X

Our first real show.

NOLA’s Junk had been doing club circuits and small venues, and with each performance, we’d procured more fans. We never thought it would grow so fuckin’ fast, considering I’d been the lead singer a little more than a year ago, and I couldn’t fuckin’ sing in front of anyone.

But then Phil’s fuckin’ balls had dropped, and, holy shit, what a fuckin’ voice he had. I’d nearly wept with gratitude; I’d been that fuckin’ relieved. I’d had no idea how the fuck we were supposed to make it when I was scared shitless of a microphone.

As Phil’s voice resounded around the fairgrounds, I knew that this moment was going to throw us onto the path I’d been keeping my mouth shut for. We were on the third stage—the shit fuckin’ stage—but all huge bands had once graced it, and we were aiming for the fuckin’ heavens here.

Jason ripped a chord, Flipper started wailing on his drums, and I followed up with my bass, cranking out all the songs we’d spent the last two years writing. Thrash metal poured out of us, and Phil’s voice brought in the curious masses.

During our second song, a mosh pit opened up, and—fuckin’ A, man—that was just so awesome. Never had we had such a massive crowd before us, screaming and headbanging like a bunch of wild beasts.

We’d never rocked so hard. I’d never been so fuckin’ high. The energy crashing over us, the screams and shouts from the crowd—it had never been like this.

“Thank you, New Orleans!” Phil cried after our last song. “It’s been a fuckin’ pleasure playin’ for y’all. We’ll be seein’ you!”

Flipper jumped out from behind his kit, chucking his drumsticks into the audience as he made his way around to the front. The four of us lined up and wrapped our arms around each other. I breathed in the heavy scent of Phil, his sweat-slicked skin sliding over mine, making me ache in my deepest parts. And, as one, we bowed.

Fuckin’ finally, I thought. Now, it begins.

Backstage, we had our small knot of groupies waiting for us. They handed out towels and bottles of water. Groupies might be a bit strong of a term—Phil’s and Jason’s girlfriends, Flipper’s cousin Vivian, and our friend Gordy, who was the closest thing to a roadie we had.

I guessed Gordy was my personal groupie since he handed me a towel and water. I didn’t have my own female, and while I thought Gordy was a decent-looking fellow, I wasn’t interested in him in that way. We’d been friends since elementary school.

And I…I’d always be in love with Phil.

“Fuckin’ awesome set,” Gordy grunted.

“Fuck yeah, it was,” I replied.

“What’d you think, baby?” I heard Phil ask, his deep fuckin’ voice punching me below my sternum.

I turned to see him mopping himself off and talking to his girlfriend, Danica. She stood a few feet back from him, not wanting his sweaty body coming into contact with hers. She was a pretty thing. Almost every fucker in high school had wanted a piece of her, and Phil had had a crush on her for so long. He liked blondes and redheads the best, and Danica’s hair was the color of sunlight and wheat.

She smiled up at him. “I thought it was great.”

Danica suffered through our music, just like I felt she suffered through her and Phil’s relationship. I had no idea why he put up with her ass. She wasn’t a mean person or anything, and admittedly, I was fuckin’ jealous that she had him the way she did. But…she didn’t understand Phil. She didn’t care about the shit he did. To her, he was a trophy boyfriend and a huge fuckin’ slap to her parents’ faces. He was a massive half-breed metalhead, and she had been raised by snobs. They’d been together a little over a year, and I had the feeling, once NOLA’s Junk started branching out, they would end.

It couldn’t happen fast enough.

Gordy and Vivian took off to start breaking down our equipment, and I followed to help. Jason had just fucked off with his crap and left the rest of us to do the work. I loved Jace to bits, but he was a fuckin’ insufferable douche at times, and after a set was always one of those times.

Even without Jason, we got that shit broken down quick, and soon, the rest of us were off for some beers and to check out the other bands. Our friend Darren Wright had made us all fake IDs. He was good at shit like that; plus, he was an amazing tattooist even though he was still an apprentice. He’d done Phil’s dream-catcher tattoos on his head a few weeks ago.

Gordy, Flipper, Vivian, and I met up with Darren by the beer stand not too far from the shit stage.

“Fuckin’ awesome, man!” he cried when he spotted us. “You guys fuckin’ owned that shit! Best show yet!”

We gave each other a man hug, clapping one another’s backs.

“It was insane,” I replied. “I didn’t think we’d bring on that big of a crowd.”

“Just fuckin’ wait. This ain’t nothing compared to what’s comin’. I fuckin’ know it. You guys are gonna blow the fuck up.”

“Too fuckin’ right,” said Flipper.

