Three Part Harmony (The Road to Rocktoberfest 2024)

16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Griffin

Believe me, I understood why Mike was nervous about what our future looked like. I was, too, but I knew I wanted to give this a try with him because he was worth it. Sure, he had his quirks, everyone did, but even his darkest moods didn’t deter me from wanting something real with him.

At his core, Mike was an artist and I understood better than most how artists looked at life. They didn’t just peer at things through rose-colored glasses . They stared directly at life’s intricacies and saw kaleidoscopic rainbows of color every single day as if they were staring at the sun. They found beauty even in life’s most horrid events or images that mere mortals like myself couldn’t begin to understand. Vivid nuances in color, angles, and shapely patterns, even the tones in sounds were like a special language to an artist, whereas the rest of us wouldn’t see or hear anything and be left scratching our heads in confusion.

My mother was an artist. She also had mental health issues which were never properly managed because she didn’t like taking the medications her doctors prescribed. She claimed the drugs dulled her creative muse and turned her into a zombie. Instead of spending her days painting enormous canvases with splashes of wild colors, she’d curl up on a couch and sleep the day away. She was tremendously gifted as an artist and truly did look at the world in her own unique way, but as a mother, she just wasn’t there for me—even though she rarely left our house. She died two years ago when I was thirty-six, didn’t even live to see her sixtieth birthday.

Far as I knew, Michael didn’t require such medications or have mental health issues but he was still an artist and with that came the extraordinary way he looked at the world around him. He lived in search of the gray areas laying between the complex vibrant hues that made up his life. It was within those bands of fantastical colors where he made his art. It came to him in the form of rhythms and cadences that he explained ran on an endless loop inside his head. This was nothing short of brilliance to me and I was in awe of what he could create.

Gifted and gorgeous. That was my Michael. Even though he seemed hesitant to visualize a future with me, I could already see a major motion picture reel of us together in the months—and hopefully, years to come. I wanted that more than the oxygen that filtered through my lungs. I’d work hard every day to prove to Michael we were worth fighting for.

I pressed a kiss to his lips and smiled. “I’ll be right back,” I said and began to roll away from him.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “I was hoping we could go another round.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his suggestion. “ Another round?” I chuckled as I shook my head. “You sure know how to make the ten-year age gap between us feel more like twenty.”

“A decade?” he asked incredulously in a high-pitched tone that was likely meant to mock me. “You’re ten years older than me?”

Truth be told, he made me feel like a teenager, not thirty-eight.

“I’m going to go get us some snacks and water,” I explained. “It’ll sort of be like a picnic in bed.”

“Hmmm, I love the sound of that,” Mike said and smiled brightly. “And maybe after you’re fully replenished and hydrated, perhaps we can talk about going for another round.”

“Then hold on to that thought,” I said and disappeared into the hallway.

“I’d much rather hold on to you,” he teased and I grinned all the way to the kitchen.

Michael stayed the night with me and the next morning after we ate breakfast, I drove him over to the band house to collect a few more of his things. I had no idea how long he’d be staying with me but my gut knew I couldn’t allow him to linger at my house too long. That merely gave him an excuse not to talk to Fletcher and Fizzbo made it clear to me that I needed to do my part to expedite their conversation.

When we walked into the house, we saw Dixon and Potts in the living room mock-fighting over the winner of a video game. The two of them barely acknowledged us entering, never mind saying hello. The other glaring detail? There was no sign of Fletcher—or Dallas, for that matter. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Dallas hanging out at the band house, or anywhere else.

I allowed myself an exhale of relief, but it was short-lived. We’d made it halfway down the hallway to Michael’s bedroom when Fletcher’s door flew open and the man in question stepped out, nearly barreling right into Mike.

“Well, look who finally came home,” Fletcher announced and folded his arms across his chest. “And, big surprise, you brought your chew toy with you. FYI, I’m not surprised in the least to see you both here. It’s very obvious to us where your loyalties lie now.”

Up until Fletcher’s last comment, I thought Michael had done an impressive job of biting his tongue and moving past his friend to step into his bedroom and pack up some of his belongings. But Fletcher mentioning loyalty was apparently the tipping point for Mike and I honestly couldn’t blame him for being annoyed. Michael might be a lot of things but disloyal to his family or friends wasn’t one of them, and let’s face it, Fletcher happened to be both.

