With A Halo

By Clover Down

Bennet’s life is as good as it’s ever been.

He’s a bassist in a band that plays songs he wrote. Sure, he doesn’t get any credit for those songs and the lead singer is a jerk who makes him wear a gaudy mask to hide the scars on his face—but it’s all worth it to be a part of something, right?

Bennet is used to going unseen. He didn’t think he wanted someone to notice him—not until Kelly, the charismatic lead singer of Halo did.

Kelly is more than happy to be the center of attention. Why else would he be the lead singer of his own band? He didn’t think his life was missing anything until he met Bennet. Now he has the length of the summer tour to convince the mysterious, quiet bassist to stay with him.

This story contains—some violence, explicit sex, hidden facial features, abusive situations, a drugged drink, attempted kidnapping, rough past, profane language, hurt/comfort, and an emphasis on consent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clover Down
• Release date: Aug 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9789198695311

Clover Down

Clover Down has stories in her heart.She lives in a house with walls, in a place near trees.Her favorite color is in someone else’s eyes and her favorite song is a drum solo inside their chest.If she could have any job in the world, it would either be Space Pirate or Professional Romantic.She has no education in romance other than falling in love. She is, in fact, no one in particular at all, but she does hope that you enjoy some of her stories.

Book preview

WITH A HALO

Smashwords Edition

CLOVER DOWN

With A Halo

Copyright © 2021 by Clover Down, Smashwords Edition

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Warning. This book contains explicit content, profane language, and violence that may not be suitable for all audiences.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual events or real persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-91-986953-0-4 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-91-986953-1-1 (e-book)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Clover Down has stories in her heart.

She lives in a house with walls, in a place near trees.

Her favorite color is in someone else’s eyes and her favorite song is a drum solo inside their chest.

If she could have any job in the world, it would either be Space Pirate or Professional Romantic.

She has no education in romance other than falling in love. She is, in fact, no one in particular at all, but she does hope that you enjoy some of her stories.

CHAPTER ONE

The sun gleamed through the clouds and the summer rain glinted in the air like flakes of gold. Music played through the park, another band in a long series that had started earlier that afternoon. Kelly Halloway’s band, Halo, would go on in an hour or so, after sunset.

The light rain did nothing to chill the warm start of what would no doubt be a scorching summer. Kelly’s tank top hung on his frame, glimpsing the tattoos along his ribcage. The ink linked with the rest of the black and green designs, images, and words all tangling up his back, over his shoulders, and down his arms.

He sat on a park bench, dark hair rain-soaked and sticking to his face. Kelly knew the image he struck. It was part of his job. His legs crossed at the knee, straining the perfect rips in his black jeans. He took another long drag off his cigarette, eyes narrowing on the other figure on this end of the park. Everyone else in sight moved along the paths, heading toward the concert in the open field down the hill.

Everyone but the man lying in the shadow of a tree across from him.

Kelly stood and crossed the path, stepping onto the grass. If he wasn’t quick, he’d be spotted and his curiosity might have to go unresolved. He slowed when he reached the other man and recognized him—well, sort of. He belonged to Silver’s band. Silver was a prick. But his band was good.

The guy under the tree was the bassist. Ben? No, that wasn’t right. It was hard to remember because he didn’t have a face. Well, he had one, probably, but Kelly had never seen it. No one had, as far as social media was concerned.

Today, the bassist wore a hoodie with mesh sewn into the hood to hide his face, creating the illusion at some angles of him being headless. But not on his back like this with the dark fabric rain-soaked and dipping against his nose and mouth.

Are you dead? Kelly asked with a smirk and squatted down beside him. He balanced the stub of his cigarette on his lip and reaching out. His fingertips ran along the seam of mesh and hoodie, looking for an opening or a zipper—for some way of peeling it back to see if the guy was breathing. That was his excuse. Really, Kelly had been struck by a sudden urge to see his face. The singer had impulse control issues, according to everyone that knew him.

The bassist’s arm shot up, hand wrapping around Kelly’s wrist to halt his search. The singer could feel the other man’s eyes on him. Was that even possible? Sure, it was. Kelly had felt eyes on him most of his life. He must have liked it because he ended up being the lead singer of his own band. He knew the feel of eyes, and yet this was different. This felt like the first and only pair that had ever mattered.

The hazy sky rumbled overhead. A summer storm.

I’m alive, the bassist said, voice deeper than his size would have suggested. He had to be almost a head shorter than Kelly.

