Situationship E-Book

Ian O. Lewis

• Herausgeber: Cruz Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

I never got over you.

On paper, Tanner Beckwith has had a stellar existence. A musician in demand, he’s traveled the globe with famous pop stars and has performed for hundreds of thousands of people. But underneath his success lies a well of loneliness so deep he can’t imagine ever escaping the darkness he hides. When he is fired from a famous diva’s tour because of her handsy husband, he decides to head home, ending almost six years of non-stop performing. His beloved aunt takes him in, giving him a roof over his head and work to distract him from his inner turmoil. Then, he encounters the one man he’s ever loved, his former best friend who rejected him years ago. Griffin is the only man who has ever made him crazy, and now he is living next door, with a muscle-bound boyfriend by his side. Can Tanner get past his deeper feelings and resume the friendship he and Griffin once shared, or will his heart get broken again?

Griffin Cartwright has fought for his emotional life from day one. Being brought up in an ultra-conservative religious family, he has had no choices other than the ones being laid out for him by a strict father who demands perfection from his only child. When his best friend in the world bares his soul about his feelings, he rejects him, afraid of the love he feels for Tanner, and of being rejected by his family. Years later, after coming to grips with his sexuality, he is confronted with his teenage crush, who once was his only friend in the world. 
Currently involved with another man, the most Griffin can hope for is Tanner’s forgiveness for ending their friendship years ago. But, seeing Tanner every single day is igniting emotions he’s long suppressed, and no longer wants to fight. 

At the corner of Robinson Street and Monument Avenue in Richmond, Virginia is an old apartment building filled with broken hearts and wistful dreams. Situationship is the first book in The Balcony Boys series, and features a wise landlady and a cast of wonderful characters all aching to find their happily ever afters. There are no cliffhangers or cheating, and each book can be read as a stand-alone novel.

Leseprobe

Situationship

Ian O. Lewis

Cruz Publishing

Copyright © 2019 by Ian O. Lewis

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For my Family

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Tanner- Two Months Later

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Ian O. Lewis

Prologue

Tanner

“Crystal wants you off the tour, effective immediately.” 

 Arguments and excuses flickered on the tip of my tongue, but as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, they vanished. I knew I was in the right, but also realized that nothing I’d say would change a damned thing. My cheeks burned and I couldn’t meet Vickie’s eyes. She was Crystal’s manager, and aside from handing me my walking papers, she was usually a decent woman. Well, as decent as a famous diva’s manager could actually be. 

We were in my hotel room, the rising sun peeking through the violet and orange clouds outside my balcony door. I was perched on the edge of the bed, a blanket wrapped around me, while Vickie paced in front of the floor to ceiling windows. Her anger radiated outward, forming a virtual forcefield of resentment and hate. Vickie’s face was naked, bare of the usual mask of makeup she normally painted on, and her dark circles stretched halfway down her cheeks. Her green crew cut somehow made the purple under her eyes even more pronounced, and I felt a tiny flicker of pity. She’d probably been up all night doing damage control. I ran my fingers through my hair and winced when I hit a snarl. Vickie had woken me up out of a dead sleep and I hadn’t expected to see anyone at all, since it was supposed to be a day off for everyone on the tour. I’d met her at the door wrapped in a blanket, and her index finger had poked me back to the bed.

Vickie stopped pacing and pulled an envelope out of her purse. She tapped it against her chin a couple of times, then tossed it at me. I fumbled, one hand keeping the blanket around my body, and just caught it before it hit the floor.

It was an airline ticket. Goodbye Spain, hello... who knew?

“What the hell were you…” Vickie’s voice deepened, and she finally met my gaze, shaking her head slowly back and forth. “Tanner, you don’t know how lucky you are that Craig isn’t pressing charges. If I’d had anything to say about it, your ass would be in jail. Like, he’s her fucking husband, and you just had to…”

“The bastard grabbed my—” I started, but she cut me off with a chop of her hand.

