13 - Aiden #2
Sage stood on the sidewalk, honey streaks in her hair catching the late morning light as she waved again to get my attention.
Dressed in skinny black jeans, ripped like all the other pairs I’d seen her in, and matched with a black t-shirt that had been cut at the neckline to drape perfectly over her right shoulder.
Just enough skin to pique someone’s interest. A cheeky glimpse of her electric pink bra strap to make me hot all over.
The frustration I’d felt all morning eased from my shoulders as I unlocked the door and pushed it open. Seeing her there had somehow shifted the whole tone of the block. The graffiti stayed ugly, the sirens still traveled somewhere beyond the next intersection, the street remained what it was.
But seeing her standing there—waiting for me—turned it all into background noise.
“You look like shit.”
I scoffed, giving her the once-over. “You shouldn’t wear your jeans that tight. Chokes the nice out of you.”
“It was never there to begin with,” she shot back with a sly smile, and gestured toward the alleyway beside the building where I’d stopped. “Down here.”
My feet remained rooted to the sidewalk. “What’s down there?”
“Aiden.” She’d already gone a few steps ahead, and now turned back especially to roll her eyes at me. “You could’ve just carried on wasting my time over the phone, instead of driving all the way out here to do it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me wanting to know—”
“No, but you’re gonna have to find out while we walk,” she said, waving me along as she started into the alley. “I meant it when I told you it was an emergency.”
She wasn’t bleeding. Didn’t seem to be in any kind of distress. In fact, Sage looked good. No rogue ink smudges, hair down in waves and not hurriedly piled on her head like she usually wore it.
“You have the day off?” I’d accepted my fate, and picked up my pace to catch up with her.
It only lasted a split second, but I could’ve sworn I caught a smug smile on her face when I fell in stride next to her. She knew she had me, and there was nothing I could do about it. Definitely not after this.
“I get two Sundays off a month. This is one of them.”
“And… you’re here?”
She gave me a scathing look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I was still stammering my way through a polite response when—
“This was your bright idea?” Ramona’s arms were folded over her chest, foot tapping impatiently as she watched us approach. The gaping back doors of a trashy van framed her slight build, making her look even smaller.
At the sound of her voice, three guys emerged inside the van and in front of it. I recognized them instantly as Ramona’s bandmates, and realization closed in. Sage’s SOS very likely had nothing to do with her.
We drew up to Ramona and the back of the van, and Sage confirmed my suspicions.
“They have soundcheck in an hour, and Melvin just lost his speaker cab.” She pointed out the beat-up 4x12 wooden box with split joints hanging out on the asphalt.
“Hand-me-down from my grandpa,” a guy with hair longer than Sage’s said. Melvin, most likely. “Killer sound, but it’s been through it.”
“Aiden.” I held out my hand, but he responded by beating a fist to his chest and jutting out his chin. So I took my hand back and cleared my throat.
“So… Can you fix it?” Sage asked, sounding hopeful instead of full of it. For a change.
“Quickly,” Ramona added. “Can you fix it quickly, is what she meant.”
Something in my gut twisted. Maybe I’d been stupid to think Sage asked me here for a different reason. A reason that had more to do with us than her best friend’s band.
But I pushed it aside and forced a smile on my face. “I sure wish you mentioned I’d need my tools.”
“I told you it was an emergency.” And the incredulous pout she gave was totally uncalled for. Pulled all my attention to her lips.
Goddamn her.
I shook my head, and took a breath that I hoped came off as a sigh of exasperation instead of what it actually was… Me getting my shit together.
“Actually, all you said was ‘SOS’,” I replied.
“Are you hiding any other talents? Because it’s not like I’d be asking you to come out here and play hockey.”
Touche.
I crouched to give the speaker cab a closer inspection, and the band milled around, imposing on my personal space. The back panel had totally separated, two base joints were shot, and they were giving me an hour.
“It’s probably time for an upgrade,” I said, running my finger over one of the jagged edges.
“That’s not happening today,” Melvin said simply.
When I stood, they were all staring at me as if I held the answer to their prayers in my hands. “Honestly, man, it’ll be faster to hit a pawn shop and pick up a used cab. For me to put this thing back together—”
“The last gig we played,” Ramona cut in, looking me dead in the eye, “we ended up owing the bar money. That’s how little money we make.”
“Yeah, we play in the negative,” Melvin added. He almost sounded proud of the fact. “So it’s you, or nothing.”
I looked at Sage, and her unmoving gaze gave me the only right way to respond in this situation. She had texted me today when she’d been avoiding me like the plague. That should’ve told me how much it meant. To her, and to Icy Veins.
“There’s always something rolling around the back of my truck,” I said with a sigh. “I might be able to help you guys out.”
High-fives and whoops echoed in the deserted alleyway, with the guys going so far as to slam their chests together in celebration.
Sage tried to stop it as it happened, but the hint of a smile curled her lips and it was the single deciding factor in my final decision.
There may have been no hope for anything happening between us, but being the one she called, and the one who could make her smile like that did something to me.
“It’ll be a temporary fix,” I said, managing their expectations. “I stand by what I said before—”
“A new used cab. Understood. But can we just get this one on the road for now?” Melvin rubbed his hands together in anticipation, looking at me like I was some kind of magician of music rigs.
I crouched back down and pressed my palm against the side panel. The cabinet shifted under the weight, the split along the bottom seam widening enough to show where the joint had given up. It was old, that was for sure, and probably survived on stubbornness alone.
“Don’t plug it in again,” I said. “You’ll tear it wider.”
Ramona nodded and reached for the cable snaking across the alley floor, coiling it up and tossing it onto an overturned milk crate. Sage stayed where she was, arms folded, watching me assess the damage as if she was trying to read the result before I said it out loud.