His gaze cut down to the hand still wrapped around his wrist. Long, slender fingers with callouses from playing. The rain-soaked sleeve of his hoodie sagged just enough to expose a constellation of little scars over the back of his hand and down his wrist. As Kelly’s gaze drifted to the spots, a couple shades darker than the rest of his skin, the bassist let go and dropped his hand. He sat up and rolled to his feet so fast that Kelly had to stand or risk being knocked over. The bassist was light on his feet.

Kelly wasn’t quite a head taller than the masked guy, but he definitely had the height advantage. The singer took the cigarette from his lips and bent one leg, stubbed it out along the bottom of his sneaker. He shoved the butt into the back pocket of his jeans. It was a habit he’d picked up back in school. Kelly only ever littered hearts. You guys played earlier, right? he asked conversationally, holding his hand out. My name’s Kelly.

The hooded man nodded once, about to shove his hands into his pockets when he saw the one Kelly pushed out toward him. For a second Kelly was sure he would leave him hanging, but then their palms met again, more of a slap than a shake.

Bennet, the bassist said and then turned to look around the park.

You were good, Kelly went on, not afraid of doing the conversational work to keep this interaction going.

Bennet shrank a little like that hoodie had swallowed him deeper. Yeah, Silver—

No, Kelly interrupted, surprising even himself. Something about the way the guy’s voice had changed, flatlining while the rest of him tensed like he was taking a beating, pulled it out of him. "Not Silver. You. You were good, he said. He meant it, of course. Kelly didn’t lie. But he hadn’t planned to say it so seriously. But I’ll admit that asshole has good songs."

Bennet relaxed slowly, watching him through that dark mesh. Yeah, he agreed.

Kelly would have bet that he heard a smile on the other man’s lips. You’ve been with him for a while, right?

The hood bobbed in a nod. His boots scuffed the paved path when he shuffled back, edging toward walking away.

Kelly wished he could see his face, just to better predict his thoughts. Did he need to go or did he just want to get away?

Aren’t you playing soon?

I have a while, Kelly said, glancing toward the crowds down the hill. Walk me?

Bennet hesitated—it was in the shift of his weight from one leg to the other. Why?

Kelly grinned. He had a good smile, he knew it for a fact. A woman once told him he could charm nuns. He’d never tried but he liked the idea of that power.

But Bennet took another step back, hands in his pockets.

I’ll see you around, Kelly conceded. The music festival would play these grounds for another night, kicking off the summer and a number of tours including Halo’s. At the end of the summer, the touring bands would collide again for another all-day lineup. He might get another chance to talk to Bennet.

The hooded-head bobbed in another nod while he turned on his heel, walking back toward the trees rather than following the winding park paths. Kelly watched the stranger go. Bennet. Was it possible to have a crush on someone he couldn’t see? Someone he knew mostly only by musical notes?

Definitely.

When Kelly stepped onto the tour bus, still thinking about his encounter with the bassist from Silver’s band, he walked right into the middle of an argument between his drummer and his manager.

Maisie Grayson, the drummer, was doing the thing where she pinched at the bridge of her nose—just in case anyone didn’t realize from her pacing and swearing that she was angry.

Kelly still managed to pretend not to notice, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge and planting himself on the couch next to Jackson, his guitarist.

You’re making a big deal out of nothing, Haru, their manager of the last five years, warned Maisie.

He’s an asshole and I don’t want him ruining the tour! Maisie burst.

Kelly leaned his shoulder into Jackson’s. What’s this?

Jackson continued to watch Maisie pace like it was on a movie screen rather than two feet in front of him. The Sundried Tomatoes backed out of the tour. Haru got Silver to replace them, opening for us, and Maisie ain’t having it, he summed up in a stage whisper.

It’s nine shows, Maisie, Haru said, like nine was nothing. Haru was one of those unflappable people—truly rare. She had the same flat tone whether delivering good news or bad. She didn’t exactly look like what anyone might imagine the manager of a rock band to look like—well into her fifties, her jaw-length hair had streaks of silver and she wore high-waisted jeans with the cuffs rolled up, her comfy t-shirt French-tucked for a nod at effort, and sensible sneakers because she spent a lot of time on her feet and cared about her back. You have one more night at this festival, then the nine shows of the summer tour, finishing off with another festival.

Wouldn’t that make it eleven shows with Silver, then? Jackson said, trying to sound helpful when they all knew he was just trying to kick up more dirt.

Haru ignored him. "It’s going to be good.