But once Fletcher’s bold statement was out of his mouth to float around them like fog settling in over a lake, I could almost see his muscles tensing before my eyes. His entire back seemed to flex tight like a stretched wire about to snap, both hands squeezed into fists, the only thing missing from this visual was actual smoke coming out of his ears. I held my breath and assumed a stance near Michael to stop him if he started striding toward Fletcher. I watched Michael spin around to face Fletcher as if it were happening in slow motion.

“ Loyalty ? You really want to talk to me about loyalty?” Michael grit out. He took two steps closer to Fletcher and I held out my arm to stop any further forward momentum on his part.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Fletcher scoffed. “But for some wild reason you refuse to see what you’re doing—and who you’re doing it with. After all, he is your personal security guard, although I think you’ve conveniently forgotten that detail. But the rest of us are here, Mike—living and working together as a band , and where are you? Oh, that’s right. You’re with your new pet getting your rocks off.”

Michael lunged at Fletcher but I managed to catch him mid-air and held him against me. “Fletcher! Get the fuck out of his room and let him pack his bag!” I yelled over my shoulder in the direction of the bedroom door. “The faster he can do that, the sooner we’ll be out of here. ”

“Not soon enough,” Fletcher complained loudly on his way down the hall.

“Fuck you!” Michael shouted as he continued to squirm in my tight hold.

“Right back atcha, you arrogant prick,” Fletcher replied.

Two more days passed with Michael staying at my place instead of being at the band house. I took him to practice every morning and he’d work with the guys amicably and keep any conversation about the music, but as soon as the practice finished, Mike came home with me. Not once during that time did either he or Fletcher show any signs of wanting to talk out their differences. I was worried about that because their dissonance was starting to unsettle the rest of the band.

Plus, they had the show at The Asylum coming up and they absolutely needed to be a solid, cohesive group of four musicians getting along to pull it off. Having two out of the four members at odds with each other wouldn’t exactly give the audience the best show experience and that meant I needed to try and get them in the same room together. The one way I knew I could make that happen was to bring Dagger into the picture. I also knew Michael wouldn’t be happy about that but this needed to be done .

I’d already discussed the situation during my recent meeting with Fizzbo and he wasn’t happy with the news. He hoped their beef would be short-lived and resolve itself without intervention but the more time that passed, the less likely it seemed they’d hug it out by themselves. Of course it didn’t help matters that Mike was staying with me. It made their chances of finding time alone to hash this out slim to none.

Not that I was complaining about having Mike stay with me, because I wasn’t. I loved sharing space with him. Having the companionship was great—even sharing the same bed with him was incredible. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the shared orgasms were certainly a nice bonus. But the best part of us cohabitating was how much we were getting to know each other—slowly, without any outside pressure. We hadn’t gone further than the touching and mutual handjobs or blowjobs, and neither of us seemed to be in a hurry. When we were at my condo, we were locked away in our bubble where only we existed and there were no distractions. But like all bubbles, they eventually had to be popped because living inside one simply wasn’t sustainable. Life always managed to find its way in, no matter how careful you were to keep the doors and windows shut.

After the third day of tension between Fletcher and Michael, I had to talk to Fizzbo again. We agreed we needed to force a conversation between them and we decided to do this at the practice studio in the warehouse. I didn’t even alert Michael beforehand. I just drove him to the warehouse like usual for another practice. I knew he suspected something was up because he kept looking at me funny but I ignored his side-eye glances. This meeting absolutely had to happen and they needed to clear the air before the band imploded on itself.

The plan was to get them all into the studio for a regular rehearsal and then ask Potter and Dixon to clear the room. Then I would guard one door while Fizzbo blocked the other exit. Neither Fletcher nor Michael would be permitted to leave that room until they talked things out. If it took one hour or forty hours, so be it, because the trajectory of the band was riding on the outcome of this conversation. And if I could have a hand in making it happen, I was happy to be involved.

We arrived at the warehouse on time but the other three were already inside the room. My eyes darted to the side of the large space where Fizzbo was talking to Dagger. Fletcher, Potts and Dixon were already plugging in their equipment and running scales to warm up their fingers when Michael and I approached them. Mike gave me a quick up nod and then started to walk toward his drum platform but Dagger’s booming voice stopped everyone in place.

“How are my rising stars?” Dagger asked the group.

