Thirty-One
THIRTY-ONE
BANJO BY SIX
We decide to walk back to the venue instead of calling Freddy for a pick-up. Neither one of us is ready for the time away together to be over. It means we’ll be late for soundcheck, which means we’ll get a lecture from Rod.
Totally worth it.
“So, I was thinking,” Kick says as we walk down the busy sidewalk.
“Uh-oh.”
He elbows me playfully. “Since you shared a scary truth about yourself, I figured it’s only fair I share one too.”
“Your name’s not really Kick?” I say with a laugh. The look on his face tells me I’m totally right. “I have been wondering. No way your parents named your brother Steven and then named you Kick. If your name’s really Kick your brother would have been named, like,Stretch or Truckstop or Pants.”
“You think my mom would name her son Pants?”
I arch my eyebrow. “If she named her son Kick then yes, I do.”
He pulls his lower lip into his mouth. Something tells me this isn’t a secret he shares with many people, and if he shares it with me, we’ll be one step closer to identifying the invisible string that’s keeping us tethered together.
We dodge a group of men in business suits taking up the entire sidewalk before he says, “My legal name is Willard Joel Raines.”
I gasp like a scandalized church lady and pull him against the window of a Starbucks. “Your name is not Willard.” He nods, embarrassed. “No way your name is Willard. I’d expect like, Colby or Graham or Cash. Austin maybe. Even Keanu. Not Willard.”
“It’s a family name. And I would have gone by Will, obviously, but Mom said I kicked the shit out of her when I was still cooking. She started calling me Kick and the name stuck. It’s the only thing anyone’s ever called me. You are now one of a handful of people who know my real name.”
“Miguel and Mateo?”
He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “You’re the only one who’s ever pinned me down about it.”
“I hardly pinned you down.”
His eyes find mine. “You’ve been pinning me down since the moment we met.”
I’m not sure how to do this, how to flirt with someone I made-out with and then sort of resented and now perform with every night and maybe want to kiss again. And then some. We’ve done everything out of order. I’m not sure which step this is supposed to be. Today has been so awkwardly wonderful but it feels like a blip, like as soon as we step back into the venue it will all go back to our version of normal.
“What are you doing on this tour, Willard Joel Raines?”
“Sparking internet rumors about me and Mari Gold and hoping they’ll eventually come true.”
“I know there’s more hiding in there,” I say, poking his chest. “When we’re on stage, it’s like you were born to do this, like it’s the destiny of your whole life. But then we get backstage or on the bus or rehearsing a song and you’re all jokes and bravado. I can’t figure out what’s important to you, what motivated you to come on this tour.”
Kick wipes a hand across his face and looks down the street with that same far away look he always gets when he rubs his tattoo. I’ve challenged him and he’s deciding what he wants to do about it. I wait for the smartass comment, wait for him to call me Goldie, wait for the innuendo.
He takes my hand and we start back down the sidewalk.
“My family was really into music growing up.” He says it with a sigh, like he’s glad to finally get the words out. “My dad is a studio musician. He has a whole studio set-up so he can record. He’s played on tons of albums. My mom traveled as an indie artist for a while in her twenties. She was a lot like you, singer-songwriter, great voice, great guitar player. Naturally, my brother and I grew up singing and playing. My dad had every kind of instrument and would let us experiment. I was playing banjo by the time I was six.
“When we got older, Steven and I used to perform together all the time. He was the talented one, the songwriter, the driving force behind the whole thing. Even though he pitched us as a duo, I was really his drummer. We’d play anywhere he could get us a gig. One time we even played this guy’s sixtieth birthday party. His wife rented out an Olive Garden in the suburbs.”
He smiles at the memory.
“After high school, Steven was determined for us to get a record deal, do the whole thing, you know? He was always pushing my dad to use his contacts to help us, which Dad wasn’t thrilled about. He thought we should earn it. ‘Play the gigs and the rest will come,’ he’d say.
“Steven and I used to fight constantly, like siblings do. I loved him but he drove me crazy half the time, always pushing, always working an angle to get us a show or meet some A&R person, stuff like that. I loved playing, but I wasn’t sure music was what I wanted to do with my life. I never felt like it clicked with us, doing the whole artist thing together. But he’d decided, basically didn’t give me a choice.
“All brothers fight, sure, but we could really get into it sometimes, like, really get angry with each other. And over nothing, usually. We’d fight about music stuff but also about dumb things.” We’re waiting at a corner to cross the street. He goes quiet, gathering himself. “Three years ago we were driving to a gig down in Franklin, arguing about something. I honestly don’t remember what it was about.” His mouth turns down into a small frown. “I was driving. I was irritated with Steven and wasn’t paying attention and I…” He swallows, looks at me for a fraction of a second. “I didn’t see the stop sign. Or the truck going through the intersection. I woke up in the hospital with a broken clavicle and a brutal concussion.”
His scar. It’s from the accident.
“What happened to Steven?”
His head bobs to the side, answering the question. “He died at the scene.”
He pulls his hand away from mine and scrubs it down his face, wiping his eyes in the process. When he looks back at me, he’s still brimming with emotion. When I asked him what his deal was, I had no idea it ran so deep, so painful.
