Serenade Me Read online

  Serenade Me

  Copyright © 2020 Ian Finn.

  All Rights Reserved.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Shane

  Chapter Two

  Wyatt

  Chapter Three

  Wyatt

  Chapter Four

  Shane

  Chapter Five

  Shane

  Chapter Six

  Wyatt

  Chapter Seven

  Wyatt

  Chapter Eight

  Shane

  Chapter Nine

  Wyatt

  Chapter Ten

  Shane

  Chapter Eleven

  Shane

  Chapter Twelve

  Wyatt

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shane

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wyatt

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shane

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wyatt

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shane

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wyatt

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wyatt

  Chapter Twenty

  Shane

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Shane

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Wyatt

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Wyatt

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Shane

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Shane

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Wyatt

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Shane

  Epilogue

  Shane

  Newsletter Sign Up and Free Book

  Sneak Peek Excerpt of Sing for Me

  Sneak Peek Excerpt of Because You Came Back

  Let’s Connect

  Chapter One

  Shane

  A halo of yellow lights. Floors sticky from beer. Oxygen filled with the beautiful scent of caramel, beer, and soft pretzels. It’s none other than Mickey’s, an infamous shit-kicker bar on the outskirts of Madison, Wisconsin.

  Bars have always made me nervous. Maybe it’s a combination of the people, the sticky floor, the loud music. Or perhaps it’s because of Alex.

  Alex, another singer, and I used to be in love. But that’s all over now. Gone, just like I knew he’d be.

  Instead of dwelling on the past, I decided to embrace the future.

  Tonight, I’m performing alongside my best friend and roommate, Lisa Rose, a woman that has stood by my side for the past twelve years. We met when we were thirteen, seventh graders at the infamous Emerald Middle School, located in the heart of Wisconsin.

  I was being bullied at the time by a gaggle of boys in the locker room. They’d caught me staring at one of their friends, a soccer player, for a little bit too long. Though I tried to defend myself, it was too late. The damage had already been done, and they’d ousted me as a reject. My family found out after I came home with a black eye.

  “Son,” my dad said, placing a heavy, veiny hand on my shoulder. “We need to have a talk.”

  The talk ended three hours later and consisted of scolding, questioning, and berating me. My father told me it was a sin to be gay, and my mother told me I needed to enroll in after-school bible study — immediately.

  Lisa came up to me the next day in school and apologized. “Some of them are my friends,” she says, “and I don’t stand with them for what they’ve done.”

  It was the first time I’d ever had a female friend, and a kind one at that. We spent time together after school, eating our snacks, and doing our homework before bible study. When six o’clock rolled around, my father would drive us happily to the church, where a blue-eyed blond-haired priest lectured us on the love of God.

  Needless to say, I’ve grown up a gay atheist, but this isn’t something I’d ever tell my parents as they’d immediately disown me. I’d be out of their lives forever. Even my musical agent, an older Christian man named John Miller, would drop both Lisa and me if he ever found out.

  Hiding my real personality has been relatively easy. I’ve had a lot of practice. But one thing I’d never prepared for was falling in love — with both my best friend’s ex and another, more mysterious character.

  Unfortunately, I’m getting ahead of myself.

  Tonight is all about the music, a mantra I repeat in my head over and over again until it becomes true.

  Crossing the threshold of the bar, conscious of the tacky surface of the floor against my boots, I walk towards Lisa and John. For some strange reason, my heart feels oddly heavy tonight. In an attempt to calm myself down, I clear my throat repeatedly. I smoked a vanilla cigar prior to arriving at the gig, hoping it would calm my nerves. Instead, it did the complete opposite.

  I’ve been preparing all week for this night. Not because I don’t excel at guitar and vocal —honestly, I do — but because I heard Wyatt Bryan would be playing tonight.

  Famous, drop-dead gorgeous, black-haired Wyatt Bryan, he’s well-known around the Midwest, born and bred right here in Madison. He’s even more famous now that he’s come out of the closet. For some reason, his truth has become a babe magnet that attracts not one, but both sexes.

  Gripping the guitar in my left hand and a bottle of whiskey in my right, I try to ignore the unhealthily intense beating of my heart.

  Lisa and I haven’t landed a gig in months, and since we only sell merchandise at our shows, neither of us have been rolling in the dough. Luckily, we’ve got jobs outside of our singing careers. However, I know Lisa would like to make her living doing what she loves most –– being onstage and performing. Don’t get me wrong, I’d like that, too. I’m just not sure it’s possible.

  There I go again, doubting myself.

  I see Lisa at the bar eating handful after handful of peanuts. It’s her nervous tick — eating, that is. Oddly enough, she never gains a single pound. She’s petite, skinny as a needle, with flowing blond hair for days.

  “Hey, stranger,” she says, turning around to greet me. “About time you showed up. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”

  “I can’t believe it,” croons a voice from my right. “The little feller actually showed up.” The dripping voice belongs to none other than our agent, John Miller.

  “Gorgeous night, isn’t it?” I ask, sitting down on one of the red barstools.

  The female bartender flocks toward me, asking how strong I want my whiskey.

