Chapter 5
When Shawn finally barreled in, his sunglasses were still on, and the armpits of his shirt were dark with sweat.
Keith watched everyone else rearrange themselves to make room for his brother.
Bobby was leaning against the wall, one hand holding a plate of crudités that he rested lightly against his chest. Shawn made his way across the room and opened his arms for a hug, and Bobby moved his plate out of the way, clapping one hand around Shawn’s wide back.
The cruise was the one time they would all be in the same room all year.
In the old days, it was solid months at a time, more on the road than off, an endless kaleidoscope of tour bus bunks and interchangeable hotel rooms. Now they could all go months without speaking to each other, let alone seeing one another face-to-face.
Keith saw his brother when he came back to Jersey, and he’d see Scotty if Keith was in LA for longer than a day or two, but otherwise, they were all like high school friends, scattered to the winds and in touch mostly via text on each other’s birthdays.
Keith didn’t know how much Corey talked to the other guys—maybe he only talked to Shawn.
Keith certainly never heard from him. Nobody liked to Zoom, and so they hardly ever did that either.
Shawn and Bobby let go of each other, and when they did, Keith noticed the man standing behind Shawn’s shoulder.
“Yes, yes,” Shawn said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve been waiting to introduce you. Bobby, guys, this is Jonathan. Jonathan, this is Bobby and the guys.”
The man was tall and burly, younger than they were, probably, but too old to be called young.
He had dark brown hair pulled back into a bun and a beard that covered the half zipper on his fleece.
Shawn had always collected people—it was his gift, both in the band and out, corralling people into his life from all different places. He’d probably met him at the airport.
“What’s up, man?” Bobby said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Jonathan smiled. “Cosmic,” he said. “I knew you were going to say that.” Jonathan grabbed Bobby’s hand with both of his own and just held it for a moment instead of doing the more arduous work of an actual handshake.
He reminded Keith of Father Michael from St. Joseph’s, one of the Fiore family’s favorite priests, whose gaze had always felt both glittering and dangerous.
“I’ve been so looking forward to this. Shawn has told me so much about you.
” He spun around the room and held everyone else’s hands too, like he was running for president of all hippies.
Shawn grabbed a Red Bull out of a bucket full of them and handed Jonathan a bottle of water. Jonathan did a strange prance in place, his feet landing toe-first, then heel.
“I have to move after flights, get my qi going again,” Jonathan said in explanation.
He crossed his arms over his chest and swiveled from side to side in a stretch.
He was talking to all of them now, smiling and winking.
Maybe he was running for president. Shawn had waded into the political waters once before, and half the Talkers got so mad that Keith didn’t think his brother would do it again, but you never knew what Shawn was going to do. His next idea was always his best.
Shawn nodded. “Jonathan’s my new coach,” he said. He slid his baseball hat off his head and then put it back on. Shawn did that when he was nervous. He’d had his hairline redone, and it was thicker now, the black pinpricks having grown into actual hair.
“Oh, yeah?” Bobby said. The room was quiet—everyone had been waiting for Shawn, and so now everyone was listening but pretending not to.
“Executive coach, holistic adviser,” Jonathan said. “People call it different things.” He nodded, as if agreeing with himself.
“Cool,” Bobby said. He raised an eyebrow at Keith, who shook his head in return.
“No, really, man, I think this is going to be great. Jonathan and I have been having really deep conversations about what it means to be a leader, what it means to have a team. About our legacy. It’s real alpha stuff.” Shawn put his hat back on and smoothed the sides of his head with his hands.
“There’s always an alpha wolf,” Jonathan said.
“Sometimes creatives forget that. I’ve helped a lot of artists find their inner wolf.
” He held a business card in between two of his fingers.
Keith watched as Bobby took it carefully, like it might be electric.
Wolf Management + Production, it said, with Jonathan’s name and numbers underneath in embossed black type.
“I just think, with everything…” Shawn said. This meant Corey getting into trouble. “It’s a good time for new ideas.” Keith’s stomach churned. Boy Talk was not known for their new ideas. It was both the best and worst thing about them, their predictability.
“I’m just here to support,” Jonathan said. “To help you all make the best decisions possible and to make sure all the aspects of the organization are functioning the way they should. We’re gonna kick some tires, have some conversations. Maybe howl at the moon.” He smiled. “It’ll be fun.”
Shawn was nodding, which made everything Jonathan was saying feel worse.
Keith felt sick. It was unfair for Shawn to spring this on them like this.
To spring it on him. They’d been together all morning, and Shawn hadn’t said a word.
He wondered what else Shawn wasn’t telling him, who Shawn was calling instead.
And anyway, Bobby was the one who kicked tires, who forced them to all get on the phone, who bought the plane tickets and negotiated the deals.
The room was silent now. Everyone was waiting for Bobby to respond.
“Sure,” Bobby said. “Of course.”
Shawn exhaled. “Okay, party people,” he said, turning to face the rest of the group. “Let’s get this shit started.”
Scotty groaned. Terrence cupped his hand around his wife’s bottom. Bobby nodded his head, and Keith offered him up a small smile. It wasn’t the energy that Shawn wanted, Keith knew, and so he clapped his hands, too. He was a good little brother, always had been, ready to cheer.