“Lucca said you can sing anything. I listened to your demo and I think he’s right. You seem like a straight up bloke with a good set of lungs. Not sure I’d want you in my scrum, though. You’re a bit underweight.” He paused while JC processed the rugby reference. “Look. I'm leaving the band and they need something steady now. Someone they can count on. I think it’s you.”

JC pushed at the napkin in front of him. He'd yet to touch the drink that Welsh had ordered for him. There had been no beads of sweat on the glass when it arrived. Ale wasn't served cold where James Welsh came from. There were probably a hundred other things that would be different there too, things he hadn't really thought about before.

Welsh had lost interest in the soccer game and was watching him closely now. JC folded and flattened the corner of the napkin a second time and Welsh stopped his hand. Dark eyes searched his face and for the first time, JC sensed something in Welsh that Tony had probably known was there. Decency. Loyalty. Whatever else might have seemed strange or foreign about him, these were things JC could understand. Like Welsh, he would never leave his friends high and dry. Never take something away without putting something even better in its place.

Tony had said that JC would like James Welsh. He was right.

He'd also said that JC would take the job.

He was right about that part too.

-::-

The last thing that JC had expected to find when he arrived in England was another American in the band. There were, in fact, two of them.

"The group was my idea," Chris explained as he helped JC lift his bags into one of the luggage carts at Heathrow Airport. "Not that Welsh would ever admit it. But yeah, it was mine. I had a couple gigs, but never really caught on anywhere. Then I ran into James at a pub near Earl's Court. He had a voice and some music ready to go." Chris shrugged. "Some things are just meant to be."

JC had stared at him without speaking. He'd heard most of their tracks, but come to think of it, it would have been Welsh he'd been listening to. Getting a feel for what it was like to front the band. The who and what of the other guys had come up, but not the where. JC had just assumed that they were all from Sheffield or Manchester. They played the kind of rock that came out of those places, like what David Bowie was into. Tony had worn out his first copy of Tin Machine, so JC was familiar with the sound. It had a much harder edge than what had come out of Seattle, but the lyrics weren't anywhere as bleak. And Welsh was definitely more Bowie than Cobain.

In the pictures of the band, he'd been the one that was smiling.

It wasn't a limo, but the black cab that waited by the curb outside baggage claim was different than anything JC had ever seen before. The doors opened from the middle like a storm shelter, the kind built into the ground and inside the seats faced each other. There was plenty of room for all four of them to sit together, but instead Chris slipped into the front. The driver seemed to be someone they all knew well. He'd laughed when Chris asked if he was still smoking weed and breaking windows, but he'd held the door for JC like it was his job. He'd been polite and profes-sional and had tipped his cap before closing the door behind him.

JC wasn't sure what to make of any of it. He'd slid into the cab, all the way to the far window, and then waited. In the seat across from him, a guy about his own age, with unruly red hair caught his eye and smiled. Then he nodded toward Chris who'd begun a story about funnel cakes that seemed to have no real purpose at all.

"He's just peckering himself. Don't listen." He added a wink and JC noticed the silver bar in his eyebrow.

"Desmond Lee, right? Percussion and keyboard?"

The man laughed and reached over to shake JC's hand.

"It's Des. That story still around, is it? Who's to believe it once they see these?" He held up short, stubby fingers and wiggled them playfully.

JC ran through one of their songs in his head. "No keyboard then?"

Des checked over his shoulder quickly, then lowered his voice. "Not live. James wanted it there in case he got inspired on stage." Des rolled his eyes. "Don't get me wrong. He played all right. Just not during the show. He was too busy jerking off for the crowd for that to ever happen." Des leaned back and tugged at the sleeve of the the other member of the band who'd been Chris's captive audience since they'd gotten in the car.

The man turned and smiled at JC. This one was even less like his picture than the others. He still had straight blonde hair that needed to be combed and no socks, but both the wifebeater and the ratty knit cap were gone. Today he wore a silk shirt, unbuttoned to the waist and an expensive pair of snakeskin loafers. His handshake was firm.

"Nelson Stone, rhythm guitar. And by the way, I heard every word he said. Don't let Des fool you. He'd bite his arm off if we'd let him near the keys. Played the organ in church when he was a lad. Didn't you, Des?"