“Where’s Phil?” asked Darren.

“Probably off blowin’ a load,” replied Flip. “I can’t think of any other reason he needed to drag Danica with us. She ain’t good for anythin’ else.”

Vivian gave Flipper a sharp poke in his ribs with her elbow.

“Ow! Seriously, Viv. The bitch is a drag.”

“Yeah, but he loves her, so leave her alone.”

I seriously doubted Phil felt that strongly for the chick. She was hot, and for the moment, she was his. That was it.

“When’s the next show?” asked Darren, steering the conversation away from Phil’s girlfriend.

“Friday, in Lafayette,” I replied.

“I got some friends who are interested in helping you guys out at sets. You remember Scott Arron, the guy who moved in eleventh grade?”

“Hell yeah,” I replied. “He played guitar in that one band but broke his hand and couldn’t play for a while, right?”

Darren nodded. “He’s looking to get back into it. And his brother, Steve, has no job, but he’s done breakdowns for other local bands.”

“I still talk to Steve,” said Gordy. “He likes the production side of the biz.”

“We’ll talk to Phil about it and see what we can do,” I said. “And Jace, too,” I added as an afterthought.

“Where’s he at?” asked Darren.

“Who the fuck knows?” I grumped.

I had thought that, after the success of this show, our brothers would want to fuckin’ hang out and celebrate. But, just like after every other fuckin’ performance, Phil and Jace had wandered the fuck off.

“There they are,” said Viv, pointing at the side of the shit stage.

Jace had his arm draped around Felicia Harris, who was his girlfriend when it was convenient for him. Phil had a dopey grin on his face, which meant Danica had slobbered all over his dick since she wasn’t one to bend over.

Poor guy.

He’d never done anything but missionary. He’d also told me he had to hold his dick when they did it. He’d never do it fuckin’ doggy-style because he was afraid of tearing Danica up.

The guys didn’t know that, and I’d sworn to Phil I’d never tell anyone what had happened the first time he had sex.

I wanted to enjoy the rest of the day with my brothers—and Viv ’cause that chick was cool as fuck—but it wasn’t meant to be. Phil was more concerned about Danica getting too close to a mosh pit and getting hurt, and the way things progressed during the afternoon, Jace and Felicia were in danger of being arrested for indecent exposure and lewdness.

It won’t always be like this, I told myself.

It couldn’t be. My silence—my fuckin’ life—was counting on it.

Two days after the music festival, we were all over at Phil’s place in the Garden District, getting ready for a weekend tour through a couple of clubs, starting in Lafayette.

Phil’s dad, Louis, had called a band meeting, and as it was, the man was running a little late. Danica and Felicia were nowhere to be seen—thank fuck—and we were all pretty sober, sitting like scared kids in the Deveraux living room, as though waiting for punishment.

“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Jason asked Phil.

Phil shrugged.

“Why is your dad callin’ a fuckin’ band meetin’?”

“I don’t know,” Phil replied. “He just said he wanted all of us here. He had somethin’ to tell us.”

“Bullshit,” Jason grumped.

“Well, it can’t be a bad fuckin’ thing,” I stated. “The man gives us his full support.”

Since none of us had any inclination to go to college, Louis Deveraux had made us all swear that we would do whatever it took to make it with music.

Phil nodded again and rubbed his hands over his face. “Yeah, I don’t get a bad feelin’ from this. Dad just said to wait until he got back.”

Jason mumbled something that sounded like, “Fuckin’ parents.”

Flipper lifted his leg and farted at Jason.

“Douche! What the fuck?”

“You keep spewin’ shit, Jace. I just thought I’d contribute,” Flipper replied.

Just then, we heard Louis pulling into the driveway, and then two car doors slammed shut. We sat up a bit straighter as the front door opened, and Louis walked in along with a young man with a brown white-dude Afro and black-rimmed glasses.

“Hey, boys,” said Louis.

“Hey,” we all replied.

Phil looked relaxed, and I thought that maybe he already knew the guy with his dad.

“So, now that you guys are starting to really get into this, I thought you might need a full-time manager,” said Louis. “This is Timothy Williams. His dad is a good friend of mine.”

“Hey, guys,” said Timothy. “Good to see you again, Phil.”

“You, too, man,” replied Phil, his voice hitting a deeper note.

“You ain’t gonna manage us no more?” asked Jason. He looked a little panicked.

“That was only supposed to be temporary until you boys got your foot in the door. I want you to give Tim here a chance. He’s been interning at my firm, but he doesn’t feel like it’s his thing anymore. Right, Tim?”

“Right.”

