In Tune: The Road to Rocktoberfest 2022, page 1
IN TUNE
ROAD TO ROCKTEOBERFEST
ELLE KEATON
DIRTY DOG PRESS LLC
Copyright © 2022 by Elle Keaton
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact dirtydogpress@gmail.com
The story, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious.
Book Cover by Natasha Snow
1st edition 2022
CONTENTS
Who is that?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
A Thank You From Elle
About Elle
WHO IS THAT?
A few folks character-bombed this novella:
Milo Zajack/Davey Childs - Ex guitarist for Lost Apostles. They appear in Love Comes Home in the Love in Hollyridge collection
Skylar Jones/Wallace Kenton - First appear in Love Limited Edition, gets their story in Love From a Stone.
Dany Petyr - First appears in When it Rains, gets his story in Real Trouble.
Ben Sutcliff/Henry Carr - Ben first appears in Real Danger, gets his story in Not a Boy.
Cody Prescott - Oh Cody… he’s “been waiting so long”. He first appears in Black Moon (third in Veiled Intentions) and yes, baby, he is getting his story in The Real Thing, preorder to read ASAP.
ONE
Luka raced away from the school building. From the weedy playfield. From his too loud classmates. From cranky Mr. Barnhardt, who hummed out of tune and made him read out loud in class. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs. The hill was steep, and gravity forced his legs to move faster and faster until he knew he was about to trip and fall. At the last corner, he grabbed the light pole, forcing himself to come to a swinging stop.
Bending over with his hands resting on his knees, Luka dragged in deep violent breaths as he tried to get his lungs to stop screaming. Tourists and townspeople walked past him, eyeing him curiously but not terribly worried about a twelve-year-old boy who’d just careened down the street on the last day of school.
He was free.
The long summer days were ahead of him, promising peace and the time to do what he wanted. He would sleep in, play his guitar, read books—maybe even Sea of Monsters—and help his dad out at Dusty Strings. Until September rolled around and he was trapped inside again, staring at the walls.
Taking a last deep breath, Luka straightened his backpack on his shoulders and crossed the street to where he knew his dad would be waiting for him. They were a team and had been since immigrating to the United States when Luka was four.
The bell jingled over Luka’s head as he pulled the door open and stepped into the safe and soothing quiet of his Dad’s shop. The scent of cut wood and the special oils Neb used when he was making instruments was familiar and soothing. Luka’s heart rate lowered even further, he could breathe.
Behind him the door opened again, and Luka’s life was forever changed—although he didn’t know it yet. He turned to see who’d followed him into the store.
A dark-haired boy Luka had never seen before in his life demanded, “Are you okay?”
He was about Luka’s height, not as skinny though. His hair stuck out every which way, like he never combed it. It was the intensity of his expression, though, that caught Luka’s attention. The boy was genuinely concerned about him.
“Uh… I’m fine,” Luka managed to say.
“Okay, good, cool. What is this place?”
The other boy was doing his best to look in all directions at once. Luka imagined what it would be like to see the shop for the first time, with the guitars, ukeleles, and dulcimers all on display. Then there was the wall of old records his dad collected and sometimes sold. When Luka argued that iPods and MP3 players were better—because his classmates had them—Neb scoffed at the technology, claiming vinyl would make a comeback.
“What’s that?” The boy pointed at one of Luka’s favorite instruments. Not because he could play it, but because they were cool-looking. And maybe someday he would be able to play one.
“That’s a hurdy-gurdy,” Luka answered.
“Whoa.” The boy’s eyes kept moving, taking in everything. “This is the coolest place I’ve ever seen. I’m Dean, by the way. Can you teach me to play any of these?”
Dean stuck out his hand. Luka stared at it for a moment before shaking it, trying to figure out where this seemingly magical being had appeared from. It was as if the perfect friend had been transported from Luka’s imagination into real life.
“Luka,” his dad greeted him, as he emerged from the back where he did all of his work. Seeing Dean, he stopped and smiled. “Who is your friend?”
Sixteen years later
Dean
Dean wiped the sweat off his forehead as he peered out at the crowd of concertgoers packed in front of the Oxbow RiverStage, in the heart of Napa Valley. The hum of the crowd rose and fell, feeding Dean’s soul, as they waited for the Lost Apostles to take the stage. Dean rolled his neck and shook his hands out in anticipation of striding out there and doing his part to take the audience on a wild ride.
He couldn’t fucking wait.
Electric anticipation kept him and the rest of the band on edge while they waited in the wings for the signal. It was incredible to be performing again after a too-long search for a new lead singer, and the band’s manager had picked the perfect spot for the Lost Apostles to introduce him. This audience would likely be forgiving—although Dean didn’t expect any surprises. Kyle Jones was that damn good.
His wandering gaze snagged on the beautiful woman standing off to one side near the front row in the VIP section. He had met the love of his life during their time away from touring, so it hadn’t been all bad. He tossed Cassidy a grin that hopefully told her how much he loved her. The tall, leggy blond with the glittering diamond ring on the third finger of her left hand smiled back at him, making Dean feel ten feet tall.
