Love Will (2 page)

“Don’t need to worry about it tonight. Our dates just got pulled over.”

“Shit!” Tavo says, pushing me to the dashboard and crawling in the seat so he can peer out the window.

“Watch it, dick!” I shove his shoulder hard on the way back to my bunk. “No mobile orgy!”

“We’re voting on that tomorrow!” Damon yells back at me.

“If you really want to find two new band members the day of your first gig, that’s fine by me.”

“No mobile orgy,” Ben confirms. “I don’t have time to find new guitarists. Damon, you have no sound with just you and a drum kit. Sorry.”

“Mobile orgy?” Peron asks from behind his curtains.

“I took care of it. Go back to sleep for a little longer.”

“Thanks.”

I lie back down in my cubby, affixing the heavy fabric to keep out the light. The curtains reek of stale cigarettes from the last people who owned it. Ben said it belonged to a good band who made it big and upgraded to something nicer. Let’s hope their mojo lingers like the musty odors do.

With the three half-naked women still on my mind, I glance down at my pants, which have now become their own campsite with ample sleeping quarters under the tent.
How the hell am I supposed to take care of this on a bus with four other guys?
I’m used to having sex with women multiple times a week. Yeah, I went on this tour to make changes, and hooking up with the women in the limo would have been the exact opposite of what I had in mind, but I didn’t see myself being completely chaste for
seven fucking months
. I feel a twitch, then an ache, as if it’s reminding me it needs attention.

The shower.

Oh, God, no
.

If the other four guys haven’t come to this realization yet, they will soon, and that means that tiny shower stall is about to become the most used traveling masturbatorium in the States, also known as the dirtiest, nastiest place I’m forced to clean myself daily.

“Ohhh,” I say aloud. “Aurghhh!” I squint my eyes, trying to rid my brain of the sight my imagination has conceived. At least it got rid of my current problem. “Fuck.”

“You’re not petting Big Willy down there, are you?” One of Damon’s feet touches my arms from under the curtain.

“Is he?” Tavo asks, laughing.

I throw open the curtains and look up at my bandmates. “Is this how it’s gonna be every night?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. It’s barely midnight, and you lamefucks have been in bed for hours.”

“It was a long day. I’m sunburned. Side effects of a sunburn: dehydration and fatigue. Look it up.” I glance at the two empty water bottles in my bed. “That’s probably why you two assholes got so drunk off so little earlier.”

“But man… we’re on tour! Where’s the adrenaline, huh?” Damon asks. “The excitement? Aren’t you excited?”

“Of course I am. But we kicked it off spending the afternoon at the Jersey shore with our friends and then at a beach doing a concert–that after a night of packing up all the shit in our apartment for storage.

“Plus, this fight with my brother’s been on my mind a lot.”

“Oh, wait.” He walks to the kitchen area and picks up a pad of paper and a pen. “Feelings. Write ‘em down. This could be a song.” He bites his lip to stave off the laughter.

“Fuck you, man,” I say, smiling back at him and shoving the stationery supplies in his chest.

“Jon’s been a dick. You’re rid of him for seven months. We’re your brothers now. No judgment here. You wanna sleep with those honeys in the limo? You go right ahead.”

“You know I’m trying
not
to
sleep with the honeys
.”

“You don’t have to sleep with
all
of them. You said you were going to slow it down,” he reminds me of what I’d talked myself into. “It’s a good goal. Fucking
stupid
, but you say it’s what you want.”

“
So
fucking stupid,” Tavo says. “Shit, I say take advantage of what you got while you have it, man. If women want to throw themselves at your feet, let ‘em. Someday, you’ll get old and ugly, and they’ll stop coming around. Then what’re you gonna do?”

That’s kind of the point
. I’d like to find a woman who’ll like me now, and later, too, when I’m old and ugly. “I guess then I’ll find someone more attractive to hang around, and take their leftovers,” I answer our drummer. “That’s what you do, right?”

