Rock vocalist Corin Olivier has everything he's ever wanted. His best friends, his nice soap, and every night, he gets to sing his heart out to thousands. That's what he lives for, all he needs.
But, there's always been that one thing. His perfect...
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Corin reads the texts over and over as the car races through the city, Alex's phone tucked against his ear. Chandler is yammering into the other end, but Corin isn't listening, his eyes on that text. Six weeks ago. They had been in London and he had been sitting on a speaker at sound check.
"—you need to get here," Chandler is still talking, "the assistant has already brought me two cups of coffee, and I keep seeing Maeva glaring at me from her back room!"
Corin flips his wrist to look at his watch, "it's ten o' three, we're going as fast as we can, just settle down."
"SETTLE DOWN?"
Corin holds the phone away from his ear as his tour manager begins screaming about scary artists and venues and sound checks. Alex laughs from the driver's seat, and Corin shrugs. He looks down at his own phone and reads the text again, a smile breaking his lips. He can just picture the glare behind it.
"CORIN, ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"
"No, Chandler, I'm really not," Corin scrolls up through his texts to one from last year.
We'll talk the second I lose my mind. His smile gets bigger as he puts Chandler's screaming back to his ear.
"We'll see you when we get there. Bye."
The next holler is cut off when he presses the red button. Alex takes one hand off the wheel to catch the phone and slip it into his pocket. It rings a few more times, but neither of them answer, Corin scrolling back and forth through texts, Alex zooming back and forth through cars.
"Nate still behind us?" Corin glances in the mirror.
Alex looks as well, "a few cars back," and then he turns his head to check on his guitar case, buckled into the back seat, "we should be there soon, it's..."
"Fifteen thirty rue Granelle," Corin rattles it off without a thought.
"Of course," Alex laughs to himself and makes a turn fast enough that the tires screech.
Three streets later, they are making a rushed parking job in front of a narrow townhouse with enormous windows in the front. The door sign reads Leroux Gallery in sharp, curled letters like thorns. Corin looks at the cream-colored walls through the glass, spaced prettily with stretch canvases and delicate twinkling lights.
"Good lord, he's already gone."
Nathaniel climbs from the second car and walks to Alex's side. Quentin and Cameron are piling out of the backseat.