“Doesn’t matter, nothing you say matters anymore. Oh, and you’d better remember to keep your big mouth shut. You signed an NDA and are still expected to follow it. We are depositing fifty percent of your salary in your bank account, which satisfies the termination clause in your contract. I would suggest making yourself scarce, fast, unless you want to risk Craig changing his mind and prosecuting you for assault.” 

Her words were like fists, pounding into my head. Like, what the fuck?

“You know why I hit him, and it still doesn’t count for anything, right?”

I wondered if she even gave a damn about the man’s touchy-feely ways toward me and the other male members of the band and crew. Last night I’d had just enough to drink after the show to lose my cool and let my fists do the talking.

Vickie shrugged her shoulders and sighed, the anger in her eyes morphing into a flat stare. “I don’t have any fucks left to give. All that matters is Crystal doesn’t want her keyboard player beating the love of her life to a pulp while surrounded by her fans. Instagram is having a field day with this, and thank your lucky stars the paparazzi weren’t there. As far as I’m concerned, when I walk out this door...” Vickie crossed the room as she spoke, “...you and your face will no longer exist in Crystal’s world.”

Vickie yanked the door open, her contemptuous sneer coupled with a roll of her eyes, and then she slammed it behind her. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” I fell back onto the bed and groaned. I was the little guy, the hired help. It apparently didn’t matter that I was the one having his career ambushed by a closet case star fucker.

After the show last night we’d all gone to a nightclub as usual, a velvet rope in the VIP section keeping us safe from the fans. When Craig grabbed my ass I let it go, not wanting to antagonize him. The second time he tweaked my nipple, I laughed, and then whispered in his ear to stop touching me. After that, he grabbed my crotch, and without thinking, my fist connected to his jaw. Crystal’s bodyguards flew to his side, and one of them punched me in the stomach. I opened the blanket and looked down, noticing a hint of a bruise. He didn’t hit me hard, and I thought he was just putting on a show for Crystal and Craig’s benefit. The bodyguards knew the score, but they had jobs they wanted to keep. 

Unlike me.

“So, what are you going to do now, dumbass?” 

Six years ago I got my first great, paying gig, lucked into it actually, when the programmer for Particle Play had to have an emergency appendectomy. They remembered my name from a remix I’d done for them and asked if I could learn their set list in forty-eight hours. I did it, and then joined them in South America, staying on tour with them for the next year. 

Leaving home had been a no-brainer. I’d never wanted to be like other people, with a mortgage and a minivan gathering dust in a garage. I wanted to see the world, not be trapped with a nine-to-five soul-robbing job that chewed you up and spat you back out once your usefulness to the corporation was gone. That world seemed gray to me, lifeless with no color or joy. 

But, after six years of constant touring around the globe with a variety of bands, I’d come to resent the hotel rooms and snotty pop stars I worked for. As a teenager I’d always fantasized about seeing the world and becoming a famous musician, but the only times I saw any of the globe I crisscrossed, was on the odd day off, or the few weeks I’d hole up in an Airbnb while figuring out what my next gig would be. 

Nothing in life was permanent. Not love, money or belongings, and until recently I was content with the transient life, but now I wanted something more enduring, like my own home and a regular schedule. I doubted if I’d ever want a Monday through Friday corporate gig, but I craved something I could count on.

I felt lost, and I didn’t have a place to return to.

I typed my request in English on my phone for it to translate, then held it up so the elderly bartender could read it.

“May I have a beer please?”

“¿Puedo tomar una cerveza por favor?”

He placed a bottle in front of me and shuffled off to the other side of the hotel bar. It was tempting to stay in Madrid—a beautiful city where I knew not a soul—but I’d hate to rely on my phone to communicate with everyone one sentence at a time. I was on my fifth beer, trying to muster up the courage to call my aunt back in Richmond. She’d always believed in me, and was the only relative I kept in touch with regularly. My parents had moved to a tiny town in South Georgia that I hated on first sight, so staying with them until I figured out what to do next was not an option. 