Peron laughs from his bunk first, surprising us all that he’s been listening all this time, and Damon joins in seconds later. Tavo shoots me the bird before he walks to the living area where the TV is, turning it on and grabbing a wireless controller for the Xbox.

Poor Tavo wasn’t really blessed with looks
or
brains, but he can keep tempo better than a metronome. I do okay on my own, but he’s like a robot when it comes to rhythm. And he can’t be distracted, either.

I think he’s the only person I’ve met who can somewhat relate to the issues I experience with my brain. He says he’s sometimes driven to madness when he listens to music and can hear how the beat drags, or is rushed by just a nanosecond. Sometimes it even bothers him in the cadence of people’s speech, how he expects them to enunciate a word or put emphasis on words in a sentence. Even though that doesn’t make complete sense to me, I can relate. When I see things in patterns, I notice when something’s not at a perfect angle or just slightly out of line. Looking away doesn’t settle the discomfort I feel. I want to fix it, but in most cases, I can’t. I always have to distract myself with something else, and it’s normally another equation or theorem or hypothetical situation that I decide I need to work though.

Honestly, it’s not fair for me to say Tavo has no brains. He’s got a curious mind and retains knowledge. I think he just had an unfortunate upbringing. He came from a dysfunctional family, not too different from mine. His mom was an alcoholic, like mine was, and his dad was absent. While mine was in jail most of my childhood, his dad had died young from a heart attack. Tavo had a few step fathers who saw no potential in him, and Tavo was the oldest of three kids. He wasn’t lucky like me.

I had Jon. My older brother was actually my half-brother. His dad was a genius, and Jon must’ve inherited all of his father’s intellectual capacity and discipline. He was a sponge–soaked it all in, and he loved to learn. When he wasn’t at home watching us, he was either at the local art school, perfecting his talent, or at the library, reading.

But more often than not, he was at home watching me and Max. The three of us grew up in a fatherless home. While Jon’s dad was a decent man, he was lacking in the love and affection department, and had no idea how to raise a child. He left that responsibility up to our mom, even though she was drowning in her alcoholism.

So after Max was born, and Jon was about twelve, he essentially took over as the head of our household–and Mom let him. So did I. I respected him and listened to him. I was four years younger, and he was always my hero. He rescued me more times than I can remember. I knew whatever he told me to do was for my own good, so I obeyed. When he studied, and I was finished with my homework, I’d stick around him and follow along. He picked up on my interest in math and science, so he’d hold off on those subjects until last, just so I could learn along with him.

By the time I got to high school, I tested out of all the classes I could, and took college-level courses while the majority of my classmates learned concepts and theories and lessons I’d mastered years ago. My teachers were ill-equipped to teach me, but I didn’t really need them. I had books and a brain. Jon had taught me the basics, and if I had any questions, I could call him and he could talk me through anything.

To this day, I know I wouldn’t be where I am without my brother. I have no doubt it’s part of the reason he’s so pissed at me. He probably thinks I was just a waste of his time. That I’m throwing away years and years of schooling and money to go do trivial work like play in a band.

“Wanna kill some zombies with us?” Damon asks on his way to the TV.

“Nah,” I tell him, shutting myself back into my bunk. After losing hours of my life lost in a video game a few months ago, I vowed to never play again. Sure, it got my mind off things, but I’d never felt so useless in my life. I remember the joy it used to bring me when I was a teenager; when playing a game was a luxury to me. It was an escape from my mother and the adult responsibilities I faced at home. When I realized I’d ignored an important phone call from my sixteen-year-old brother, Max, just because I was busy racing virtual ATVs with Tavo and Damon, I told myself I’d never make such a poor decision again. Max had been through a difficult few months. I’m happy he and his boyfriend are in a good place now. It made me feel much better about this tour than I did toward the middle of the summer when I caught the two of them together.

Until then, no one knew Max was gay.

