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.
“Nuh-uh, oh no, don’t credit me for that. He did it all on his own.”
Joel puts the truck into gear and shakes his head. “You know as well as I do, that’s bullshit.”
“Ha! And you know all too well that man doesn’t do a damn thing he doesn’t want to.”
“Well, something or someone shined a light in the right direction,” he adds as I shake off his compliment, ignoring the bat shit flutter threatening in my chest.
Stuck in the Middle with You
Stealers Wheel
Natalie
“What the fuck?!” Easton barks as we fly past another sign on the interstate, and I try to decipher it, equally as confused as I was when we passed the last one. In the next second, Easton taps the brakes hard, lurching me forward before screaming out of his driver-side window. “Fucking idiot!”
Unsurprisingly, it’s the same sentiment he’s spouted toward every driver who’s come before the last. He braves a glance over at me, another car whizzing past us, coming dangerously close before darting into the next lane. “Did you see what the speed limit is?”
I scan the side of the highway for another sign and try to make sense of it. “I think there are four speed limits. It depends on the type of vehicle you’re driving and whether it’s day or night.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
I shrug. “I say go with the flow of traffic?”
Just as I say it, multiple cars blur around us as if we’re in a Formula One race.
“With the flow?!” Easton shrieks, his expression bewildered as I press my lips together to stifle my laughter.
“So, I’m guessing this is the downside of having a driver most of your life?”
“Don’t give me that shit. I’ve driven nearly every fucking highway since we left Washington. This isn’t fucking normal or in any way acceptable!” He declares, his posture ramrod straight. His eyes frantically dart across the six-lane highway as he white-knuckles the wheel before glancing over to see my amusement. “Think this is fucking funny? This isn’t fucking funny!”
“S-s-sorry, I’ve just never seen you so wound up.”
“Is your seatbelt on?!” He doesn’t bother looking this time, his panicked eyes focusing on the road.
“Yes, Easton.”
“Double check! I’m not kidding, Natalie!” He screeches as another car darts in front of us, narrowly missing our front bumper. A long, colorful, and I’m almost certain not entirely English string of curses follows, which has my levee breaking as repressed laughter bursts out of me. After a full thirty seconds, I manage to get it to a rolling cackle.
“Natalie, this isn’t funny,” he whines. “Get us the fuck out of here!”
Pulling up my GPS app, I make a fast decision to lead us out of the city, knowing it doesn’t really get any better.
“Natalie!”
“I’m on it! Pfft, JEZUZ, Crowne. It’s clear we wouldn’t make it back united if we got lost in the Australian Outback if you act like this during times of extreme stress,” I jest. Another bout of laughter flows out of me before his desperate plea cuts through it.
“Please, baby, please,” he whimpers, “get us the fuck off this highway.”
“I’m on it,” I reply instantly, stunned by his term of endearment as the directions populate. He darts his gaze between the rearview, side view, and the road while my heart rate continues to spike, beat after beat. He’s said it before, when we were intimate, in the moment. I know why this one hit so differently. It’s because of how he said it—so naturally, as if we already exist as an us, as if I already belong to him in the most intimate sense. It’s also because I know I want so much for it to be a possibility, to be the truth. The hope circulating through me brings about the same damning conclusion I’ve been avoiding, curbing, side-stepping, ignoring, and mourning since I left Seattle.
I want to belong to Easton.
I want us to exist.
Again, I want what I can’t have.
After our very short and terrifying ride outside downtown Dallas, we ended up in Fort Worth, ironically landing at a local tourist attraction. This one of my choosing is The Herd, a longhorn cattle drive that takes place twice a day downtown in the Stockyards National Historic District.