Page 36 of Tumbling Hearts

“Alright.” Mick adjusts his glasses, then he lightly dusts his fingers over the spines of the sleeves, peering at the selection. This is the first year Ray isn’t seeing his parents for his birthday, but at least they gave him a phone call earlier today, and Mick brought over a birthday card from them along with some money. But Ray doesn’t mind. His parents would likely sneer at this party anyway—especially his father—not approving of his ‘hedonistic rockstar lifestyle’. Whatever. This is nothing compared to being on tour.

“Ah, how’s this one?” Mick pulls a record out, then reveals the front cover to Ray—Sticky Fingers by the Rolling Stones.

“Oh my god, yes, that’s perfect!” Ray cheers. “Put it on.”

Mick removes the old record from the platter, putting it back in its sleeve, and sets up the Sticky Fingers LP on the turntable. The opening riff of ‘Brown Sugar’ bursts from the speakers. It’s fast paced, catchy, and a great beat to dance to, so Ray does just that. Some of the Brooms join with his dance, while others stand on the sidelines, cups of booze in their hands.

“Shake it, Ray!” Pat says, standing nearby the TV. “Twirl those helicopter hips.”

“Helicopter hips?” Ray laughs, his hands in the air.

“Yeah, I said what I said,” she chuckles. “Don’t fly away and crash into the ceiling, now.”

“Shut up, Pat,” he says without any real malice.

Once ‘Brown Sugar’ concludes, it flows into the slower-paced ‘Sway’. Carol grabs his arm, pulling him close suddenly, and she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Slow dance with me,” she says, like a command.

“Oh… sure.” He puts his hands on her waist, moving with her to the steady beat of the song.

While she has her eyes on him, his own drift away, looking behind her. Gene is directly in his line of sight. He has a cup in one hand, the other hand in his pocket, and he stares back at Ray. That roguish face makes Ray’s heart flutter. Even if Gene’s expression is rather blank, Ray can see something peculiar in Gene’s gaze alone. Something Ray wishes he could grasp for himself.

The song playing right now, along with the entire album, means so much to him and Gene. Sticky Fingers was the record Gene had recognized, sticking out of Ray’s bag when they first met at the bus stop four years ago. And then all the months after that first encounter, they would listen to it, playing along on acoustic guitars and singing their hearts out, sitting on the floor of Gene’s old bedroom.

Carol tugs on Ray’s neck, zapping his attention back toward her. In no time at all, her lips are on his. It’s something that’s become a routine—kissing her—so he goes along with it easily. But while her eyes are closed, he keeps his own open, and he gazes behind her again.

He locks eyes with Gene.

Ray isn’t sure if it’s because of the alcohol or something more, but it’s so easy to look at Gene and imagine feeling his lips instead of hers. The way Gene looks at Ray sends another flutter through his chest, especially so, when he can see the veins popping in Gene’s hand, grabbing his cup a little tighter. Slowly, Gene takes another sip, never dropping eye contact with Ray. As hard as he might try, there’s no hiding the redness that flushes over Gene’s face.

Ray and Carol’s lips part, and he focuses on her again.

“Happy birthday, Ray,” she says with a smile.

“Thanks, Carrie,” he replies.

The song changes again to another slower one: ‘Wild Horses’. Carol doesn’t seem to want to let go of him, but Ray needs space. His nerves are too jumpy after that. He glances back at Gene, then back at her. Carefully, he pulls his hands off her waist.

“I think I’d like more to drink,” Ray says, lightening his words with a chuckle. “We can always dance again later.”

Carol pouts. “Aw, really?” When Ray simply gives her a shrug, she finally pulls her arms off him, shaking her head. “Well, whatever. It is your birthday, after all. You can do what you want.”

He steps around her, closer to the kitchen—and therefore closer to Gene. His best friend smiles, giving Ray a gentle wave.

“Happy birthday, Ray,” Gene says, voice tender. “I’ve got a present for you, but I was waiting for the right time to grab it.”

“Oh, sure!” Ray grins. “Go ahead.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”

Gene steps away and sets his cup down on an end table by the couch, walking past all the people in the living room to run up the stairs. While Ray did want a drink for himself, he figures that can wait until after he gets Gene’s present. In no time at all, Gene is already back downstairs, holding what looks to be a piece of paper behind his back.

“What’s this?” Ray asks.

“Here.” Gene holds the paper low out in front of him, showing a realistic shaded pencil drawing that bears a striking resemblance to…

“I drew this of you, Ray. I haven’t really drawn much since I graduated art school, but I figured if there was anyone’s face I wanted to practice drawing… it’d be yours.”