Though I knew my aunt would be kind and understanding, I still hesitated. I grew up in Richmond, Virginia, and though I Ioved it there, I’d spent my teenage years bragging about how I would get away from it. It had felt oppressive and small back then, and in retrospect I was lucky as hell to have grown up in that strange historical city filled with an eclectic assortment of artists and eccentrics.

Aunt Dottie was one of those eccentrics. She had encouraged me to study music and forge a career in the arts. What she never thought to mention was moments like these, where you doubted your ability to create or perform. Those scary days, weeks, or months where you didn’t know what your next gig was going to be. The musical grind exhausted me, and I needed a vacation from my life. Hopefully she would give me the breathing space I craved, so I could figure out what to do next. I picked up the phone with a sigh and made the call. Three rings in and she answered.

“What’s wrong, honeybee?” The sound of her smooth contralto voice with its slight southern drawl made my heart ache.

“Why do you think…” 

“Because you never call. All I get are those lovely postcards once or twice a year from Timbuktu or some other bizarre place. So, what do you need?” 

“I want to come home.”

Chapter One

Tanner

“Damn, these cars move slower than molasses.” Aunt Dottie drawled as we inched up 95 toward Richmond. She’d picked me up an hour and a half ago from Dulles airport, and unfortunately we’d gotten caught up in DC traffic. 

When I first laid eyes on her again after years of being on the road, my heart soared. Her bright red hair was piled on top of her head like a proper southern lady, but that was pretty much where the comparisons between her and a southern belle came to a halt. She wore black, cat-eye sunglasses surrounded by rhinestones and her lips were painted a neon orange. As far as I could see, she was ageless. Her body was fit and firm underneath a skin-hugging tailored green suit while strutting through the airport in black stiletto heels. When she wrapped her arms around me they trembled for a brief second, then she stepped back and looked me up and down. “Still cute as a button.”

We’d sat in comfortable silence through the endless traffic listening to NPR. When another school shooting was announced she tapped the power button off with a long red nail. 

“Hope you brought a bulletproof vest back with you from Europe.” She muttered, then sighed and shook her head. We were sitting in traffic underneath a bypass near the Franconia exit, the car inching up slowly at what seemed a foot per hour. She laid a hand on my knee and smiled. “So, since we are stuck in shitty traffic together, let’s get the hard part over with. What the hell brought you back to Richmond?”

“Well…” I muttered, then sank back in my seat and searched for the right words. A few beats passed, then Aunt Dottie spoke.

“No worries, honeybee. Take your time. Hell, if you don’t want to talk right now that’s fine.” She opened her purse and pulled out her lipstick, reapplying it using the rear-view mirror. She wiped a little of it off her teeth then realized traffic was moving. Aunt Dottie dropped the tube and her purse in my lap and inched forward.

“Have you spoken to your folks?” She asked, though she knew the answer to that. This was her way of drawing me into a conversation. I opened her purse and dropped the tube of lipstick inside before replying. 

“No, you know we don’t talk much.”

“Well, aside from the annual Christmas card, I don’t hear from them either.” She raised her eyebrows, then smiled. “You should at least call them, though.”

I’d grown up in Windsor Farms, an affluent neighborhood in the West End. My parents were ultra-conservative, and the last time I’d seen them I’d suffered through the whole ‘Love the sinner, not the sin’ bullshit conversation for the millionth time. Aunt Dottie was Dad’s sister, and they considered her the free spirit of the family. The first ten years of my life she lived in Aspen, Colorado performing with their ballet company. When she returned home, she bought a beautiful old apartment building on Monument Avenue and started a ballet school in the basement while renting out the apartments.

