“Not until next week,” Easton clips out, ending the conversation.
For the rest of the short drive, I feel a low-lying tension brewing between Easton and me and know that—true to Easton’s nature—it’s only a matter of time before he confronts it, us, all of it.
Despite his confrontational nature, he’s been oddly evasive this morning, which has me pondering why. At first, I thought he was doing it just to rile me up. But after replaying his stunted actions this morning, I decide he’s definitely holding onto something. Knowing he’ll inevitably come clean when he’s ready, I make the most of the rest of my time with the band and use it to dig into their individual histories.
I discovered Syd’s father was a musician—as is most of his family—and Syd started to play at the very early age of five, tackling piano before finding his love of the baseline. He played in his last band for five years before two of his bandmates became romantically involved and, in his words, “fucked it all to shite.”
Tack was a member of a high school garage band for years and reported they came close to getting signed before they broke up. He then jumped to another band that broke up when the lead singer quit by not showing up for a stage call and took a full-time job at the urging of his wife. Tack packed his sticks away and went to work full time for UPS eighteen months before he got Easton and Reid’s call, further driving home Easton’s point that no success happens overnight.
Due to LL’s blatant tune-out, I don’t press him for his own details, but it seems they’ve all traveled very different roads to get to this point. Between Tack’s recollection and Syd’s contributions to the conversation, it seems their goal is the same—to play music for a living. The underlying desperation is indicative that they feel this may be their last chance to do it. I find myself hopeful for them all as I listen attentively.
The minute we pull up to the auditorium, the band immediately disperses. Upon exiting, I find myself stopping LL before he can reach the back of the second van where Easton converses with Joel as they open the back doors.
“Leif?” I call softly to his back.
He turns to face me, his expression indiscernible.
“I-I know it’s not my place, but I just wanted to ask you if you’re okay?”
Hovering a foot above me, his pale blue eyes lower before focusing on me. It’s then I notice the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, his skin practically translucent in the early morning light. He remains mute as I stand in front of him, feeling like an idiot. “Sorry, it’s not my business.” I move to step around him, and he stops me with a gentle grasp on my arm.
“Sorry, love, you took me by surprise. Truth is…it’s been a very long time since anyone asked me that.”
“I hate hearing that, I really do. So…are you feeling well?”
“To be honest, I’m a bit knackered this morning, but I’ll be fine.”
“Well, if there’s anything you need, don’t be afraid to ask, okay?”
He tilts his head at me curiously, and my chest tightens with ache. Does the man really have no one looking out for him? Feeling that may be the truth of it, I muster a smile. “I hope you have a great show tonight.”
“Thank you.” His lips lift in an appreciative smile before he turns to grab his equipment from the van. I catch Easton’s gaze—which lingers on me briefly—before he turns back to help unload the wall of instruments. The second I step up to offer a helping hand, he speaks up. “Joel’s going to get you checked into the hotel. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“Sure you don’t want me to help?”
“We’re good,” he quickly replies before turning and striding toward the building, guitar case in hand. Turning back to Joel, he gives me an easy smile. “Want to catch up over breakfast?”
“I would love that,” I say, glancing back in the direction Easton left. Within minutes, Joel secured both Easton’s and my luggage in his hands and is rolling it toward a waiting SUV in the parking lot with me in tow.
“I see we’re traveling in style today.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Joel says.
“Do you get lonely driving the second van?”
“Hell no. I prefer it.”
“Are you having a good time at least?”
“For the most part, yeah.” He nods as he starts the SUV, a fond sparkle in his eyes. “I’m so fucking proud of him, Natalie. I didn’t think he was going to do it.” He turns to me.