Quentin breathed deeply through his nose, the way he did before a hockey game.
Joel strummed a chord on his guitar. In his ears, Quentin heard the beat of a metronome.
Hockey wasn’t Quentin’s only talent. He wasn’t exactly classically trained, but he had a decent voice, and he could carry a tune. He might not be able to hold a candle to Joel’s voice, but he was about to give it his all.
He wouldnotlet Joel win.
Joel closed his eyes and began to sing.
“No One Like You” was Quentin’s favorite song from Joel’s newest album, not that he’d ever tell Joel that. He’d listened to it many times. Something about it resonated with him. It spoke to the ache, the desire, to have real relationships in one’s life, and how hard it was, sometimes, to let other people in.
His entire body was cold with nerves as Joel stepped back a bit, letting Quentin take his spot at the microphone.
It was now or never.
Quentin gripped the microphone in both hands and began to sing.
The second verse spoke of soulmates, how Joel didn’t believe they werefound, butmade, and how he was convinced that he’d made a soulmate out of the subject of the song.
Joel knew the lyrics to his songs like he knew his own body. They were written in his blood and in the neurons that fired in his brain, but hearing Quentin sing the words that had come from the deepest part of his soul was like hearing them for the first time.
Quentin had a good voice—though Joel didn’t have time to dwell on the shock of that. His singing voice was like whiskey, smoky and dark, adding a quality to Joel’s lyrics he didn’t hear when he sang them. Only now, when Quentin sang the words, did Joelreallyhear how people interpreted the song as romantic.
It was time for the pre-chorus, and he found himself laughing in genuine delight. He repeated a few chords and said, “You take the melody!” And he joined in on the harmony.
Quentin gripped the microphone in one hand and found that he was grinning. Joel grinned back at him, genuine joy and shock in his eyes. They sang together, eyes locked on each other, and it was like the greatest karaoke night Quentin had ever experienced.
When they finished, Joel motioned for Quentin to pop out the Bluetooth earpieces. He did, and then he could hear the roar of the crowd. They seemed ecstatic.
Joel, grinning, sweaty, shirtless, spun his guitar around so that it lay against his back and held his arms wide open. Quentin didn’t hesitate before giving him a hug.
Something, he knew, had just changed.
Chapter 8
Quentin
“They want you on Rise and Shine America,” Billy Rasmussen said through a mouthful of muffin. They were eating breakfast together at a diner near Quentin’s apartment. Quentin had a game later today, the first game of the regular season, and he was having his typical pre-game breakfast: bacon, eggs, pancakes, hash browns, and lots of coffee.
“The morning show?” Quentin asked, after swallowing a mouthful of potatoes.
“No, the other thing calledRise and Shine America,” Billy said.
“It’s too early for sarcasm.”
“Mm, if you say so.” He held up a finger. “Correction. They want youandJoel forRise and Shine America.”
Quentin blinked. “Oh. Okay.”
Yesterday, that idea would’ve made him want to crawl out of his skin, but this morning…this morning he didn’t really care that much. He was still buzzing with adrenaline from the concert last night. The crowd had been cheering for him and Joel for almost two minutes straight, and after the concert, Joel had found Quentin backstage.
“Dude!” he’d cried. “That was fucking incredible! I didn’t know you could sing!”
Quentin had pushed him gently on the shoulder. “Yeah, your plan was to humiliate me, wasn’t it?”
Henri and Cort had watched with wide-eyed interest, and maybe a little terror.
“It was,” Joel had admitted, looking genuinely sorry. “And that was shitty of me.” He’d hesitated, and then stuck out his hand. “Can we start over? I’m Joel Beckett.”
