Xane pulled the covers back over his lower half then settled the acoustic on his lap. He plucked at a few strings, then settled back against the pillows, mouth twisted contemplatively. “I don’t know. It’s not there. Not connecting. There’s something missing that’s stopping it all shaking into place.”
Spook picked up the Les Paul. “Sing me what you have again and let me think.” This was how it always was between them when it came to composing, bouncing things back and forth, filling in the gaps where the other couldn’t.
“I don’t even have all the words. Just a bit of the chorus.”
“When did that ever hold you back? Bet you know the rough feel of it, and that you can hear it, even if you can’t quite commit it to paper yet.”
The way Xane’s eyes crinkled told him he was right.
“It’s definitely tickling away in there.” He touched the side of his head.
It was long after dawn before either of them quit, having layered together the bass and rhythm sections, and worked on some drum sounds. As daylight stretched its fingers around the edges of the curtains, Spook had the presence of mind to put the Les Paul on the floor before lying down. Xane was already nodding over the acoustic.
“Need some shuteye,” he mumbled, before toppling face down over it.
-17-
Xane
Xane woke with strings and a fretboard indented into his skin. As there wasn’t a whole lot of light bleeding in from outside, it took him a moment to locate his phone, which was bleating away merrily, obviously responsible for his awakening.
“Thought I’d put you on silent,” he muttered, as he stretched towards the floor to paw though his clothing one-handed. Despite the difficulty of the task, the damn thing was still chirping by the time he wrestled it out of his jeans pocket.
It wasn’t a call, just strings upon strings of messages, he couldn’t be bothered to scroll through. It wasn’t like he couldn’t guess what they’d say. “Where are you, you fucker!” and other variations on that theme. The only ones he gave any consideration were those from Luthor. It seemed their sex marathon ruse had fallen flat within an hour or so of him leaving, an unfortunate casualty of Alle’s brother’s unexpected return, and her discovery that he was responsible for putting Spook in hospital.
Well that confirmed that suspicion.
Poor lass really hadn’t known, but also, thank God she wasn’t involved.
He flicked through the messages from the rest of the band. Surprise. Horror. Worry. They were all re-evaluating their feelings in light of that revelation, and questioning why the fuck he hadn’t shared.
He hadn’t known it for a fact, that’s why. It wasn’t as if Spook had ever explicitly said so. He’d merely implied it. Then Xane had let it fester in his head.
Having let Luthor know that he’d arrived, and ignoring everyone else, Xane massaged the ruts out of his cheek in front of the bathroom mirror and took a piss. In retrospect, cuddling a guitar for the night wasn’t a great choice. He’d have slept far more comfortably snuggled against Spook.
After pulling on his jeans, he padded barefoot through to the living room cum kitchen. The daylight might be fast dissolving into twilight, but it still obliterated any misconceptions he might have had about the hovel Spook had holed up in. It wasn’t just that it was old and shabby. You could feel the centuries of poverty lingering about the place, like all those years of hard graft had worn itself right into the stones.
The fridge still smelled of bleach. He guzzled half a litre of mango juice before deciding that what Spook—okay, he—needed most right now was a proper greasy fry-up. Bacon, oodles of sausages, eggs, tomatoes, the works. He even found enough bread that wasn’t mouldy, frozen or stale to add fried bread to the medley of artery-clogging goodness. It certainly made for a more appetising meal than he found in the cereal box. It was never a good sign when the contents moved of its own accord. He used it to light the fire. Spook wouldn’t approve, but fuck that. Bugs required more than an eviction notice.
He thought Spook might rouse at the smell of cooking, but in the end, sleeping beauty was only woken with a kiss. On the brow; Xane didn’t have a death wish. “Wake up and smell the bacon, beautiful.”
Spook yawned and scratched his beard, before shuffling into a just about upright position. He looked fucking rough, the skin below his eyes purple tinged, and that wild man beard was taking some serious getting used to. It practically engulfed the lower half of his face.
“You getting up, or do you want it on a tray?”
“Up,” he mumbled, nearly stepping on the guitar as he swung his legs out of bed. He pulled on the joggers lying on the floor and followed Xane to the kitchen island. “Fuck. Are you trying to kill me?” He picked up a fork and prodded at the tomatoes.
“Get it down you. You clearly need a few good meals. There’s not a spare inch on you in your entirety, and we’ve work to do. It’s a fact that you can’t do shit on an empty stomach.”
“I ain’t doing shit without coffee.”
“Right here.” He thunked the mug down besides Spook’s plate. “Exactly as you like it.”
Xane finished eating before Spook had made any sort of inroad into his meal, so he brewed more coffee and then set to tuning the guitars over by the fireplace. Having run through a few songs off their last album as a warm-up, Xane dove into their progress of the previous night. It was turning into a thing of beauty, as evidenced by the scratch it left under his skin.
“We changed that bit.” Spook approached still chewing on a triangle of fried bread. “Do you not remember?”
“Was that before or after dawn?”