The two men scuffled playfully and Des had just gotten Nels into a headlock when the car began to slow in front of a small hotel. A crowd had gathered under the portico and when they saw the car, some of the girls started screaming. Others were waving signs and smiling. A girl with red hair pressed her face to the glass right next to JC. She'd taken hold of the antenna and let the car pull her along. Her eyes were wild with excitement and she waved a small square of paper at him.

It was a picture of the band.

-::-

The London studio was nothing like what he'd experienced in Orlando.  JC hadn't expected the pristine conditions he'd known at Disney, but he also hadn't expected the chilly, poorly lit rooms, or for everything he touched to feel damp and cold.  The studio had no windows or mirrors, noth-ing to help him picture himself actually singing with these strangers. It was a huge change, but he knew in time he'd get used to it. There was however something else that he hadn't expected, that was harder to accept.

Not everyone in the band was glad he was there.

The bass player had not come to the airport. He hadn't been at the hotel either. Today he'd been silent. Stoic. When introduced he'd barely acknowledged JC, saying only his name and the word bass like he was in the presence of the enemy, giving rank and serial number. Nothing more.

JC had not offered his hand, knowing instinctively that Justin Timberlake would not take it. Instead JC had nodded and asked who he liked. Justin had been crouched by a pair of white Fender amps, a guitar slung around his neck. He'd stood up slowly, uncoiling until he had reached his full height. Then he turned to JC and ran off a short, recognizable bass line from Nirvana, all the while glaring defiantly. His body was like Welsh's, hard-looking and muscular. They were about the same size too, six feet or better. But that's where the similarities ended. Justin's skin was unmarked and when he spoke, his voice was smooth, the vowels stretched and pulled, like he belonged in the South.

An unexpected sensation made JC tighten his grip on the mic in his hand. Justin had not yet smiled, and he ran his eyes down JC's body before looking up again.

"That's what you expected, isn't it? If you want something else, say it."

JC had known that it would come sooner or later. Some kind of challenge to prove that he belonged there. That had been Tony's only piece of advice. "If somebody pushes, you're going to have to push back. Only question is how hard and how long." When JC had asked how to know the difference, Tony had been philosophical. "I guess that depends how much you want what they have to give."

He'd been ready to show what he knew about music, but this wasn't about what his voice could do for the band. This was something else. Something that made his heart beat a little faster than it should.

He looked down at Justin's fingers as they rested on the strings. They were long and thin, the nails neatly trimmed except for the pinkies. There they were longer, and he'd painted them black. JC watched as they moved nervously in anticipation. He knew the feeling. It wasn't a life or death thing, like a gunfighter poised over his holster, but it felt that way sometimes. Like he just had to be able to play music. Or sing it. That there was nothing else he wanted to do with his life. He looked back at Justin's face. It was there too, in his eyes. The connection to the music.

Justin made an impatient sound and JC 's eyes drifted to his mouth. What he saw there had nothing to do with music, and everything to do with sex. The kind of lips you saw in movies that kids under 17 weren't supposed to see. They looked wet and swollen, like he'd been pulling at them with his teeth. Or that someone else had. JC pushed the image away before it could settle in his brain. He had to think about music now, what he knew about the bass guitar. Justin was pushing and he felt it, more than he wanted to. And he wanted to push back. Hard. But he had to pass this part of the test first. And not just pass it, hammer it. So he didn't have to go through it again.

"How about Stevie Ray Vaughan? Cold Shot. You know that one?"

Justin looked at him for a long minute, then made a small adjustment to his stick, and played the entire song without ever breaking eye contact. When he'd finished, he unplugged from the amp and walked away. JC stared after him until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Chris's voice was almost a whisper.

"He'll be all right. Let him work it out."

JC looked to where Justin stood, his arms crossed over his chest.

"He doesn't want me here."

At that moment Justin turned back, almost as if he'd heard what JC had said. He stared for a long minute, then looked away. JC felt blood rush to his face. The test, it seemed, was far from over. Chris touched his arm and nodded toward the stage.

"Then I guess you're just going to have to make him want it."

-::-

It was hard to rehearse when things kept changing.

