Page 6

CHAPTER 6

Zeb

I should not have answered the damn phone.

I should have let it go to voicemail, or ignored it, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t waiting for that call.

Because I knew he’d call.

To apologize, tidy things back up.

That’s how Geo operates.

Though, I guess I can’t blame him because I’d probably be the same way if I grew up the way he did.

The Graves aren’t bad people by any means, but Geo never really got the chance to just be a teenager like his sister.

His mom started signing him up for gigs on the Christian Rock circuit when he was just thirteen, and soon enough, Geo Graves was on his way to stardom.

I remember seeing him for the first time when I went over their house to hang out with his sister, Katy.

We were fifteen.

Fucking hell, he was so pretty.

Tall, kinda nerdy, if I’m being honest.

He looked like some amalgamation of a Disney prince and boy bander.

By twenty-five he was the perfect dream.

Katy was the one they let get away with murder, because she was the girl.

And the baby, of course.

Geo was held to higher standards because he was a boy, and he was the oldest.

“You need to set a good example,” his mother would say, as if he were a child, when he was a fucking adult.

But he took his role seriously.

For his sister, his family, his fans.

Even though it meant he had to put himself, his wants, his needs last.

Which is why even as pissed as I was that he left all those years ago for Hollywood, I understood why he did it.

He wanted the lights for himself.

He wanted to be more than Geo Graves.

He wanted to be Gravedigger .

He wanted to break free.

I just wanted him, and I didn’t have the fucking balls to tell him the truth.

And somehow, here I am, ten years later, and it’s like nothing’s changed.

Except, everything has changed.

I know I should have told him no, when he asked to call me later.

But I’m weak, when it comes to Geo Graves.

I mean, he says he’ll call, but he’ll probably forget.

I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

What I should do, is get my shit together, because as I look at my watch, I note I have about ten minutes if I want to leave and pick Katy up on time for my gig at the Flower Festival today.

Katy’s always been my ride or die, since the eighth grade.

She was the reason I got the gig playing with Geo in the first place, and she was the one in my corner pushing me to keep making music on my own after he left.

She was also the first person I came out to, officially, after I turned twenty-one.

Sure enough, just as I manage to grab my phone, wallet, and keys, and head for the truck, she texts me.

Can we stop and get Starbies on the way, Z?

Dad drank the last of my Sumatra Reserve.

I roll my eyes, shaking my head.

Damn the Graves.

Damn them all.

Depends.

You buying me a coffee, too?

I text her a pleading eyes emoji, and when she texts me back an emoji eye roll with the word, fine , I feel a little better.

Hey, I’m a starving musician, remember?

I slide into my truck, turning the radio on, the sound blaring loudly.

I freeze for a moment as familiar vocals fill my space, and I know I should change the channel.

Cast out on the edges

Looking for a sign

Heaven didn’t want me, baby

Because I wanted you to be mine

His voice is dark and raspy, with that breathy edge that just oozes sex appeal.

But it’s changed, too, over the years.

It’s not as crisp or clean sounding as it used to be before he became Gravedigger .

There’s pain, and guilt etched in his voice, now.

His pitch rises as he croons on about needing an angel, about needing to find salvation.

I turn the radio dial, because I just can’t stand to listen to his perfect voice filling my speakers right now.

I need to get Geo Graves out of my head, and focus on my music.

Because I know at least that’s the one thing that will never hurt me.

I pull up to the Graves’ residence, and I text Katy.

Joel, their dad, comes barreling around the side of the house dragging a giant cooler toward the trailer parked in the driveway, and I don’t think twice about shutting the car off, and jumping out to help.

“Let me help you with that, Mr. Graves,” I say, nudging him out the way.

Sometimes it pays to be the bigger guy who can throw his weight around.

“Thanks, Zeb,” he says, sucking in a deep breath.

“You know how Debbie gets when the trailer isn’t stocked.” He rolls his eyes.

I do know.

At one point, she stocked the trailer with my favorite snacks, too.

I hoist the cooler up, following him to the trailer as he opens the door.

“You know you could have just ridden with us,” he says cautiously.

I sigh, because this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, and I know it’s not going to be the last.

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Graves, really I do, but—” I drop the cooler, just as I hear Katy bounding out of the door.

“What are you doing in there ?” she says as she hangs in the doorway.

Her auburn hair is pulled up into a messy bun, adorned with flowers and feathers, and she looks every bit like she’s heading to Coachella instead of the Tucson Flower Festival.

Mr.

Graves glances between the two of us, before sighing.

I know at one point when we were teenagers, her parents thought we were going to end up married with a white picket fence, three point five kids, and a dog, because we were always together.

Practically joined at the hip, most of the time.

But even then, I knew I wasn’t interested in girls, and Katy knew, too.

Even if I didn’t say anything.

Sometimes, I think she knew I was gay before I did, if I’m being honest.