A movement brought his attention back to the stage. Dean spotted his best friend, Luka Gajić, in the shadows, making last-minute adjustments to Dean’s equipment and rechecking the drum kit as he moved past it. Luka was the very best. Dean never had to worry when Lost Apostles’ head guitar tech was the one watching out for him.
Although… he frowned briefly. Something was up with Luka. Dean had even asked about it while Luka was checking over the equipment earlier that evening.
Luka’s pitch-black eyebrows had drawn together, and he’d shaken his head like Dean was an idiot. Dean knew he could be oblivious sometimes, but something was off with his best friend.
Maybe Luka was worried their relationship would change?
Never. Luka was his brother from another mother. Cassidy would get used to Luka being around all the time.
Dean’s gaze flitted back to Cassidy and his heart did a little skip. She made him so happy.
The stage lights dimmed before brightening again, and his heart began to pound heavily against his ribs. They were on.
Ignoring the rampaging butterflies in his stomach, Dean Blanchett took a deep breath and stepped out from the shadows to his spot on the stage, just left of center. His lucky guitar gleamed under the spotlights.
Lifting the instrument out of its stand, he tugged the strap over his head and embraced the instrument’s steadying weight against his body. Dean’s guitar was an extension of himself. What he couldn’t say with words, he said with chords and steel strings. Habit had his right hand strumming across the strings, and the crowd roared. He grinned out at them, waiting for the rest of the band to catch up.
“Two encores! Great job,” their manager, Chris Pederson, crowed as the band crowded into the small backstage area. He grinned from ear to ear.
Dean soaked up the praise; it had been a great show. A fucking incredible show—the kind that made him feel like he could fly. He and Kyle had crushed it from the first chord of Mine and never looked back. In the middle of Orange Bouquet, he and the bassist, Nick Mann, had dueled guitars for a minute or two, letting the twangy notes whirl out into the warm night air. Then Jerome Williams took over with a drum solo, taking them even further. The crowd had begged for more.
It felt so damn fucking good.
“The show was recorded, right?” Nick’s voice sounded a bit fast and high-pitched, and his smile was electric. Not the brightest bulb in the box, but a nice guy and an incredible musician, Nick wasn’t bothered by much. For him to be excited by the performance was a big deal.
Chris nodded. Their manager was still smiling, something they hadn’t seen much of. Not since Milo left and all the crap with their ex-vocalist, Sage. “Yep. I had Melanie from Out of the Box here. She’ll have it for us soon.”
The band generally watched their shows if they could, like athletes watching footage of game plays. Dean had hated it when Chris first floated the idea, but over the years he’d learned what an important tool the recordings were.
Nick nodded his approval and held out his hand to Kyle for a fist bump. Jerome slumped against a spare a
Dean looked around for his best friend, the only one missing. “Where’s Luka?” If the band was a family, Luka was his closest sibling.
Chris shrugged, dismissing the missing tech. “Taking care of your precious, just like always.”
Dean’s cherry red Stratocaster was just behind his Telecaster as one of his most valuable possessions, and he appreciated that Luka watched out for them both, even if it was his job. But now it was time to celebrate. He twisted around, not seeing Cassidy either.
“What about Cassidy, have you seen her?”
Chris’s smile evaporated. “She’s not my fiancé to keep track of.”
“It’s not as if we can keep track of any of them,” Jerome scoffed. “Come on already, Dean. How many is it now, are we up to double digits yet? There’s no way we can keep up with them all.”
Dean made sure Jerome saw his lone middle finger. The jab wasn’t entirely fair. Dean had only been engaged a couple times prior to Cassidy. But this time it was real.
“I don’t know why you guys don’t like her,” he complained.
Well, Dean knew why Chris didn’t approve of his engagement—it meant Dean might quit the band. But it wasn’t Chris’s decision, so he really didn’t get a say. And anyway, the Apostles were Dean’s life, he wasn’t planning on quitting.
“Not the time for this, Dean.” Chris’s gaze was directed over Dean’s shoulder, and he knew Cassidy had entered the off-stage area. Turning, he smiled at his fiancé. When she drew close enough, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight and breathing in the scent of her floral perfume before claiming her lips and kissing her thoroughly. He was definitely horny and wound up after their performance.
Chris let the kiss go on for about three seconds. “Okay, enough of that shit. You all have autographs to sign and fans to appease. And I do mean all of you. Security is outside. Of course, there will be a few ‘accidents’ that slip past them so we can get some candids with fans. Please behave yourselves, at least until you get somewhere private.”
Dean released Cassidy reluctantly, and she curved her lips up at him and patted his arm.
“Maybe I’ll see you back at the hotel in a few hours.” Then she slipped out of the room and into the crowd. Dean missed her presence already. He couldn’t wait to be married and have the family he’d always wanted. One that might, somehow, bring everyone together.
