Love Will (11 page)

If anyone can understand my sexual frustration, its my little brother. Poor Max and his boyfriend haven’t been able to be alone at all since Callen got home back in August. I’d walked in on them when they were into some pretty heavy foreplay–hell, Callen was going down on my brother, and it was apparently their first time. Thanks to me, that’s as far as they’ve
ever
gotten.

My mom and Callen’s parents are still getting used to the idea of their relationship, and none of them will allow the boys to be home alone together without supervision.

Deciding it’s too cold to be on the rocks anymore, I jog back to the bus and give my little brother a call, taking a seat next to Ben in the front cabin as he readies everything for our road trip.

“Hey, Will!” he says cheerfully, always happy to hear from me.

“Mascot… it’s official, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“I’m jealous. How’s it feel to be a Scott?”

“Weird… but good. Happy to disassociate myself from the asshole entirely.”

“I’m glad you’re able to, as well. Fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” he returns. “Where are you?”

“Duluth, Minnesota. About to head to Minneapolis.”

“There’s a big storm going that way,” he tells me.

“Yeah, I was just watching it come in over the lake. I’ll send you some pictures. It was beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful.”

“Cool. How are things?”

“Mmm,” I answer him honestly. “Having a hard time in the not-getting-any department.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he says. He has a strange lilt to his voice.

“Max?”

“Yes?”

“Did Callen finally swipe your v-card?”

He laughs under his breath before finally answering me. “Yeah.”

“Holy shit!! You didn’t call me?”

“Uhhh, no? It was kind of a private moment between me and my boyfriend…”

“I meant after…”

“It just happened last night,” he whispers into his phone.

“Oh, really? Where? How?”

“We got Callen’s parents to let me and Trey stay over for the night…”

“This is weird.”

“Shut up, it was a carefully concocted plan. It was actually Trey’s idea because he was tired of hearing Callen bitching about it.”

“He didn’t pressure you, right?”

“Hell no. I just know better than to complain to Trey about how badly I want to get laid.”

“Wow. Tell it like it is, Mascot,” I say, surprised at his blunt talk. “So where was Trey?”

“He was in the office, logged into the McNare security system so he could warn us if anyone was coming. He watched some movies. Talked to Zany. It was a little awkward after, but we all knew it would be. He was fine.”

“Oh, Max… you’re all grown up now. Was it… okay?”

“Ummm.” He hesitates. “I don’t know that you’re gonna be able to help me in this area, Will.”

I sigh before I give him the one piece of advice I can think of. “Lube.” I glance up at Ben to see if he heard me. Of course he did. Probably the
only
word he heard.

“I know.”

“Good. First time wasn’t
stellar
for me. It’s gotten exponentially better with experience.”

“Well, in all fairness, she broke your heart…” he reminds me.

“I’m talking about the physical pleasure of it, Mascot. You’ll figure it out. I mean, I’d say quickly, but since you and Callen can only be alone once every few months, it may take you two years…”

“Fuck you,” he says. I laugh at him. “I’ve had sex more recently than you have.”

“Low blow.”

“
And
I’m a Scott, and you’re not.”

“Man, enough with the insults. I feel bad enough about myself these days.” I’m still smiling when I say it. “I’ll be a part of the family come Christmastime.”

“Can’t wait to see you, Will.”

“You either, buddy. I miss you so much.”

“Hang in there. You can do this. Just, like… one day at a time. Isn’t that what they tell addicts?”

“Shit, am I an addict?” I ask him. Shit.
Am I?

“I mean, no, but… I’m just trying to speak in a language I know you’re familiar with.” But it’s funny, because I am counting days, and I don’t want to start over. Shit.

Am I?

Addiction is the underlying disease, and I know it runs in our family. I have valid reasons for wanting sex. For needing it. But I can live without it.
Right?

I am
right now
.

Twenty-one days.

Not
addicted.

Scary thought.

“You and Callen be smart. Oh, what am I saying? It’ll be forever until you get another chance to be alone again.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Tell him ‘hey.’ I hope I get to spend some time with him when I come home, too.”

“He’ll be around.”

“Good. Take care, buddy.”

“Be safe, Will… they’re talking blizzard… like, a bad one.”

“I’m in good hands,” I tell him, glaring at Ben, not feeling very confident in my safety at all. He’d never driven a bus like this until he got this one for us. In fact, he’d only gotten a driver’s license six months before that. “Love you.”

“Love you, too. Call me when you get to Minneapolis, okay?”

“I will.” I hang up and tap my phone in my hand a few times. “You prepared to drive in snow?” I ask my manager.

“How hard can it be, right?”

“Beats the hell out of me. Don’t really want to find out. Are we leaving soon?”

“Yeah. It’s not a
long
drive. Maybe we’ll beat it.”

“The worst of it, anyway. Want me to sit up here and help?”

He shrugs, overly confident, but then looks over at me and smiles. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

“Sure thing.”

An hour into the drive, the snow begins. It’s not heavy, but it’s steady. The whole band’s crowded toward the front of the bus, talking shit and keeping one another company, trying to put Ben’s nerves at ease. The fact of the matter is, none of us could do a better job than he’s doing. We just tell him to take it as slow as he wants, and to pull over at any point he feels unsafe.

The two-and-a-half-hour drive takes us six hours. We show up an hour before our sound check. We’re actually surprised the venue hasn’t canceled the show due to the weather.