She had been like my Aunt Mame, filled with stories and wisdom that living a full, artistic life had given her. She’d traveled around the globe during her dance career and had sensed that we were kindred spirits. While my parents insisted I go to boring cotillion and play on the soccer team, she’d done everything she could to fill my world with art and culture. Aunt Dottie paid for my piano lessons and had bought me my first synthesizer. The only reason my parents allowed all this was because they didn’t know how to relate to their only child, a quiet kid who only wanted to make music. She’d take me off their hands most weekends, allowing them the freedom to travel, while telling themselves I was getting cultural enrichment. When I came out as gay, they blamed her, and our visits came to a screeching halt. Three months later I graduated from high school and turned eighteen in the same week. Aunt Dottie collected me from my parents’ house and installed me in the tiny second bedroom of her apartment on the first floor of her building. I ended up staying until I got my first gig in South America.

“I can’t take this traffic anymore, honeybee.” She yanked the wheel of her ancient Mercedes to the right and got off at the next exit, then pulled into a fast food place on Route One. “I need to go to the little girls room. Would you mind getting me a soda?” 

The line going up to the counter was long, and there was only one cashier working. Customers grumbled, wondering why they only had one employee taking orders. The cashier was a small man who looked to be in his early twenties. His eyebrows were exquisitely arched with a small gold hoop in one of them. A woman who appeared to be his manager stood next to him, pointing a long sculptured nail in his face while whispering in his ear.

“I hate Northern Virginia.” Aunt Dottie mumbled as she got in line next to me. “Always a line to…”

“Fuck you.” The cashier shouted, then spun on his heel and snapped his fingers over his head. “It’s time for me to sashay away.” He winked at the crowd of people in line, snatched the paper hat off his head and threw it at his manager. Seconds later he was out the door. Half of the people around us clapped, while the other half grumbled and walked out, not wanting to wait in line any longer.

“Please tell me that’s how it went down with you and your boss.” Aunt Dottie said, a smirk playing on her lips. I laughed for the first time in days, then I wrapped my arms around her neck and pulled her in for a hug. “God, I missed you so damn much.”

“I can’t really talk about it because I signed an NDA.” I said, then chewed on a French fry. We’d ended up leaving after the cashier walked out and going to a McDonald’s next door. Now we were driving down Route One, my Aunt avoiding the heavy traffic on 95, while I avoided questions about my shitty career.

“I swear those stupid agreements are just so people can act like assholes and get away with it.” Aunt Dottie shook her head back and forth, then she noticed a lock of her red hair had come loose from her bun. She stuck it behind her ear with a practiced hand. “So, your old bedroom is now my painting studio. There is a tiny apartment on the third floor you can have for now.”

“Just so you know, I have savings so I can…” I started, then she interrupted me.

“You hold on to that money, sugar. I have a feeling you will be spending an awful lot of time figuring out your next adventure. Honeybee, you will be helping me in another way.” 

I glanced up at the rear-view mirror and noticed her lips were pursed, and if I wasn’t mistaken were suppressing a laugh.

“So, how am I helping…”

“When we get there, you will need to move a few boxes down to a closet in the basement. I’ve been using the apartment for storage, since I’ve had a bitch of a time renting it out.” She interrupted. “Nothing is wrong with it, just compared to the other apartments it’s tiny, and not many people enjoy climbing the stairs all the way to the top floor. Oh, and I have some furniture already in there. Nothing much, a bedroom suite and a few things for the living room. I wanted it to look lived in for when I showed potential renters.”

Aunt Dottie continued on about the apartment and the other tenants, whom she was apparently quite fond of. Each floor overlooking Monument Avenue had a shared balcony used by all the tenants, and from the hints she dropped there must have been some rowdy parties. The rest of the drive flew by while she distracted me with family gossip and tales of her ballet school. When we passed the sign telling us we were in the Richmond City Limits my stomach sank. Yes, I wanted to be home, but I’d never expected to arrive under such a cloud. I’d always imagined a more triumphant return where I bragged about my success, with pockets full of cash and tales of the rich and famous stars I worked for. The only stories I had to tell were of endless hotel rooms, loneliness and being jerked around by fucking divas.