JC was used to finding a groove and then working it. But there didn't seem to be any of that here. No silent agreements when something seemed to fit. No acknowledgement that that's how it would be done from that point on. Each time he held a note longer than usual, Justin would cut out, not follow his lead, forcing JC to ask about it after they were done. How Welsh had handled that part of the song. At that point, Justin would turn away, leaving Chris to answer. Then they would do it again, maybe the same way, maybe not. Between songs Justin would wander off to the side, sipping from a mug of coffee like they had all the time in the world.

But midway through the second week things got better and JC felt comfortable enough to sug-gest some changes. He thought one of the songs needed a short solo, something improvised that wouldn't have to be written down. Nels and Chris had agreed right away, but Justin had shrugged it off. He'd started watching JC though. And each time JC hesitated, opening the door for him to come in, Justin had continued to play the way he always did, but he took longer getting ready for the next song, like he was thinking about what he would have done.

Then one day it was just there. Justin lifted the neck of his guitar slightly, and JC nodded like he understood. When Des crashed the cymbals again, a good five minutes had gone by.

JC had not looked back at Justin, but he'd seen Chris look his way and smile.

The next day, they were on the road.

~

He'd been so busy learning the music that JC hadn't thought about touring at all. What the crowds would be like. Where they'd play their first show. But if he had, a wedding reception would not have been on the list. But that is where they'd spent the first night away from London. At a party for someone named Kevin, lawyer, amateur rugby player, and friend, it seemed, to everyone in the British Empire. There would have been fewer people at a concert.

The older guests had ignored the band, talking loudly over the music. The younger ones had danced, and more than a few of them had stared at JC and whispered. He tried to ignore the tightness in his throat and more than once he looked over at Justin, hoping for something to make him feel connected. A nod would have done it. A lift of his chin. Anything. But Justin had looked right through him, with no expression at all.

And for a few minutes, JC had lost his focus. The lyrics were not quite right. This was a wedding party, so most of the crowd didn't know the difference, but he did. And it wasn't just the lyrics, the timing was off too. Justin had dropped his solo and gone right to the next part of the song, catching JC off guard.

There was a short break while the best man made a rambling toast. By the time he was finished, JC had settled down. It wasn't like he hadn't done this before. He'd been nervous, even with Tony by his side, each time they sang something for the first time. He knew how to get through it. To look at Tony and smile. To breathe. And when all else failed, to simply close his eyes and sing. It had worked for him then. It would work now.

By the time JC got to Budapest and Sweet Sorry Sins, two of the band's signature songs, there was a line of shot glasses on the edge of the stage meant for him. And people were singing along, like they'd forgotten that he was supposed to be someone else.

Like it no longer mattered that he wasn't James Welsh.

By nine, most of the guests had gone home. The rest had moved on to the local pub and the band had gone with them. The bride had had to corral the groom at the last minute, pulling him out of the back of the cab. He was still talking about the song that had ended the last set. A song he'd never heard the words to before because he'd always been too drunk by the time the band got to it. He'd wanted them to sing it again, one more time. JC had run through the chorus, laughing when Kevin tried to join in. Justin had not wanted to wait, tapping impatiently on the roof of the cab before getting into one of the other cars headed for the pub.

The bar itself was on the outskirts of town. And again, JC was surprised, not so much by where he was, but by what it was like there. He'd met James Welsh at a pub in Orlando that prided itself on being authentically British. But this place was nothing like it. There was no satellite feed here, no gallery of ties that had been cut off at the knot and tacked to the wall behind the bar, no sports desk where you could place a bet on the Chelsea football club.

Miller's Ale House was small and dark. But it had something the fancy Orlando pub would never have. Pictures of Justin Timberlake in a rugby uniform.

JC had looked at them without comment until Chris touched one on the far wall and motioned for him to come over. JC had leaned in close, then stepped back, shaking his head in wonder. The stranger in the picture was smiling. His eyes were soft with laughter and his head was a mass of curls barely contained by the photograph. JC had stared at it for a long time before looking at Chris for confirmation. There were two more pictures. In both of them, Justin had looked the same. Happy. Carefree.

"What happened?"

Chris answered without preamble.