All four mumbled their own responses and Dagger stepped closer to the group. He narrowed his eyes on them and set his hands onto his hips. Fizzbo nodded to me and together he and I walked to stand outside each of the exits. I only heard the very beginning of Dagger’s speech before we got to the doors.

“I’m going to cut right through the bullshit and get to the reason I’m here,” Dagger informed everyone. “I understand there’s friction between you, Fletcher and Mike. It’s gone on long enough. So, I’m going to ask that Dixon and Potts go enjoy the day while you two stick around and work this out.”

“Oh, fuck that!” Fletcher grumbled loudly.

“Fat fucking chance,” Mike squawked.

“Let me tell you how this is going to play out, boys,” Dagger said. “Neither of you is leaving this room until your crap is settled. Fizzbo and Griffin will make sure neither of those doors is opened until you’re hugging it out. Playing referee to this kind of shit is a waste of my time, your time, and the rest of your goddamn band, so it ends today. If you can’t get your shit together then I’m going to pull the plug on the Asylum gig and the short tour we have in the works and you can all stay home and sit this one out because no one enjoys watching a band perform when their core dynamic is in the toilet. It’s as bad as a band being out of tune. Plus, if I have to shut down the tour, there’s no guarantee another opportunity will come around anytime soon—if you get my fucking drift. You work together as a foursome or you don’t work at all. Am I being clear enough for you?”

“Yes, sir,” Fletcher replied, sounding a whole lot more cordial.

“What about you, Mike?” Dagger asked.

“We’ll work it out,” Mike commented.

“Fucking right you will,” Dagger barked and then headed to the door behind Fizzbo and myself.

I pushed open one of the exit doors and the three of us, plus Dixon and Potts, all stepped through. “No one gets in or out of that room until you see them hugging,” Dagger instructed. “Got it? ”

“Absolutely,” I answered and Fizzbo nodded in agreement, too.

“Good. Keep me updated on their progress,” he said and walked to the elevator at the end of the hall.

“Think they can do it?” Fizzbo asked me.

“I hope so, I mean they’re basically brothers,” I explained. “They were raised together since their early teens and have that bond. I can’t imagine they couldn’t talk this through.”

“Any chance you know what they’re fighting about?” Fizzbo asked.

I diverted my eyes from him. I knew he’d know I was lying the second our eyes met and I couldn’t take that chance. When he’d asked me this question in our meeting earlier in the week, I told him it was stupid shit between Fletcher and Mike and nothing too serious. Did Fizzbo really need to know the real truth about their conflict? I didn’t know, but I was certain I wasn’t comfortable admitting I was the main reason behind their bickering. That was for fuck sure. It was hard to guess how Fizzbo would react to knowing it was me or whether knowing this bit of information would change his mind on me exploring a relationship with Mike.

“Do you have something to tell me, Griffin?” Fizzbo asked while folding his beefy arms across his chest.

“I don’t think so.” I was lying and I was certain he knew it, too.

“Spill. It.”

How could two succinct words be so intimidating, yet coming from Fizzbo’s mouth they were scary as fuck.

“From what I know, Fletcher is upset Mike is spending so much downtime with me,” I said that while staring at my feet. I was waiting for Fizzbo to explode in anger or at the very least growl like a frustrated feral animal. He did neither. In fact, he remained quiet which forced me to have to look up at him.

“You’re part of this?” Fizzbo asked with a glare so scalding I thought he might set me on fire.

“In a roundabout way, yes, but it’s nothing they can’t work out between them,” I replied.

“This is a perfect example as to why we shouldn’t get involved with our principals,” he said and scowled at me.

“It’s just typical crap brothers fight about—not me specifically,” I explained. “It’s not like there’s any real animosity between them.”

“You sure about that?” Fizzbo asked.

“As sure as I can be,” I answered.

“You better be right,” Fizzbo huffed and leaned against the door he was guarding.

A moment later we heard the reverberating sound of cymbals crashing to the floor. I reacted quickly and grabbed onto the door handle, ready to yank it open, but Fizzbo stopped me cold.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “They are in there until the hugging starts. Did that noise sound like hugging to you?” I shook my head vehemently. “Exactly, so we leave them be.”

More crashing noises came from inside the rehearsal studio. It sounded like furniture being tossed around the room. But as long as they didn’t break any of the critical equipment they needed to play, or break each other, then we’d be fine. I glanced over at Fizzbo and nodded.

I guessed it was just a matter of waiting them out.