In a rundown club in Casper, Wyoming.
And Killian would line the stars up to keep Mike with him.
No matter what.
* * *
Killy turned on the big screen TV, propped his back against the headboard and patted the space on the monstrous bed beside him.
Mike sat and wriggled into position in the center of the mattress. Killian lifted one arm and Mike settled beneath. This was the moment they’d waited for, the moment when Killian told the world what really happened the night Elliot died.
The podcast began with a solemn Caleb introducing his evening’s guest. Formalities concluded, he didn’t address the audience again, creating a sense of two friends chatting in his mobile studio. The non-professional quality of the video furthered the casual ambiance.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Caleb said to Killian onscreen.
In the video, Killian paused a long moment. “I don’t really want to, but there’s a lot of rumors flying around out there, and some good men deserve to have their story told.” He turned toward the camera, face determined. “The death of the band was not a publicity stunt like some folks are saying. It’s true that our tour bus went off a mountain in North Carolina, and it’s true we cancelled our show in Asheville that night. It wasn’t some kind of plot that had me declared dead when I wasn’t. Technically, I died twice that night. A damned good bunch of first responders brought me back.”
Killy squeezed Mike’s hand, lips tight as they crossed a line they’d never uncross.
The Killy on the big screen gave his account of what happened on that fateful night, adding in a few more details than what he’d told Mike, about surgeries and rehab and lawyers. About feeling alone in the world, wondering why he’d lived when the others died, and how for a time he’d contemplated finishing the job.
Damn, he’d been through hell, and every agonizing account squeezed Mike’s heart. He blinked back tears. This man. The poor man.
Killy buried his face in Mike’s neck, hot tears scorching his skin. “Shh…” Mike said, wrapping his arms around his lover and swaying softly. “I can turn it off if you want me to.”
“No. Leave it on.”
In the end the broken Killy sobbing on air matched the broken man in Mike’s arms. “Shh…” he said, rocking from side to side and taking Killian with him. He’d do everything in his power to put the pieces back together again.
Killy mumbled against Mike’s shoulder, “Gus is gonna be so pissed.”
On the bedside table Killian’s phone rang.
Mike turned it off.
They’d deal with the fallout later.
33
Killian woke early and trundled downstairs to the living room in pajama pants. Annie came out from the kitchen, cup of coffee in her hands.
How did she know Killian was up? He never woke this early in the old days.
She handed him the cup, reached into her apron pocket, and removed a bottle of Jack Daniels. “Security is keeping reporters away, but you’re gonna need a good stiff drink after you watch the news. I’ll get breakfast started.” Her hug nearly cracked his spine, silently telling him she’d seen or heard the podcast.
Annie didn’t question why he’d never told her the truth years ago, when she’d always been a trusted confidant. Speaking the words aloud made them too true, stealing away any chance he had at clinging to denial.
She bussed his cheek and bounded back the way she’d come.
Killy released a pent-up breath in one long whoosh. Somehow, hiding in plain sight for so many years made him forget what assholes people could be. He braced himself and turned the TV on to an all-news station. Weather, Fourth of July parade coming up, stock market prices falling…
After twenty minutes, another report started:
“In other news, recording artist Killian Desmond is making quite a stir in the music world, first by debunking the myth that he’d died with the rest of his band over three years ago, then by publicly coming out as openly gay.”
The newswoman wore a gleeful expression, about to sink her teeth into a meaty story. “Now he’s making bold claims, saying the accident that killed his brother, bassist Elliot Desmond, keyboardist Richard ‘Ace’ Corelli, and drummer Robert Cassen was the result of sabotage.”
Sabotage. Not exactly Killian’s words.