"Welsh. About six months ago, his old girlfriend came back. That's when James started making noise about quitting the band and going home. I can't exactly picture James Welsh on a farm raising sheep, but, you know, it's his life. Justin never said a word. A month or two later, he cut off his hair." Chris took a deep breath, then let it out in a long stream. "The smile went about the same time. When he knew he was losing."

Chris looked past JC to Justin. A smalll crowd of locals had encircled both him and the pinball machine near the bar.

"He took it pretty hard. Like he didn't see it coming." Chris shrugged. "It was always coming. I tried to stay out of it when they started. I'm not much good that way. I mean, who's to say who should be together and who shouldn't? Not me. Like I said, I'm not much good with relationships. That and staying out of things. I'm not good with either one. But James kept going back and forth, you know, like he couldn't make up his mind who he really wanted. It wasn't right. So I finally spoke up, but he just told me to mind my own business. Eventually I did. We all did."

JC stared off for a moment, letting the last few hours replay in his head. They'd had a break through in rehearsal, but tonight Justin had completely shut down, almost like he wasn't even there. Like there was no happy bride and groom celebrating their marriage. No stranger at the mic looking to him for emotions that just weren't there. Like he was somewhere else altogether, playing through a few meaningless songs, instead of being torn apart.

JC looked back at Justin and felt suddenly lonely himself. He'd come all this way to join the band, but he really knew nothing at all about the people in it. He'd had the short course on band history and never asked any questions of his own. So he'd had no idea until now that Justin had once belonged to James Welsh. That he probably still did.

The barkeep gave last call and JC drifted back along the wall until he found the picture of Justin being lifted onto the shoulders of two muddied teammates. One of them had tattooed arms and an open smile that made him look like he was still in high school. Chris took one look at the photograph, then turned away.

"James was a good guy. He really was. But he fucked this one up. He fucked it up.”

-::-

They had missed the 10:23 and Chris was stalking back and forth on the platform like there wasn't another train for three days instead of an hour. None of them had slept enough to be sociable. Nels at least was trying.

"Chris always does this. Books the early train. Justin never makes a morning call and he knows it. So we go to the station without him and then wait 'til he shows up. It makes no sense at all."

JC looked up from the folder on his lap and shaded his eyes. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since arriving in the UK and the morning sun was more than he was ready for. He ducked behind his hand, then peered past Nels to where Chris had cornered Justin. The departure area was empty and they weren't that far away. Still it was like watching a silent movie. Chris raising his hands over and over again. Justin looking away, letting the smoke from his cigarette distract him.

Once on board the others had dozed, but JC was still awake. It was a good hour to the next stop, and he wanted to look at the song he'd had trouble with the night before. He was trying to remember exactly where he'd stumbled when Justin fell into a seat across the aisle from him.

After a few minutes of silent brooding, Justin kicked at the mud on his boots, then slung his legs up onto the seat. He watched JC for another minute, then started asking questions.

"What are you looking for in there, the tabs I got off the internet?"

His tone was conversational, but there was more to it. He was pushing him again. But this time JC didn't care whether he passed the test or not. Justin knew perfectly well that JC had no question about his talent. Or his training. Tabs were for people who couldn't read music. They showed you how to look good playing, where to put your fingers on the strings. You never had to learn a note and you could still play. But not Stevie Ray Vaughan. And not the way Justin had played it.

When he got no response, Justin tried again.

"So do you have a name? Or the initial thing, like, is that it?"

JC made a notation in the margin and then looked up slowly. He understood much better now why Justin acted the way he did, but that didn't mean that he liked it.

"What do you want, Justin?"

It was obvious when he blinked that Justin hadn't expected him to be hostile.

"You know what? Go fuck yourself." His voice was loud enough that the passengers in front of them shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

JC shook his head, then looked away. Justin stared at him for a minute longer, then slid across the seat and squared himself on the aisle. He picked up the folder JC had been working from and started flipping through the pages angrily.

"What the hell are you doing?"

JC was quick to answer.

"It's called arrangement. Most of the songs could use some."