“Why are we stopping?” I hear Peron ask. “Will?”

I look out the window and see the venue we’re playing in about twenty-one hours. “We’re here.” Ben parks the bus in some gravel a few buildings away from the mid-sized club.

“That was fast.”

“We went from New York to P.A., man. What were you expecting?”

“A good night’s sleep,” he says.

I poke my head out to see him looking at me. “That ended last night. You realize that, right? This is life with Damon. Get used to it.”

“You guys wanna go get a drink?” When Damon asks, it’s not really a question. He expects us all to go with him, and we always have fun, regardless of the fact that I don’t drink.

“Let me put on some clothes.”

“We’ll have much better luck if you don’t,” Tavo says.

“Luck doing what?” I ask, grabbing the shorts I’d had on earlier and a vintage Radiohead t-shirt. “Need I remind you we’re on a bus?”

“Nobody said we couldn’t go home with someone.”

“Good point,” I say, then lean over and whisper to Peron. “Now that’s the key to getting a good night’s sleep. You get ‘em out of the bus, you’re home free.”

“I think I’ll stay back,” he says.

“No,” I say, grabbing his arm and pulling him out of bed. “We all go for a few rounds. You know the drill. Don’t be the buzzkill on day one, Peron.”

“Brooke doesn’t want me out in bars, Will,” he says as I step into the bathroom to change.

“Uhhh, buddy? You realize a third of the places we’re playing are bars, right?”

“I have permission to go in
those
.”

“Whoa.” I step around the corner once I’ve got my shorts on and pull the shirt over my head, looking seriously at Peron. “Permission? This doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not.”

“Do something with your hair. You’re coming with us.”

“Will…”

“If we have to fucking play a song there so you’re allowed to go, then I’ll bring my guitar, but you’re going in.”

He nods and ducks into the bathroom to check his hair. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and pull on my worn Vans, then pick up my wallet on the way to the door. “You wearing that?” I ask Tavo, looking at the shirt he’d spilled food on hours ago. “They’ll smell you comin’.”

“Fuck.”

“Damon, come on. I’ve got Peron. You’re supposed to watch Tavo. That was the deal.” We both laugh, but there’s always been a little truth behind it. Tavo tends to do whatever Damon asks, and if Peron needs a little arm-twisting, the band turns to me.

“We gonna find you a lady tonight?” he asks me.

“Nah, I’m good. I feel strong today.” He pats me on the back. “That could change in the flutter of an eyelash, though, so don’t hold me to that.”

“I’ll follow your lead, man.”

“Peron!” I yell once Tavo’s joined us with what I assume is a fresh shirt, although I can’t tell through the wrinkles.

“Coming!”

“You guys are paying your own tabs tonight,” Ben tells us as he emerges from the driver’s seat, locking his ledger in a small safe he’d purchased. “The band isn’t ready to foot the bill yet.”

“Man, fuck you, Damon,” I say, punching him lightly in the chest as I push past him and out the door.

“Yeah, Damon,” Tavo says, following suit.

“Just wait until tomorrow. The sky’s the limit, boys. We’re gonna be rollin’ in it. Just wait. Our lives are about to drastically change.”

I can’t wipe the grin from my face at the prospect of that. I really, truly believe my best friend. He has the charisma and talent to make it happen–and his back-up band’s not so bad, either.

Chapter 2

This bar is much busier than I expected for such a small college town–especially because it seems too early for fall classes to have started up already.

“Damon Littlefield!” the bartender yells, fist-bumping my friend over a row of patrons leaning into his bar. “Welcome! What can I get you?”

Everyone within earshot turns to look at him, eyes wide, jaws dropped. They part so he can move closer to the bar. We’ve been in our New York bubble for so long, I wasn’t sure how he’d be received outside the city. Ben assured us we were getting lots of airplay all over the country, and the charts showed that, but reality really didn’t set in until this moment.