“What, this?” the owner says. “Welcome to Minnesota. See that line?” We peek around the corner of the building and see a long line of fans bundled up in winter gear. “They’re here to see Damon Littlefield, and I’m not sending them home without seeing a show.”

“Wow. Dedication,” Damon says. “Come on, guys.”

“Seriously, Damon?” Tavo asks, shivering in his shorts and sleeveless down vest.

“They’ve gotta put up our set. Let’s go meet some diehard fans.”

“We’re all gonna die of pneumonia.”

I head over in front of everyone else, still bundled up in the hoodie. I have layers on underneath, but I’m still cold. I didn’t pack winter gear and didn’t expect a blizzard before Halloween. I’d just planned on having my mom send me my heavy coat when I got to LA in mid-November. My leather boots and socks are drenched through by the time I reach the crowd of now-screaming fans, the snow already up to my calves.

“I’ll warm you up, Will!” a young woman yells, holding a blanket open for me. I literally can’t say no to that offer, and jog down the line to her. I take one edge of the large, plaid blanket and wrap it around my shoulder, standing so the wind is at our backs.

“Thank you… what’s your name?”

“Trinity.”

“Pretty name… this must be some all-weather blanket. It’s
actually
warm.”

“It is. I use it to go camping.”

“So you’re a Damon Littlefield fan, huh?”

“I love him sooooo much,” she says. “And you’re awesome, too.”

“Well, thank you. And thank you for coming and standing outside for this… surely they’ll open the doors for you guys soon.”

“They just announced–ten more minutes.”

“Good. Do you have far to travel to go home after the show?”

“About an hour.”

“Yikes… the roads aren’t great.”

“Snow tires… this is Minnesota,” she says, shaking her head like it’s no big deal.

I laugh. “Okay. Well be safe out there. Thanks for sharing your blanket!”

“Good luck tonight!”

“Thank you!”

I move down the line with my Sharpie in hand, signing pictures that people hold out for me and a few CDs that fans brought with them. One young guy hands me three picks to sign. “You’re the best fucking guitarist I’ve ever heard,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“I heard you a few years ago in New York. I started playing because of you. I’ll never be as good as you are, but I practice every day.”

“Then I bet you’ll surpass me in no time. What’s your name?”

“Brent Evans.”

“I’ll remember that name. Here, have one of my picks.” I pull one out of my pocket. Damon had them made for me for my birthday. He had a logo designed and had it printed on them. Told me I needed to
brand
myself better.

“Oh, shit. I’m never gonna use it. I’ll just keep it in my wallet for luck or something.”

“Well, then take another to
use
, Brent Evans. See you in a few years, yeah?”

“Okay,” he says, nodding enthusiastically.

When they let the crowd in the doors, we all go in through the back. I shed my sweatshirt, since it’s now wet, too. Ben throws me a new one, fresh out of the merch box.

“Thanks.”

“Coffee?” he asks me.

“Please.” I find my newest guitar and start strumming the intro to the latest song Peron and I have been working on. My bassist joins me, plucking the strings with me. Eventually, Tavo’s behind his kit, testing out all his drums. I get my coffee just as Damon joins us on stage. I let the sound techs work with his mics while I warm up with my drink.

“Ben doesn’t think we’re gonna make it out of here tomorrow. The forecast just got a lot worse,” Peron says.

“That sucks. Does that mean we’re gonna have to cancel a show?”

“Probably.”

“I hate that.”

“Damon’s pissed. He’s making the call after the show.”

I think to myself. “I’d rather put my life in his hands than Ben’s. I’m cool with that.”

“Guys! You gonna play, or am I doing a cappella tonight?” Damon barks at us.

“I don’t feel much like beat-boxing, so… play, I guess,” I tell him, setting down my coffee. “Name the tune, man. I’m all yours.”

“River Song,” he says. “Tavo, count us in.”

After our sound check, we go to a green room in the back that they have decked out with food and drinks for us. It seems like the further we get into the tour, the better stocked the green rooms are. The other guys all do a shot of tequila before we go on. I stick with my coffee, happy for the warmth and the added caffeine jolt.

“Damon,” I call to him. “Come here.”

“What?” he asks, still irritated.

“Know what?”

“Get on with it.”

“There’s a fucking sell-out crowd out there who froze their asses off waiting to see us. They want to see a mind-blowing show, and I intend to give them that. If we have to take a night off, why don’t we just put the extra energy into
this
show, huh? Make this one extra special for these crazies. Okay?”

He glares at me for a few seconds, but then breaks into a resigned grin. “Okay. Okay!” he yells. “This one’s for the mad fucks out there who drove in a fucking blizzard to see us!” he rallies everyone else.

“Yeah!” we all yell.

“Let’s hope they all make it home safely, but if they don’t, let’s make sure the last show they ever see is the best show of their lives!”

We’re all quiet for a good ten seconds. “That’s fucking morbid,” Tavo says, doing another shot.

“Yeah, Damon,” Peron says.

“Not quite what I was going for,” I add on. “But, hell, yeah! For the craziest fans we’ve encountered! For Minneapolis! Let’s heat this place up!”

“Yeah!”

Even though the club owners made an announcement halfway through the show that the weather was getting worse, only a handful of people left before we finished our set. We even came out for two encores, although we didn’t have enough original music for the second one. We played a couple cover requests just for the hell of it, and the crowd loved them.