“You do not need any negative press,” Chris continued grimly. “Rocktoberfest is right around the corner, and if you play like you did tonight, you have a clear shot. I just heard that Midnight Hunt is going to be there, and even if they haven’t played in years, they are a force. Embrace the Fear just dropped the news too. You need to be on your toes, do not fuck this up.”
“Yes, Dad, we’ll behave,” Dean quipped.
Chris’s lips thinned to a straight line. “Friends ask if I want kids, and all I have do is point to you guys.”
“Friends? You have those?” Dean snarked.
“You must mean Dean,” Nick interjected. “I’m always well-behaved.”
Jerome stood up from his slump, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Quit fooling yourself, Nicky, that boat sailed a couple years ago.” Dean thought it was a shame Jerome wouldn’t step up to the mic. His deep baritone was meant for rock and roll.
Nick shot daggers at Jerome. “Can we forget about that? Please? It’s been like five years.”
The band had learned early on that Nick couldn’t hold his alcohol. During their first big tour, he’d passed out after two (the band’s count) or maybe three (Nick swore he’d had three) beers and been left behind at the all-night greasy spoon where they’d stopped for much-needed Denver hash browns. Or in Nick’s case, biscuits and gravy. After that incident, Chris had always assigned someone to make sure Nick was on the bus.
“No!” They all said at the same time—even Chris.
“Quit fucking around,” Chris ordered, “and get your asses out there. We have a tour to promote.”
Luka
Luka hated how good Dean looked up on the stage playing his heart out, making the Stratocaster sing for the crowd with his long, elegant fingers. He hated that he wanted to be the one Dean searched for in the crowd while he played, and the one Dean met with a passionate kiss once the show was over. He hated that Dean would never see Luka the way he wanted to be seen.
Which was why Luka exited stage left instead of stage right when the show was over and the equipment safely stored away. Not that carting the rest of the band’s guitars and the drum kit was technically part of his job, but Luka always pitched in. It kept him from having to watch Dean flirt with fans after a show, from having to see him with Cassidy.
The man probably didn’t even know he was doing it. Dean flirted with everyone—female, male… everyone. It was like breathing for him. He didn’t seem to notice who he was glittering on. But Luka did. Because Luka had been in love with Dean for years.
Then there was the most recent in an excruciatingly long line of fiancés, Cassidy Mitchell. Where Dean found these women Luka had no idea. Knowing Dean, he was as likely to find them on a hookup app as he was to pick them up over a head of lettuce at the grocery store. But Cassidy was wrong for him, maybe the worst yet, and that was saying a lot. She always looked vaguely pissed off, making Luka want to ask what she was doing with Dean anyway.
Luka’s feelings didn’t have anything to do with jealousy.
Right…keep telling yourself that, snarked his inner voice.
Dean Blanchett was a walking advertisement for that Married at First Sight reality show. And just like those couples, Dean’s engagements were destined to go down in flames. And when that happened, Luka would be there to pick up the pieces—again.
Cassidy didn’t like the rock scene. She didn’t like Luka. She didn’t like dogs. And what the fuck was up with that? He could forgive her for not liking him. He was snarky and abrupt, and secretly wanted Dean for himself. But dogs? What type of person didn’t like dogs? And why get engaged to a guy in a rock band if you don’t really like what they do?
Cassidy wasn’t brazen enough to say any of this out loud, but Luka had watched her carefully over the past six weeks and he knew he was right. He saw how her body tensed up when she thought no one was looking. How her smile turned from easy to brittle by the end of their gigs. The ones she showed up for anyway. How she gave Frank, Dean’s Husky, only a single pat on the head before turning away and ignoring him.
Criminal.
Frank was a demanding dog, as proven by the low howl he let out from his crate when Luka let himself into the Airbnb he’d rented. Luka smiled for just a second—yeah, no way was that sound going to be ignored in the hotels where the band and the rest of the crew stayed.
“How’s my Frankie?” Luka teased as he bent down and released the clasp on the crate. The dog burst from the crate like a cannonball and shot around the living room several times, fluffs of gray and white fur flying everywhere. Heading to the backdoor, Luka unlocked it and let Frank out into the tiny backyard for a few minutes.
While he waited for Frank to do his business and calm down, Luka’s cell phone vibrated from where he’d set it on the kitchen counter. The name Ben Sutcliff glowed on the screen.
“Hey,” he said after pressing Accept.
“Hey back. How’d it go tonight?”
Ben was one of Luka’s best friends and had been since childhood. He worked and lived on Piedras Island, off the coast of Washington State. After a rough start in Bosnia, Luka had mostly grown up there, and right now he was missing the place. A lot.
So much.
The island was Luka’s heart and home, and returning there always meant he breathed a little easier. Maybe it was seeing the stars over his head or hearing the waves crashing on the beach, maybe it was both those things and more.