Aunt Dottie parallel parked her cream-colored Mercedes half a block up from her building. When I got out, I glanced up and down the cobblestone street, noticing the huge statue of Jefferson Davis a block away had been spraypainted with bold red letters screaming “RACIST FUCK.” I pointed it out to my Aunt who sighed and shook her head.

“Things sure have changed since you’ve been gone, sweetie.”

“Gimme a sec.” Aunt Dottie mumbled while fumbling with the lock. Moments later the door opened, and we walked inside, both of us breathing a little heavy from the three flights of stairs. The apartment was small, but considering I had nothing but my personal belongings, it would definitely work for now.

It consisted of a small living area with an antique blue velvet couch, a coffee table and a matching blue wing chair, a few boxes stacked next to them. The door to the bedroom was open and I could see a full-size bed taking up most of the space with a tiny chest of drawers next to a small window with the bricks of the home next door as a view. I tossed my bags on the bed and noticed a manilla folder lying on a small nightstand. It was filled with sheet music, and I was familiar with most of it. In the ballet studio was a huge old grand piano I used to practice on, and these were the tunes my aunt used to teach her ballet classes with. I tossed it on the bed and went back into the living room.

“Why don’t you freshen up, honeybee. Take a long hot shower and change into fresh clothes. I have to get ready for my first class.” She glanced down at the tiny gold watch on her wrist. “Could you meet me downstairs in the dance studio in an hour?”

I nodded, wondering why she wanted me to meet her there. I’d planned on taking her out for dinner to thank her for picking me up at the airport.

“There is a folder of music on your nightstand. Bring it with you, hon. You’re going to need it.”

Little girls flew into the studio dressed head to toe in pink leotards and tights, their small voices echoing throughout the room. Each of them had their hair pulled back into a tiny bun, though they couldn’t have been more than six years old. The walls were covered in floor to ceiling mirrors which made the number of children appear doubled. A few moments later they all seemed to notice me at once, and their voices hushed as they gazed at me with curiosity. I was seated behind the ancient grand piano, where I’d initially learned my trade.

“Young ladies, take your places.” Aunt Dottie instructed them with a soft smile. She was wearing the same leotard and tights, only they were black. Aunt Dottie was almost sixty years old, but her body was as taut as most of the thirty-year-old women I knew. There was a metal bar lining the room, and each little girl stood sideways with one tiny hand clutching it while facing Aunt Dottie.

“I’d like to introduce you to my nephew Tanner. He’s taking Martha’s place at the piano for the next few months while she’s on maternity leave. Everyone say hello.”

“Hello Tanner,” they all said at once. 

My cheeks burned, and all I could think of was what would Crystal or Craig, or any of the other stars I’d worked for think of me now as I played for these cute little dollfaces. No doubt those celebrities would be laughing their asses off at how low I had fallen. But, I’d do anything for my aunt, and damn if she didn’t know it. Plus, I’d bet these little divas were much sweeter than Crystal.

“Honeybee, let’s start off with ‘Pomp and Circumstance.’ Oh, and a little slower than usual. I swear by the end of Martha’s second trimester she had these poor little girls practically running in place to keep up with her.”

Chapter Two

Tanner

“Take me out to dinner tomorrow, sweetie. Between the drive to Dulles and three ballet classes, I’m pooped. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still up for it.” Aunt Dottie locked the door to the basement studio. “Wait right here. I have a little welcome home gift for you.” 

Aunt Dottie turned and unlocked the door to her apartment next to the entrance of the ballet studio and rushed inside. After her last little surprise, I had to wonder what she had for me. Not that I minded playing piano for her classes, but knowing her, she was about to hand me a toolbox and make me the maintenance man for the building.

