by
Sometimes willpower isn't enough.
Cam
Social anxiety's been my constant companion for twenty-three years, sometimes in the background, sometimes silencing me and yanking my guts out in the nearest trash can. No matter how much I love playing music, I'm never going to get up on a stage and perform in front of a crowd. But since I met Erik, and was asked to join his band Hellsbane, that knowledge hurts worse.
No heart (even Erik's) or dick (even Erik's) is big enough to carry me past my limits, but God, I wish there was a way.
Erik
Life's damned unfair when a guy with the voice of a hard-rock angel and a songwriting talent like Cam's can only post anonymous videos online. But you can't cure anxiety with wanting, or willpower. My drummer needs to quit trying to push Cam onstage with us before he breaks.
Rocktoberfest's our goal, and touring with Hellsbane was my only ambition until I met Cam. Now I can't have everything I love in one place, but dammit, I wish there was a way.
A first-times, life challenges, coming out, rockstar romance.
Hidden Blade is part of the multi-author The Road to Rocktoberfest 2022 series. Each book can be read as a standalone, but why not read them all and see who hits the stage next? Hot rockstars and the men who love them, what more could you ask for? Kick back, load up your kindle and enjoy the men of Rocktoberfest!
- 1 To Be Read list
Publisher: Independently Published
Editors:
Cover Artists:
Genres:
Pairings: M-M
Heat Level: 3
Romantic Content: 4
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 26-35
Protagonist 2 Age: 18-25
Tropes: Age Difference, Big Character / Little Character, Coming Out / Closeted, Death of Parent, Famous / Not Famous, First Time
Word Count: 86000
Languages Available: English
Series Type: Same Universe / Various Characters
Erik
It began with a song. Well, a voice and a song. And a look. A combo that practically knocked me off my creaky wooden chair in the cafe, which is hard to do because after fifteen years in the music business, I’ve heard a lot of amazing voices and a lot of good songs. But this kid. Jesus.
He came out on the little stage and sat down sideways on a stool, not making eye contact with the audience. Some guy— a friend or a roadie about his age with a mass of dreadlocks and jeans draped with chains— set up a modest amp and plugged him in while the kid fiddled with his Ibanez, tuning strings that sounded just fine to me. Then his friend set the mic in front of him, gave him a thump on the shoulder, and left the stage.
READ MOREThe kid glanced at the audience once, eyes so blown wide and dark I couldn’t make out their color even though I was sitting close. His long hair lifted around his face, and when he swept the clinging strands back impatiently, they crackled with static. Without an intro, or even his name, he played the first chord, picked his way through an intricate run of notes, opened his mouth, and sang.
And fuck, he had the tone and the range. He could growl like Jeff Becerra and then soar clean and pure, soft like an angel, or sharp as a knife. He never faced the crowd again. Sat sideways, stared offstage at a wall like the flat paint was his hope of salvation, and sang about pain and transcendence. He didn’t even let one song end before segueing into the next, leaving the rest of us confused about whether to applaud or hold fire and wait.
After his third song, before the last note had faded, he unslung his guitar and stood. We were on our feet by then, shouting and stomping, even some devil horns hitting the air in this modest cafe that held maybe fifty people. He waved behind his back as he hurried off the stage, ducked around the little curtain on the side, and disappeared.
To my left, my drummer said, “Who the fuck was that and why the fuck are you letting him get away?”
COLLAPSE