I loop my arm through his. “Kick. I’m so sorry.”
The light turns and we cross the street.
“After the accident, I ran from music for a while. I didn’t know how to do it without Steven, didn’t think I could. But then at that party at Jackson’s house, there was something about the way you were teasing me about being a musician. Whatever it was you saw in me, it was like Steven was waving it in front of my face. I knew Miguel and Mateo played and they let me go out on a couple gigs with them. Then Emily told us about the audition and it seemed like the right move. If you break it all down, I guess I’m here because of you and your smart mouth.”
His comment breaks the tension and we both smile.
“I auditioned for the tour because I was trying to honor Steven’s wishes. He always believed in my talent, would have been all over something like this. Of course, I never thought I’d get this far.”
“He’d be so proud of you. Your parents must be so proud that you’re doing this in his memory.”
Kick shakes his head causing a single tear to shake loose and slide down the side of his nose. I crowd closer to him, shielding him as much as I can from prying eyes.
“My mom blames me for the accident, says I should have been paying attention, that I never take things seriously. She freaked out when I told her about the tour, said I was ‘dishonoring my brother’s memory,’” His eyes spill over. His chin quivers. “She said I killed her talented son. That she’s stuck with me when he’s the one who should be here.”
I pull him under the awning of an office building as he buries his face in his hands and lets out a quiet sob. I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze.
I stand on my tiptoes and whisper in his ear. “It’s not your fault.” I know it’s not enough, but I say it again. Over and over. I kiss his temple and hold him tighter. I can’t imagine the pain he’s feeling, the underserved guilt.
He pulls away from me and wipes his face on the sleeve of his t-shirt.
“I’m sorry.” He’s not looking at me. “I probably could have picked a better place to have a breakdown than a busy sidewalk in St. Louis.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. You went through a shitty thing. You’re still going through a shitty thing. And forgive me for saying so, but what your mom said is the shittiest thing of all. If I ever meet her, I might punch her right in the face.”
That makes him laugh, hard, which makes me laugh.
“You know, I give you a hard time because, well, it’s fun to get you riled up,” he says. “But I think I’ve also been a little jealous.”
“Jealous? ”
“You’re so sure.” He wipes his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. “You know exactly who you want to be, what you want to do, and damn anyone who gets in your way. Meanwhile I’m over here trying so hard to fulfill my brother’s dream, having no clue what I should really be doing with my life.”
It kills me he can’t see how good he is, how special and magnetic.
“Why not this?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not a front man.”
“You, infuriatingly, are an amazing front man.”
He shifts closer, like his body is on autopilot. “I’m amazing with you.”
His bright eyes pour into me and as much as I want to look away, I can’t. He’s laid himself bare, showing me so much, trusting me with it all.
“When all this started, I never imagined I’d be paired up with someone like you,” I say.
“Someone like me?”
“You know, irritating and gorgeous.”
He hides his face in my shoulder, faking embarrassment.
“Does singing with me remind you of Steven?” I hope it’s okay to ask.
“Singing with you is nothing like performing with Steven. With him it was more like a job, like something I was required to do to keep the peace in my family. I was never…being a front man wasn’t something I was interested in. All I wanted to do was play drums.” He chuckles to himself. “I was scared shitless at that first audition.”
I remember the way he walked in that day, bravado personified, like he’d already won and was just humoring the rest of us.
“I…do not believe you.”
“It was such a relief when I saw you there. I don’t know if I could have gone through with it otherwise. I was late coming in because I’d been puking in the parking lot.” He reaches for my hand. “Performing with you…it’s not like anything I’ve ever ex perienced. It fills me with this energy, like lighting a sparkler and painting the sky while it burns.”
My heart leaps inside my chest, straining towards Kick. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“I still don’t understand how I ended up here, and if I’m honest, every day I feel like I’m auditioning to stay. Like at any moment they’ll figure out I’m a fraud and kick me off the bus in the middle of the night.”
“I feel the same way.”
I remember the first time I ever mentioned wanting to be an artist in front of Polly. She laughed and told me I didn’t have the personality for it, like because I wasn’t exactly like her, I had no chance. Looking back, it was more of a sisterly jab than a poisoned arrow, but it stabbed me in the heart just the same. As much as I want this, want to be here, there’s a part of me that’s still worried she’s right. I don’t have what it takes.
“But you’re so good,” he says.
I shake my head. “I’m better with you.”
We walk a full block in silence, my hand in his. My mind is a buzzing torrent of happy/scared thoughts, too many to concentrate on anything specific. All I can do is feel—Kick’s hand wrapped around mine, my heart beating in my chest, how being this close to him rights something inside me that’s been off-center for as long as I can remember.
“Thank you for telling me about Steven,” I say. “I had no idea you were carrying something so painful.”
He shrugs. “My therapist says I flirt with you as a way to cope.”
“Hold on. You told your therapist about me?”
“Don’t get a big head about it,” he says with a smile. “I’m supposed to tell her about all the things that irritate the hell out of me.”
I playfully punch him in the shoulder. “You love me.”
He catches my wrist, pulls my hand to his chest. “You have no idea.”