He looked at the half-full beers left sitting on the kitchen table and Colt’s untouched glass of wine.
Was he a little disappointed? Sure. But there was also something wonderful about this. His man, a couple of collaborators making music, creating in his house like they belonged there. Like this was just their normal. He liked it.
He liked pizza too.
13
Jesus Christon a purple sparkly crutch, Colt was tired. Like bone-deep tired enough that if he stopped to think about it, he could see sounds.
Good thing he didn’t have a chance to stop and think.
Between rehearsing with Kyle, his studio work, writing with the guys, and trying to get to all the places to do all the things, he was running on seven seconds of sleep and blistered fingers.
Lord have mercy.
He finished his gig and sat there as everyone packed up. Midnight. Lord have mercy.
“Hey, nice work, guys.”
This jazz band was a bunch of nice folks, talented, but a little less easygoing. They had a budget and needed to wrap on time, so they pushed pretty hard in the studio.
Timmy came in and pressed a little metal tin into his palm, then started dressing cables and putting away microphones. “Caffeine mints. Two will do you for a couple of hours.”
Timmy set three microphones on the chair next to him and went to gather the others.
“Thanks.” He took four, breathing fire out of his nose for a second.
The folks in the band gave him nods and handshakes on their way out.
“Catch you tomorrow, Colt.”
“Get some rest, man. You look like you need it.”
“You need a ride anywhere?”
“I got him,” Timmy said, following them to the studio door. “I’ll be in at noon tomorrow. Studio is yours at two.”
“Right on. Night, Timmy.”
He sat there, trying to decide if he could just sleep here and get up and head to Kyle’s in the morning.
“Dude, I’m taking you home. Put your guitar away. And leave it here.” Timmy started stacking the neatly rolled-up cables into a crate.
“Are you?” He was so fucking tired. “Okay, boo.”
He just sat there like a lump.
“Okay, then.” Timmy didn’t say another word, but the next thing he knew, his guitar was gone and Timmy was turning the lights out. “I called an Uber. But I think I’m even skinnier than you are. I’m not carrying your ass, bro.” Timmy did at least offer him a hand up and pulled him to his feet. “Come on.”
“I don’ need carryin’, boo. I just tired, eh?” He was still doing good work.
“You’re not just tired,boo.” Timmy led him out to the car and pulled him inside. “You didn’t stand up to see the band out. You didn’t even stand up when I told you you should get moving. I just totally put your baby away for you, and you didn’t even tell me to be careful with it. You’re exhausted.”
“True dat.” He knew, but he knew it had to be done. Hell, more than that, he wanted it. He wanted it all.
He just didn’t know how to.
“When’s your next day off?”