“Being a gentleman, of course,” I tease her.

She rolls her eyes.

“A gentleman would buy me a coffee.” She sticks her tongue out at me.

“I told you. Starving musician,” I rile her.

Mr.

Graves chuckles, and I hear his wife chattering on the phone.

I know we all need to get the hell out of dodge if we want to make it to this festival on time.

I hop down from the step as Katy steps back.

In the sun, the glitter on her cheeks sparkles.

“Come on.” I nod toward my truck.

As soon as I turn the radio on, I hear Geo singing.

Again.

That same song I heard on my way over her, Heaven Sent .

How many times in an hour are they playing this thing?

I move to change the channel, but Katy stops me.

“Leave it,” she says, and I don’t have the heart to argue with her.

“Fine.”

I lean one arm on my windowsill while I palm the steer wheeling, focusing on the drive ahead as Katy texts on her phone.

“What’s up?” I ask, raising an eyebrow because I can see she’s pretty focused, and usually, she’s talking my ear off the minute I pick her up.

Technically, I don’t need a manager anymore.

I’m a one man act, and as such, I like to be in control of where I play, what I play, and what I write.

After Geo left, that was it.

His mother was pissed; hell, we all were.

But I was just the guitarist then, and I didn’t want to perform anything without him.

Eventually, his mother picked up other acts over the years.

Katy was the only one who listened to all my stupid, heartbroken songs then.

She was the only one I played for, and finally, after years of playing for her, one day at college, she told me she’d booked me a gig.

Now, she’s more like my assistant than a manager.

She runs my booth, posts on social media, and sometimes, she even buys me coffee.

Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without her, sometimes.

“Mom said Cora Cozette canceled last minute because she lost her voice,” she says, looking up at me with a grin.

I raise my eyebrow.

“And that’s good?” I ask, a little dumbfounded because usually, when someone is sick, that isn’t smile-worthy.

“Um... yeah, Zeb. She was headlining, so...”

I pull through the Starbucks drive-thru, rattling off Katy’s usual grande oatmilk mocha and my usual nitro cold brew.

When I pull through to the window, she smugly responds, “Mom said she talked to the event coordinator and now you’re headlining.”

My blood heats at her words.

Headlining?

Me?

I can’t hide my shock.

Partly because, well, it’s a reach even for her.

Debbie Graves barely acknowledges that I have a music career, despite the fact we see her and her new protégés all the time on the circuit.

“Is this a trick?” I glance at her, knowing the doubt is written on my face.

Katy shakes her head as the attendant hands us our drinks through the window and I give her my payment card.

Katy smirks at me.

“Thought you were a starving artist,” she touts, taking a sip of her drink.

The woman hands me back my card and I thank her.

“That was earlier. Now I’m a headliner,” I say with a grin.

“Besides, I told you, I’m a gentleman.”

Katy laughs, and I can’t help but laugh, too.

“More like a gentle giant, but I’ll take it,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh, too.

“We should put some glitter on you, too, headliner, ” she teases.

I nod.

“Sure. Go for it.”

It wouldn’t be the first time, that’s for sure.

Katy’s been dolling me up for years for events.

I don’t miss the excitement in her voice.

“Yes! You’re going to dazzle them all, darling.”

Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

The crowd at the festival was a lot bigger than I anticipated, but I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what Geo is used to.

Still, it takes a good bit of energy and focus to keep the energy moving, but thankfully, the request part of my set always does a good job bridging the gap and ending the set.

Usually, folks will request the karaoke staples, like Don’t Stop Believing , Sweet Caroline , or even Don’t Go Breaking My Heart .

Sometimes, though, at events like this, they’ll request popular songs, especially lately, because Katy’s been loading acoustic videos of me covering popular songs onto my YouTube.

But nothing could have prepared me for the request to play Heaven Sent.

I look at Katy, who just gives me a thumbs up.

Big help she is.

I could just tell them I don’t know the song, but I also don’t want to end this set on a note that leaves people dissatisfied, either.

So, I suck up my pride, my guilt, and the anxiety swimming in my stomach at the thought of Geo, and I do it.

I play his song.

I know all the lyrics, because I’ve heard it a hundred times over, even when I try to avoid it.

Like I’ve tried to avoid everything Gravedigger puts out, because it hurts.

It reminds me of what I lost.

“You’re the devil, baby, and I just want to be blessed,” I sing.

My heart aches with every line, because out of all his songs, this one just hits different.

Because it feels personal, even though I know it isn’t.

“I want to drown in you, baby, because you’re Heaven Sent .”

I steal a glance at Katy, watching as her eyes widen and she holds her hand over her heart.

“So good,” she mouths to me.

The crowd cheers and I bow, taking my leave.

“You sounded amazing out there, Zeb,” she says.

I force a smile.

Because all I want to do is forget how those words make me feel.