  “She sure was laying it on thick,” John says when she disappears to make my drink, then immediately asking me, “Why didn’t you go for it?”

  Lisa and I exchange looks before I shrug. It’s useless to try and explain myself to him.

  I’m no saint, though. I love gossiping as much as the next person, mostly when I’m chatting with Lisa. She likes to shit on her ex-boyfriend, Alex, and so do I. I know it’s wrong, but it helps me. Little by little, I start to get over him.

  Alex is gone, having disappeared one night two months ago without a trace. Rumor has it he’s in South Carolina, trading soupy song lyrics for the yellow sandy beaches and azure water.

  Lisa has no clue what transpired between Alex and me. She never questioned it, even after their breakup, and we would hang out without her.

  Though she knew I wasn’t straight, she seemed to trust me, holding our friendship dangerously close to her heart. I imagine that if we try to hold it up to a light, the truth would appear like grease, murky, just clear enough so that she can see re
ality: that I’m a coward. I dated her ex-boyfriend in secrecy, never having the nerve to tell her about our relationship.

  “Hey, Shane,” Lisa says, snapping a finger in front of me. “You okay? You look…off.”

  “He’s fine,” John insists, slapping me on the back for good measure.

  “I’m fine,” I agree, turning to face her.

  “Still can’t believe it, though,” John says. “That you’re here and all. But you know old Lisa. She could strong-arm even the toughest criminal into doing her bidding.”

  John laughs his soft laugh. I choose this moment to stare at him. He’s wearing a shirt the color of egg yolk, with snaking black designs running down the flanks. Two silver cords are hanging from the collar, bundled at the end with thin slivers of metal.

  I’m a lot taller than John — practically two feet taller, in fact. I’m told I have evergreen eyes, and my hair is curly, dark brown in hue. I keep it short and parted down the middle. When trying to convince an entire community you’re not in love with a man, it’s best to dress…how would I put it…straight.

  Tonight, I’m wearing my favorite faded blue jeans, brown boots, and a dark green shirt. I’ve forgotten my cowboy hat at home.

  “I bet you’re excited,” Lisa says. “Have you been playing lately?”

  I shake my head, no. I’ve been far too depressed about the breakup to play music, and I’ve had no one to talk to about it.

  The truth beneath the lies is this: Alex was in love with me, too.

  He didn’t leave to pursue a softer kind of music — no, he’d left because the musical connection he shared with me was so intense it might as well have caused all the glasses to break. Each time we’d looked into each other’s eyes, our pupils dilated, and our hearts melted. I was so in love that it practically killed me. And then, one day, just like a puff of smoke, Alex disappeared.

  It’s been easy to forget when I have alcohol in tow. Lisa warns me that playing on a stomach full of whiskey is never a good idea, but I can’t seem to help myself.

  “What’s that you got there?” John asks, pointing to the clear bottle.

  His Southern croon sweeps me out of my thoughts and brings me back to reality.

  “I just brought it for the staff. A little thank-you for letting us play this gig,” I lie.

  “Ah, good man,” says John.

  He has a bald head, chubby belly, and puffy pink cheeks. John’s pants are always too tight, suffocating his soft beer gut and making him look like a human lollipop. I stare at him, admiring John’s blunt persona.

  “You ready?” the agent asks.

  “First show in weeks. If all goes well, you and Lisa could be on to bigger and better things.”

  “Well, here’s hoping,” I say, raising the bottle.

  John waves for Lisa and me to follow him to the backroom. There, I’ll be able to unpack my guitar, take a leak, and, hopefully, a final shot.

  Lisa’s already making her way back there, and I see she’s wearing a cow print dress and large black boots. She looks like a model from an L.L. Bean magazine, and her hair is shiny like brass.

  “Come here,” she says, giving me a reassuring hug.

  “Now that’s what I like to see; a man and a woman, making up for lost time. Why don’t you two kids buckle it up? You’ve been playing together long enough. It’s time to put a ring on her finger!”

  I scowl. John leans in his pudgy head back and laughs. “Hell, I’m just kidding. Between you and me, kid, you’re outta his league,” he whispers to Lisa.

  I ball my hands into fists, wanting to tell my agent to shove it.

  Of course, she’s beautiful, and of course, I should date her, I think to myself. But I can’t. I refuse to live a lie.

  Alex… I think to myself. The only man I’ve ever been able to get comfortable around.

  At this point, I’ve completely forgotten that Wyatt Bryan is supposed to play tonight’s gig.

  “Shane,” Lisa says sternly. “You about ready to go on? They’ll be calling our names any minute now.”

  I nod, proceeding to unpack my guitar. It’s a sweet honeysuckle of wood, a natural Taylor guitar with black wood and white strings. I saved for months to purchase this beauty, penny-pinching whenever I could. When it finally came time to order it, I’d wrapped it in orange crepe paper and placed a large red bow on the top.

  It was to be a gift for Alex. When I drove over to present it to him, he was gone. I could hardly believe it. When I say gone, I don’t mean he was out shopping at the grocery store. Alex had left town. Just like that, without a word.