Justin's face had two spots of color high on his cheeks now and the hand holding the folder was white-knuckled, but if JC noticed, he didn't let on. Justin had not looked back up. His pace had slowed on the pages with the most writing and his fingers searched the margins of each page before he moved on. On one song in particular, his eyes narrowed and JC saw him literally scratch the page with his nail, like he was marking it. It was then that he realized that Justin was playing his part of the song, almost unconsciously. At one point he seemed to nod, fully focused on the page in front of him. Nothing Chris had said to Justin at the station had made the slightest impression. This however had gotten his attention.

When he spoke again, the threat in his voice was palpable.

"You're here to fucking sing. That's all."

JC looked back toward the window and blew an arc of breath against the cold glass. "It needs work. You could have done it yourself if you weren't so busy being pissed off."

He looked back at Justin and they locked eyes. Justin tightened his jaw, then flexed his free hand, spreading the fingers in the way boxers do after their hands are wrapped. He wanted to fight. JC could feel it and for a brief moment, he considered getting in the first punch. A clean shot that would bloody his nose. It would be over fast instead of the standard two minute brawl that came with an adrenalin rush that would keep him up all night. He was tired enough already. Justin must have seen it in his eyes. He didn't look away, but he opened his mouth, panting, like an animal who couldn't decide if he was predator or prey.

All at once Chris was in the aisle between them. JC had never seen him get up. He'd been looking at Justin so hard that everything away from his face had lost focus. Chris's voice was steady when he spoke.

"We've done our own music up to now. Doesn't mean it has to stay that way. You got something better, we'll take a look at it."

The color in Justin's face was gone now and his mouth worked silently, but he didn't speak.

JC had never taken his eyes off Justin, and the skin on his own face looked tight now, like it was being pulled from the inside. His mouth hardly moved when he spoke.

"There's nothing wrong with the songs. Welsh knew what he was doing. But he's not here now. A couple of them need work if I'm going to sing them every night. That's all this is about."

Chris took a long look at Justin, then turned back up the aisle, calling over his shoulder as he went.

"Nottingham in five. Don't leave any of your shit behind."

Justin continued to glare at him as JC pulled the folder out of his hand and tucked it into his backpack.

When the train stopped, JC waited until Justin was in the aisle and then followed him to the platform. Chris was standing by the cab, talking to Nels. He stopped as they approached and stepped back, making room for both of them to get in. But Justin waved him off and ducked into the front seat, pulling the door closed behind him.

-::-

JC hadn't called Tony the first night he got in because he didn't want to sound like a girl. He was tired and a little overwhelmed. The guys in the band had seemed okay and there wasn't much else to talk about. He didn't call the next night because he'd wanted to hear the band play first, to get a feel for things. And that had never happened. He'd spent most of that day shaking hands with people whose names he wouldn't remember, smiling and nodding when they said something that he didn't really understand.

He hadn't called on the third day either. That was the day he'd met Justin.

JC covered his face with his hand. He wanted to protest. To tell Tony to fuck off, that he didn't know what he was talking about.

But he couldn't find the words to do it.

-::-

They'd had their first performance with a new lead singer. It made sense to meet and go over the set list. To talk about what worked and what didn't. JC had been expecting it, and he'd gone over what he wanted to say so that it would come out right.

It had been a complete waste of time.

Every member of the band had been on time. Every one of them had a folder of sheet music in front of them.

And, except for JC, every one of them had been drunk off his ass.

JC had taken one sip of what Nels had called 'Speckled Hen', then put the glass down. It was worse than what Welsh had offered him that day in Orlando. He'd felt it right away, in the back of his neck, and then in his shoulders as if it was rolling down his body in a slow motion wave. The idea of drinking even one glass was crazy. Chris was on his third.

"So. Justin says you got questions."

Out of the corner of his eye, JC could see Justin watching him. He'd drawn his chair closer to the table and was leaning in now. There was only one mug in front of him, but his eyes looked glas-sy. There was no way to tell how much he'd had to drink. JC glanced at him once, then started talking.

"The set seems kind of short. I looked through the other folder Welsh gave me and didn't see any covers. But I ran into some handwritten stuff. Lyrics, but there's no music with it."

He pushed a list of songs he thought might work at Chris. The page JC pushed at Justin was different. He watched as Justin's eyes skimmed over it.

