Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,13

didn’t want to accidentally give away more than necessary. Justin knew me too well, and Gray was just really freaking good at reading people. But they also knew Charlie.

“He’s definitely up to something,” I confirmed.

Gray narrowed his gaze while Justin motioned for me to keep going. I chuckled at the tag-team query. They'd been together for almost two years, but they’d already taken on the attributes of an old, married couple, so attuned that they could finish each other’s sentences and anticipate their reactions. Well, Gray was better at it than Justin, but he was older and wiser.

Gray Robertson was a forty-six-year-old Grammy-award-winning songwriter who penned jingles I grew up humming along to as a kid. He was tall and very handsome. His dark hair was cut short and threaded with gray at his temples. He looked more like a tattooed former football player than a wordsmith maestro to me.

And Justin was a maestro in his own right. He was a tall, heavily inked, good-looking Latino with longish dark hair and olive skin. He had a sexy, bluesy voice and an almost karmic ability to connect with an audience. Our die-hard fans swayed to the beat with tears running down their cheeks when Justin serenaded them with soulful lyrics about lost hope, feelings of desperation, and finding love. Justin had a talent for dusting himself off and starting over…again and again.

Gray and Justin were an unlikely match with an eighteen-year age gap between them, but they were solid. And there was no denying Gray had a calming influence on Justin. That didn’t mean he’d lost his edge. He was sharper and hungrier than ever; we all were. I wanted to believe that our combined focus and energy would propel Zero to the next level. Eventually. Real life had a way of tossing hurdles in the path at every conceivable junction. The ride had been a bumpy one for sure, and we weren’t even close to where we wanted to be.

Yes, we’d released an album, had a song or two on the radio, and our small tour in August had been cool as hell. But the second we’d returned home, the silence had been deafening.

Record sales slipped, our social media growth flatlined, and we got wait-listed to play at a few local gigs. Proof if we needed it that we had a long way to go. Anyone could produce their own record, start a YouTube channel, and get famous quick these days. None of that guaranteed long-term success. We had to keep working hard…and possibly make a few adjustments.

Even uncomfortable ones like playing drums for my childhood best-friend-slash-ex-lover-slash-rival-slash-enemy and…whatever the hell else Dec was to me. I supposed I could add “incredulous hookup” to the list now. Jesus. Had we really just gotten each other off in the fucking office? I swiped my hand over my face and tried to refocus.

“Well? What did he do?” Justin prodded.

“He wasn’t there. Dec was.”

“What the hell?”

“He asked me to step in for Cade and play drums on a track he wants to include on their upcoming album.”

“And you told him to fuck off, right?”

I pulled my keys from my pocket and moved to the door. I wasn’t in the mood to dissect this one. I made an agreement, and I’d stick to it. Of course, Justin didn’t need to know that part.

“Wrong.”

Justin jumped to his feet. “Are you kidding? Why would you help him? He’s an opportunistic a-hole.”

“He’s also the lead singer of the band next door. It’s a smart move for a fledgling label to align resources and promote each other. Well done,” Gray calmly interjected.

Justin whirled on his boyfriend. “Seriously? It’s one thing to smile for photos or when we bump into each other in the studio, but playing together is crossing a line. I can’t believe Charlie didn’t ask all of us. It’s not your decision alone, T. It’s a band decision. We need to talk to Johnny and Ky and—”

“Cool the fuck down.” I barked, shaking my head. “I’ll text them now if it’ll make you feel better, but you know they won’t mind.”

“Yeah, because they haven’t been personally fucked over by him,” he growled.

“Hey, it’s one song.”

Justin crossed his arms and frowned. “I don’t like it.”

“Babe, there’s a business component to music too,” Gray reminded him. “You knew that when you agreed to start Scratch Records and sign Jealousy in the first place.”

“Sure, but Charlie shouldn’t have trapped Tegan and—”

“I’m not exactly a helpless case, dude. Relax,” I argued,