  “What’s with the guitar?” Lisa asked once I returned home with it.

  “Oh, this old thing? It was a gift from my parents. They sent it straight over from Idaho. Nice of them, right?” I couldn’t tell her that it was a gift for her ex… whom I secretly happened to be dating!

  “Mm,” Lisa responded.

  Now, looking at the guitar fills me with an odd mixture of guilt and happiness, an unbalanced yin-yang of the mind.

  I sit down on a leather couch pockmarked with holes and begin to tune my guitar. I can see John and Lisa out of my peripheral, and their bodies blend into a skinny cow and a fat, bald bull. They’re in the middle of a heated conversation, discussing the possibility of tours and CD releases. John is a fair agent, but he hasn’t landed us a good gig in ages. Not one with any press, anyways.

  “You about ready?” Lisa asks again, nudging me in the shin.

  I jump, having been too focused on my guitar to pay attention to my surroundings.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I nag. “Let’s head on out to the stage.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure,” Lisa says, her voice full of doubt.

  She gets like that frequently, doubting our friendship and my desire to perform with her. I know, in the furthest recesses of her mind, that it has something to do with Alex.

  The stage is waxy and brown, shrouded in a mixture of blue, purple, and green lights. Two red stools stand waiting for us to perform.

  A pale, slim man with horn-rimmed glasses announces Lisa and me, introducing us as two solo artists who have come together to make beautiful, country music.

  “It is with great pride that I introduce to you two of Wisconsin’s finest,” he says, gesturing for us to follow him on stage.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Lisa says.

  Instead of addressing her attitude, I shrug, gather my courage, and follow her onto the stage.

  Chapter Two

  Wyatt

  The second the two singers, a hot guy and a girl, wriggle onto the stage, Bruce swoops in like a hawk.

  “Check it out, kid. He’s got the kind of swag I’m looking for. You think we’ll be able to pick him up? Talk him into signing a contract?”

  “Down boy,” I say, chuckling to myself. “They haven’t even begun to sing yet.”

  “Wyatt,” he says, his cut cheeks turning a pale red from the enthusiasm. “If we can get anyone else to sing with you on tour, you’ll be sold out in no time. Think about it! Taking on a newbie might be a good turn for your career.”

  “Bruce, you read my mind,” I say absent-mindedly, staring at the boy on the stage.

  The kid’s got the kind of dark hair that looks like rare mud, and his gait is uneasy. He’s unsure of himself. I watch him shifting uncomfortably next to the blonde-haired elfin girl.

  “What’s his name?” I ask Bruce.

  I try to lock eyes with the shy boy, though he’s preoccupied with his guitar. I notice his hands are intertwined with the wires, his skin damaged in some places from callouses and cuts. I look down at my own hands and see they are exactly the same.

  Bruce ignores my question and starts gesticulating wildly.

  “Now listen, Wyatt, you’re the headliner, the man of the evening. You’ve got to do a great job so that we can snag this guy. Shane…something. Even a conversation with his agent would be worthwhile to us.”

/>   “That bald man over there? Is that a good idea? You’ve got enough power on your own, Bruce.”

  “I know, I know. I’ve met stars, hell, I’ve produced them. This is what I’m talking about, son.” He slaps me with his thin hands, a little bit too excited for this show. “Look a little closer,” Bruce whispers, leaning towards me. “What do you see?’

  The first thing I notice about Shane is his calm demeanor. He walks on stage, takes his seat next to the beautiful blond, and begins to absent-mindedly strum his guitar.

  It’s been a while since I’ve seen talent like Shane’s. He’s passionate, practically hugging the mic with his lips, and every lyric he sings feels like a needle to my heart.

  So, this is how you like ‘em, Wyatt Bryan, I think to myself. Young and vulnerable.

  And boy, does Shane seem vulnerable.

  There is something off about his relationship with the female singer, a point which my manager decides to address.

  “What are you getting at?” I ask, hoping my cheeks don’t look too flushed.

  Usually, I’m reasonably tanned, though I’ve become less-so since I quit working on the farm. Tonight, I wear all black, hoping to signify the color of my mood. Around my neck hangs a pair of dog tags, the metal warm and glossy from my skin.

  My eyes are pitch-black, the complete opposite of Shane’s crystal blue. My manager can tell almost immediately that I’ve become smitten with Shane, but he seems to be playing it cool.

  “Shh,” Bruce whispers. “Keep your voice down, so no one hears. You see baldy over there? That’s right, the guy with the doughnut belly? He’s their manager. If he catches wind of our little talk, things could turn ugly.”

  I nod to show that I’ve been listening. I want to find out as much as I possibly can about Shane before his set ends.

  “Now I want you to look,” Bruce says, his smooth voice drawling out each word. “Notice how she keeps looking at him as if trying to cultivate some passion. And he’ll glance at her, then look away. You see? Now I wonder why that is.”

  I know exactly why that is. Shane isn’t straight—it’s clear from the way he keeps ignoring the pretty blonde.

  I assume he’s been gay since he was a youngin’ but hadn’t come out till high school.