Santiago
The bus sped down another highway, another country. Too dark to see out the windows, we could have been anywhere, even another planet. We played a show tonight and barely got off stage before we were hustled out to the bus, driving away while fans were still pouring out of the venue. Someone at the record label had misjudged distance, misread a map, and now we had to drive a thousand miles before our next show. We’d be trapped on this bus all night and all day tomorrow. Flying would’ve been a hell of a lot easier, but getting our crew and us on a flight last minute wasn’t happening.
Driving, driving, never anywhere, always moving. That’d been my life for the past five years. It’d be my life for the foreseeable future. These kids, Mo and Murray, they weren’t quite brothers, but they were something close. Maybe cousins who lived a state away, but we spent summers together. Something like that. I liked being on the road with them. Didn’t mind not being home for long periods, even though I’d grown up hearing home and family were of the utmost importance. My old man never even gave me shit for being gone for so long—not when I was living my dream and his.
Yael had gone home for a couple weeks, so the bus was quieter. No bickering between her and Murray or her and Mo. It was calm, even with Maeve here, driving me to distraction.
Murray flopped on the couch opposite me, holding a Hot Pocket wrapped in a paper towel.
“That’ll kill you,” I said.
He took a bite, cheese and sauce dripping on his chin. “Look at this. Doesn’t it look worth shaving a few years off my life?”
Mo slapped his arm. “Weren’t you ever told not to talk with your mouth full?”
“Nope. Never. Is that a common rule?” Murray took another bite of death wrapped in cardboard. The kid was in ridiculously good shape for someone who ate like a drunken frat boy.
Laughing, I rubbed a hand over my gritty, tired eyes. It was a good tired, so I didn’t mind it much. Doing the thing I loved with the people I liked a lot made all the work I put into it not seem much like work.
“Have you heard from Diego?” Mo asked.
“Yeah.” I pressed my heel against my eyebrow, trying to catch up to the sudden change of conversation. “I talked to him again a couple days ago. He’s been doing well in the sober house. They have a guitar there he’s using regularly. He said he sat around a firepit playing songs for the other residents.”
“Cool.” Murray nodded. “Sometimes that wholesome, Kumbaya stuff is what you need to heal.”
“Right? I could go for some wholesome every now and then,” Mo said.
Murray rolled his eyes. “We’re not talking about chicks, man.”
Mo stole the rest of Murray’s Hot Pocket and tossed it to the other end of the lounge. Murray swatted him on the back of the head, then got up and threw the ruined food in the trash.
“While we have a second where it’s just the three of us, I wanted to touch base about Maeve,” Mo said in a hushed voice when Murray sat back down.
“What’s up?” I asked. Maeve was showering in the back of the bus, and probably getting a break from the three of us. Couldn’t blame her. Traveling with these guys, day in and day out, took some getting used to. She’d been right when she’d said I wasn’t messy. I kept my shit tight and right. Mo and Murray? Nah, couldn’t say the same. They left piles of sweaty clothes on the floor, and wet towels hung over the bathroom door. Mo liked to hang his leather pants up to “air them out,” but we all knew the kid didn’t wear underwear. His dick fumes were floating free around the bus. I’d seen Maeve eye the hanging pants with a horrified look on her face. She was well aware of the dick fumes.
“Nothing’s up. I just want to know your opinions on how she’s fitting in. Clark mentioned needing her to sign a contract if we want her to continue after the tour. I’m feeling some kind of way about her, but I want to make sure we’re all on the same page.” Young Mo wasyoung, but when he needed to take the lead, he didn’t hesitate. It’s why I followed him five years ago, and it was why I stayed tied to him all these years later.
“I want to keep her forever and ever. She and I are in a gang,” Murray said. “Plus, she’s the best drummer we’ve had, no offense to Diego. And she dresses our stage up, which doesn’t hurt.”
I held my hands up. “I don’t disagree.”
“That’s not an opinion,” Mo said.
“Yeah.” Murray’s eyes narrowed in a challenging way. “I’m not hearing any kind of opinion. You have to have one, Santi.”
I tipped my chin at Mo. “What’s yours?”
Mo sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Maeve’s great. You know I love her. I can see her staying, being a part of us. And when she signed on for the tour, I pictured it becoming a permanent thing. But my loyalty lies with Diego. I know he walked away, but I wonder if he’ll want to come back now that he’s sober and thinking clearly. I have a hard time closing that door on him, you know?”
I nodded, pressing my lips together in a straight line. “I know.”
Murray sprung up from his seat, his hands on his hips. “The two of you cannot be serious right now.” He sliced his hand through the air in front of him. “Man, fuck that shit. Diego lied, and then he walked. Brother or not, we don’t owe him loyalty. He wasn’t loyal to us when he was getting fucked up before he got on stage.” His eyes met mine, then Mo’s. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. He was a sloppy-ass drummer there at the end. He couldn’t wait to get off stage and get away from us.”
Every word he said had my muscles tightening. Before the thought registered, I was out of my seat, fisting the front of his shirt. “That’s my brother, motherfucker,” I gritted out.
Murray tried to shove me away, but I had a good grip on him. “And what’s Maeve to you? You’re just going to sell her out? Really, Santi?”
My hands tightened, and I shook him, like I could rattle some sense into him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. But keep going. Your face is looking a little too pretty.”