“Here you go!” She exclaimed, handing me a bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau, my favorite wine. My face must have betrayed my relief, because she began to laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not giving you any more work. I should have told you in the car about playing the piano for me, but whatever. Now, I want you to go upstairs to either the third or second floor balconies and meet your new neighbors. The boys are lovely, and you can usually catch one or two of them outside until the wee hours of the morning. If I wasn’t so tuckered out, I’d join you. Now, scoot!” 

Before heading out to the balcony, I explored my new little home first. It had everything I needed, including wine glasses and a corker. The kitchen itself was tiny, with an ancient refrigerator, a small gas stove, and a microwave. It was odd, but I didn’t remember this little apartment from when I used to live with my aunt all those years ago. But, back then I was totally immersed in my music studies, while working odd jobs and picking up the occasional DJ gig. I didn’t have time to make friends with the tenants, plus I had thought they were all old and more sophisticated than me. Now, I was the same age as those “old” guys were, and felt even more ancient.

There was a back door in the kitchen that opened on to a fire escape. Glancing out, I noticed two lawn chairs and a table, a hibachi grill, and another back door belonging to the neighbor, whoever that was. I was tempted to pour myself a glass of wine and park my ass on one of the chairs and skip the main balconies, but I knew my aunt would be disappointed if I didn’t at least try to get to know her other tenants. She knew my personal inclination was to hide, avoiding human contact whenever the going got rough. I wasn’t shy. Hell, you couldn’t perform in front of thousands of people at once without being a little bit outgoing. But, whenever I hit bumps in the road all I wanted to do was ignore everything and everyone until things got back to normal, whatever that was.

“Well, let’s get this over with.”

I opened the bottle of wine, grabbed a glass and let myself out the front door. The hallway was long, with five apartments including mine, and the staircase in the center. The wood floors were polished to a high shine and had a cobalt blue runner down the center. At the end of the hallway were French doors, and one of them was held open by a large fern. I stepped outside, and was grateful to discover someone was already there.

“Hi.” I mumbled, then sat on a white wicker chair set against the brick wall, placing my glass and the wine bottle down on a little table next to it. Seated across from me with his back toward the street was a tall, muscular man wearing a plain, red t-shirt, black shorts and red Chucks. He eyed me for a moment, tilting his head with a slight grin on his face.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

His skin was a light, golden brown, and he had black hair clipped short. The man had an angular face, his eyes were dark, almost black, and he had full lips. I racked my brain trying to figure out who he was, but only drew a blank. I shook my head and bit my lip. He reached a hand across the table for me to shake.

“Hector Garcia. You are Tanner Beckwith, right?” I nodded, noticing his grip was firm. “It’s been years since I last saw you. You used to DJ at Fieldens, and when you disappeared I always wondered what happened to you. Then, I started seeing your pictures on Instagram, always with those big stars. Dottie clued me in about her being your aunt, and then a few days ago, she said you were coming back.” 

Traffic had picked up three floors down on Monument Avenue, and I had to speak up to be heard. “I’m sorry, but I’m still drawing a blank on who you…”

“Gimme a sec.” Hector fished his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through it for a few seconds, then handed it to me.

“Wow. You’ve changed.” The picture looked nothing like the man seated in front of me. A skinny youth with dreadlocks and dark circles under his eyes stared belligerently at the camera. He used to be a barback at Fieldens, collecting empty beer bottles and emptying ashtrays at the private after-hours club. I handed the phone back to him. “Yeah, I remember you, but…”

Hector laughed. “Nobody recognizes me from those days. I was a total loser who partied all night and slept all day. The only reason I took the job at Fieldens was to have a steady supply of drugs. Well, and nobody else would hire me.” 

“I think you are being too rough on yourself. We all have done things we aren’t proud of.” I looked him in the eye and smiled ruefully. I’d not been totally immune to the dangers of clubbing, though my job protected me somewhat. Drugs were everywhere, but my constant travelling made their allure less desirable. And, I’d discovered early on that they were boring.

“Are you in the small apartment in the rear?” Hector changed the subject and took a sip of his soda.