Always preaching not to be numb
When that's how you survive
Pretend to create, pretending to know
Detached and barely alive

"They're lyrics, right? Are they part of something else?

He hesitated for a minute, then pushed past Chris, disappearing through the door of the pub as JC stared after him.

Justin had been perfectly lucid, and there was no sign at all when he walked away that he was anything but sober. Unless it was humiliated. And desperately sad.

To JC they had been lyrics. To Justin they were poetry, love letters he'd written to James Welsh. Words that he had never expected anyone else to see.

JC looked back at Chris, wanting to explain himself. That he'd meant no harm. But Chris was no longer looking his way. In the short time it had taken Justin to reach the door of the pub, Chris had hoisted himself onto the table and was now cheering loudly as Des caught a stack of coasters in mid-air without dropping any of them. Nels was busy at the next table adding more to his own stack before they were flipped again.

JC watched for a few more minutes, then picked up the folder of music and walked back to the hotel alone.

~

Sleep had not come, even after the long walk back. And for the last hour, he'd been listening to the planes from East Midlands Airport take-off and land. Now he was in the hall outside of Justin's room and he couldn't even remember getting out of bed.

Justin leaned against the door jamb, an envelope of light behind him. He was completely naked and made no move to cover himself. Something in Justin was always about control. He was doing it now. Refusing to even acknowledge that he'd answered the door naked, his cock angry and red like he'd been abusing it. He swayed a little and JC thought that he might be a little drunk now. And for some reason, he didn't like it. That Justin had needed a buzz after what had happened at the pub. After thinking about James Welsh.

For a moment JC thought that the Justin standing in the doorway tonight was the one he'd seen at the wedding. The one that had looked right through him like he wasn't there. But he was wrong. This Justin was watching him. The confusion and grief that JC had seen at the pub were gone now. These eyes were predatory. He was pushing at the inside of his mouth with his tongue, and when he let his jaw drop, JC could see him swipe the back of his teeth with it. He was breathing very slowly and JC tried not to look at his chest. The rise and fall of it.

He'd wanted to give Justin what belonged to him, to hand him the folder and leave. But that was too much to ask now.

His eyes traveled down Justin's body almost against his will. When Justin tensed the muscle in his thigh, JC had to force himself to stand still, to not walk to him and cover that mouth with his own. But he knew that this wasn't about him. It was about James Welsh. What he'd done to Justin's body. To his mind. And the last thing that JC wanted was for Justin to confuse the two of them. He was nothing like Welsh. In fact JC had already forgotten what it was that he'd seen in Welsh that day that had convinced him to give up his life in Orlando.

To come here and take his place.

The silence thickened and JC felt his grip on the moment slipping away. Then he forced himself to remember why he was there. Not just in England but in the hallway outside of Justin's room. He had come because of the music. This was what he'd wanted. Why he'd stayed behind in Florida when everyone he knew was going to LA. It was a chance to make it on his own. To write his own music and sing with a band.

And he knew that at one time Justin had wanted the same thing. And not just because of James Welsh, but because the music mattered to him. But somehow Justin had forgotten that. And now the music and the pain were all tangled up together. And tonight he was naked and looking at JC like he wanted to be pushed on his back and fucked hard. But it had nothing to do with JC. At least not tonight. If Justin was taunting anyone, it was himself. JC was sure of that.

He'd been sure that Justin knew that too until he saw his hand move.

It had fallen below his waist, and now one long finger was sliding up and down rhythmically, following the line between his groin and his thigh. JC wanted to look away, but he was hypnotized by it. Fully clothed, Justin's body had looked hard. Cold. Now it looked warm. Layers of smooth muscle aching to be touched. He moved his hand again and began stroking himself, the fingers loosely cuffed around his cock. It was a slow, sweet rhythm that JC could taste in the back of his throat.

He had no no idea how long they stood there, but when he leveled his gaze again, Justin's eyes were on him. They studied each other for a moment longer, then Justin dropped his hand and stepped back, pulling the door open casually, as if JC had just knocked. Inside the room, a pair of grey sweats lay on the floor by the bed, but Justin made no move to put them on. Instead he picked up the room service menu and flipped through it casually.