“So, since you boys are going to be out there, you’re going to need someone to hold shit together.”

I always loved how Phil’s dad just said it like it was. He didn’t try to shield us, didn’t want to protect us with proper language. He was always a groovy dude.

“And I think Tim would be a good fit for you all,” Louis finished. “He’s ready to go with you this weekend.”

“How are we going to pay him?” asked Phil. “We’re not making any money yet.”

“He’s contracted through my company. He’ll stay on the payroll until you do.”

“Seriously?” said Phil, perking up.

Louis smiled. “Seriously.”

We all stared at Timothy Williams, the band assessing the man.

Will he be able to handle us?

Granted, the only ego that was too big among us was Jason’s. The rest of us were laid-back. All we really required was some beer and weed, and we were set.

But none of us were willing to do the role of manager. We shamelessly pimped ourselves out, but the actual business end of this was about as interesting as a pile of garbage.

“I’m all for it,” I stated.

“Couldn’t hurt,” grunted Flip.

“I’m in,” said Phil. “We can’t do it ourselves, and Dad has other shit to do besides manage us. I know Tim. He’s good people.”

That seemed to sway Jace. “Right. Let’s do this then.”

Phil had spent a couple grand on an old camper for us to travel in. There was enough room to store all of our shit and equipment, plus Tim. Phil had to sleep on the floor—his ass was so huge—and Flipper got the nasty old couch. I had to sleep with fucking Jason in the twin pullout bed. Tim, who was taking over the driver’s position, was sleeping in the pilot seat.

Flipper was on the couch with his earphones in, and Jason was passed out in the back.

“Hey, man,” I said, sitting across from Phil at the tiny kitchenette table. I dropped a deck of cards down in front of him.

Phil grinned, and my heart stuttered. I didn’t know what it was about him that affected me so damn much. Yeah, he was a gorgeous guy, but I’d fucked my fair share of both chicks and dudes, and none of them made me feel as giddy as this motherfucker right here.

“Poker?” he asked, pulling the deck from the pack.

“I hardly know ’er,” I replied. “I wanted to talk to you,” I said quietly.

“Sure, man.”

What Vivian had said after the show, about Phil loving Danica, had me obsessed. “Do you love Danica?”

Phil’s hands stilled, and his eyes met mine. I loved his eyes—the color of maple syrup with just as much sweetness. Phil’s soul shone through them.

Right now, he was worried that I was letting out my deep-seated feelings for him.

“It’s not that, man,” I said, irritated.

“Then, what?”

It had been bothering me for a couple of days now, and I had to know because, if I was willing to lay down my life for these guys, the band—our success—had to be just as important to them as it was to me.

“Just answer the question.”

“Well…yeah, I think so.”

“You think so?”

“Why else would I be with her?”

“Do you plan on marrying her and shit?”

“I’ve never thought that far ahead. I’m happy with shit as it is. Why?”

“It’s just…if it came down to choosing between Danica and the band…”

“Oh. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“No? If she told you to quit and—”

“I ain’t quitting. I ain’t ever gonna choose her over us. We’ve worked too fuckin’ hard for me to want to give this up for a chick.”

A chick.

“So, she’s really just some chick to you?”

“She’s my girl, X. It is what it is.”

But I knew different. Phil had a secret part of his heart he’d given to a girl he could hardly remember, and I had a feeling that no one else had ever come close to the feeling he’d had when he met his little box of sunshine. He still had a photo of the two of them tacked to his corkboard back in his bedroom.

“Are you really worried that I would?” Phil softly asked.

“It’s just something I’ve been wondering about recently. Danica’s a good girl, but…”

“But what?”

“I just don’t think she’s the one for you. Don’t get mad at me, okay?”

“I ain’t mad. I…”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think she’s the one for me either.”

“Really? You’ve liked her for so long, man. I thought for sure, when you two finally hooked up, it was fuckin’ rainbows and kittens and shit.”

Phil busted out laughing, the sound warming me down deep. His laughter was just the best.

“Naw, man. Maybe, at first, it was really awesome. But, now…”

“Are you gonna break up with her then?”

“No. Like I said, I’m happy with where we are. I just don’t see it going anywhere.”

That made me feel better.

Phil reached across the table and gave my forearm a squeeze. “I ain’t ever gonna give up the band, X. We’ve spent the last twelve years doin’ this. You and me…we’re seeing this shit through to the end. No matter what.”

I nodded. “You promise?”

“Fuck yeah, I promise.”

It was this moment, more than any other, when I knew I would go through anything to give this man—my first true love—the life he wanted. Deserved.

Even if it cost me my own.