going to run for his life or not. August hadn’t needed to say that’s what he’d been thinking, an infant could have figured it out by expression and body language alone. For a few moments Doren had considered handing the pouting man a bus schedule with a wave and a smile. “Just get the f**k out of here then,” he’d heard himself say. “I don’t need this from you.” Why the words hadn’t come out of his mouth was anybody’s guess.

Who the f**k did August think he was anyway? Last time Doren had checked, August was the assistant and he was the boss. So why was he the one tossing and turning instead of sleeping? Why was he the one who felt like a big bag of s**t?

“Because I’m an i***t, that’s why,” Doren grumbled into his pillow. A smart man would walk down to the lobby and “accidentally” let himself get seen by a handful of groupies, bring them back up to his room, and f**k each one of them until he finally fell asleep.

He shook his head and growled. “No,” he said aloud. “f**k all of them.” At once. Hard.

He flipped on to his side and hit the mattress in frustration, staring at the door that separated their hotel rooms. It was locked, from August’s side; Doren had checked when he came in. Not that he’d checked for any reason, per se. It was just casual curiosity as to whether or not August felt the need to lock the door. August had. Apparently. Great.

He stared at the sealed door, a mere eight steps away from where he rested. And why, oh why, did his mind keep whining that it wasn’t fair to be so close and yet so far away. After all, August was nothing special. Sure, August was cute. But that was it; he was nothing more than cute, as yet unproven in Doren’s life, and unimportant to the cause. Doren had only met the man twice. It would be impossible for August to be anything more than unimportant after a mere hour interview and an eight-hour bus ride.

Doren flipped again, this time on to his back, and focused on the ceiling, trying desperately to listen for the music. In twenty-four years of conscious memory Doren had been able to find it without effort. At the moment he was too distracted, though. He hadn’t been able to pull a single note from anything.

With a snarl Doren threw the sheet off him and sat up. This was stupid. He was not going to lie around pining. Or thinking. Or whatever it was he was doing, for god’s sake. He was going for a walk.