Page 101 of Muscle Cub

Jim had told him, “Now we’ll never really lose you, and we’ve gained Paul.”

They were treating his going away like a holiday weekend, and of course, it wouldn’t have been a party for Austin without karaoke.

Austin had been texting me every day with song options for both of us. I doubted he believed I’d actually sing, but I’d already chosen a song, and I was going to surprise the fuck out of him.

It had been stuck in my head for a couple of months. I’d lost count of how many times I’d caught myself humming it.

When I’d told Eric about it, and that I wished there was a karaoke backing-track version with a nineties grunge vibe, he’d shifted into producer mode. He called Lance, Alex, and Noah and asked them to record something for me. I’d stopped him before he could book studio time. It would’ve been a crime not to involve my brother-in-law.

We’d all met up one Saturday in John’s garage to rehearse, record, and mix the track. The guys had gigged at the campground a few times with Luke Cody as a band called Surfer Cowboy, and they offered to play live, but I couldn’t front a fucking live band. It was one song, and it was crucial that it be karaoke.

At the end of the session, Eric had given John his card and told him he should consider doing engineering professionally. John was over the moon about the prospect, but as we were leaving, he sighed wistfully and said, “Damn, I wish I could come to the party.”

“It’s a men’s campground,” Lance said. “There’s no reason why you can’t be there.”

Before I could protest, John had turned to me, his eyes shining with hope like a kid asking if he could sleep over at a friend’s house. “I’m totally cool with being nude!”

I’d promised him that wouldn’t be required.

I was pretty sure Veronica would shoot down the idea, not because she didn’t want her husband hanging out with a couple hundred gay guys but because she’d be jealous she couldn’t attend.

When Austin and I arrived at the Cubby Hole, John was on the side porch drinking one of the good beers from the secret cooler and chatting with Lance, Luke, and Jim.

Austin greeted John with a back-slapping hug and made a crack about Veronica giving him a hall pass, but he didn’t question how John had come to be there.

Inside, the bar was decked out with balloons, a “Back to School” banner, and a blackboard with Austin’s name rendered in chalk art.

The pair of microphone stands and the lyrics monitor set up in front of the DJ alcove sent my heart rate through the roof.

I tried to appear to be socializing instead of obsessing over being the first to perform. Luke caught me preparing to shotgun a can of liquid courage and whispered that I should avoid beer because the carbonation would make me burp while trying to sing. He suggested a single shot of bourbon as a wiser choice.

The lights flashed and the dance music that had been playing faded out. John was in the DJ booth armed with the thumb drive containing my custom track, grinning like a maniac, shooting me a thumbs-up, and waving me over.

I stepped up to the mic. My face grew hot even as a cold flash of panic moved through the rest of my body. I didn’t have a clue what to do with my hands.

Don’t fuck this up.

The crowd quieted except for Austin, who clapped loudly and yelled, “Prof!” He was probably expecting me to make a toast or give a speech, but on this occasion, I had more than words for him.

As the opening bars of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” began to play, the crowd erupted into cheers, recognizing the familiar melody. Someone whistled.

“Oh my God!” Austin said, his voice carrying over the music. “What is happening?”

Surely everyone heard my shaky breath on the mic, but at least I’d remembered to inhale before I began. I focused on the monitor, even though I didn’t need it. There weren’t a lot of lyrics to remember, and the words were simple as the best poetry often was.

Austin had taught me it didn’t matter how well you sang as long as you executed the song with feeling, but I feared I might not get through it without choking up.

Honestly, when I was in the right mood, the original Elvis Presley version always wrecked me a little.

I came in too soft on the opening line about fools rushing in, but when it had happened during rehearsal, Eric assured me this was one of those songs where it was an appropriate artistic choice to start out faltering and tentative and then grow stronger.

The refrain was a straightforward confession, right there on the second line, and there was no point in uttering those words if I didn’t sing them directly to Austin.

When my eyes found his, they were welling up with tears and light. His mouth hung open in shock, and he clutched at Luke and Hank, who supported him as he swooned. I hadn’t seen him cry before, but I wasn’t surprised that when he did, it was from happiness.

Our friends couldn’t have known this was the first time I’d declared my love for him, but they sang along, accompanying me to the special twist in my arrangement.

In the middle of the song, Lance’s guitar effects crashed in like a wave, shredding the sweet lullaby and transforming it into a feedback-saturated, grunge power ballad.