“Give me five,” I muttered, already standing.
The alley opened toward the street, and I jogged over to where I’d parked.
The bed of my truck wasn’t organized in any way that would impress a contractor, but there was always something useful back there.
A small tool bag lived behind the passenger seat, a box of random screws rolled around in a plastic container, and there was a clamp I’d forgotten to return to the shop last week.
I grabbed the bag, popped it open against the tailgate, and checked what I had.
Hammer. Multi-bit screwdriver. A handful of wood screws that might work.
No glue. No proper braces. I reached deeper into the bed and came up with a short length of scrap two-by-four that had been sliding around back here for months.
“They’re just gonna have to take it,” I said to no one.
The band cleared space when they saw what I was carrying, and Sage dragged a folding chair out of the way to give me more room. The cabinet lay on its back now, grille facing the sky, back panel hanging loose on one side.
“Looks like you found some tools,” she said, and there was a shyness about her that wasn’t there when I’d arrived.
I didn’t know what the hell to do with that, but filed it away to process later. For now, there was a gig that needed saving.
“Chalk it up to my lack of organization skills,” I replied. “Nothing’s ever in its place, so there’s always something hitching a ride with me.”
I set the tool bag down beside the cab and removed the back panel completely, easing it off so I could see inside. The internal brace had separated from the side wall. The lower corner block was cracked straight through. Years of vibration had done their work.
Sage crouched across from me, staying out of the way but close enough that I could feel her attention. “Is it bad?”
“It’s tired,” I said, tapping the loose brace with the handle of the screwdriver. “They’ve been asking a lot from it.”
Melvin gave a wicked grin. “That’s what she said.”
Ramona swatted his arm without looking away from what I was doing.
I measured the gap with my thumb and cut the scrap wood down using the small hand saw tucked in the bag.
It took longer than I wanted, and the alley filled with the dry scrape of blade through wood.
Once it fit snug between the bottom and side panel, I wedged it in place and drove two screws through the existing brace into the new block. The cabinet steadied under my hand.
“Okay,” I said, shifting to the split seam along the base. “This won’t be pretty.”
“Exactly our brand,” Ramona offered.
I aligned the separated joint as best I could and drove screws through the underside, angling them to pull the panels together. The wood protested, but the gap narrowed with each turn. When I pressed against the side again, it held firm.
“Flip it up,” I told Melvin.
He grabbed one side while I took the other, and we righted the cabinet onto its base. The weight settled evenly this time. No give. No wobble.
I reattached the back panel, tightening the screws until it sat flush against the frame. “We’re taking a chance without glue, but it should behave for one set. As long as you’re gentle.”
“That should be easy. For today, at least.” The others laughed along with Melvin.
“Plug it in,” I said. “Let’s see if it worked.”
Ramona hustled to reconnect the cable. Melvin flicked the amp on and strummed a chord. The sound that rolled out into the alley was full, steady. No rattling from the base. No vibration through the side panel.
Melvin hit another chord and smiled at me like I’d just scored a tie-breaking goal in the dying minutes.
“You’re kidding,” he said. “It sounds better than before.”
“Just don’t push it.”
Ramona stepped forward and clapped me on the shoulder. She wasn’t the type to dole out cheer and smiles, but I could feel the suggestion of one by the way she looked at me.
“You’re almost okay,” she said. “Not just a beefy jock.”
“Careful,” I replied with a short laugh. “I bruise easily.”
And even with nothing more than a sideways glance at Sage, I could tell the color in her cheeks had deepened. Was it the mention of me being a jock, or the implication that I had more than one skillset to be proud of?
For me, it was the sudden, uninvited memory of her thighs gripping my waist as I drove into her a few nights ago.
“You just saved our asses,” Melvin said, eyes bright with an idea forming as he stowed his guitar away. “We owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
He ignored that. “Nah, dude, you’re coming to the gig. You can just follow the van and fall in with us when we get there.”
Sage stiffened next to me, that flush draining from her face. “He can’t.”
“I want him there,” Melvin insisted. “VIP access.”
Ramona snorted. “We don’t have VIPs, but we’ll let you sit at the band table for lunch.”
“And free drinks,” Melvin added. “Non-alcoholic, but I don’t think an athlete like you would mind that much. Watching that calorie intake, or whatever.”
I wiped my hands on a rag from the tool bag. “That’s generous, thanks. What kind of gig happens this time of day, though? It’s just about time for brunch.”
“Don’t you have practice or something?” Sage looked at me, shaking her head slowly.
“I can handle my schedule,” I said, meeting her eyes. The others seemed to enjoy that, and it gave me extra grit in the stand-off.
“You don’t even like their music.”
Gasps of mock-horror and insult rippled through the band, but Ramona gave a low chuckle. “Some days I don’t even like our music. He’s coming. Quit being a killjoy.”
The look on Sage’s face made me feel better about the sudden change in my plans, and I shrugged. “I guess I’m going then.”
“Fine,” she said, flicking her hair in a way that was supposed to be nonchalant, but totally wasn’t. “Do whatever you want.”
“Okay, everybody, pile in.” Melvin went over to the driver’s side, while Ramona and Sage slid in on the other. The other two guys who I was yet to have introductions with jumped into the back of the van.
I slung the tool bag over my shoulder and stepped out of the way. Melvin effortlessly executed a tight three-point turn, leaning out his window to point at me as the van rolled by.
“Don’t you dare bail on us.”
Ramona sat in the middle, but I looked past her amused smile to Sage who was pressed tightly against the passenger door. She rolled her eyes, then stared straight ahead. Totally not fine with how things had unfolded.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I told Melvin, and waved them off.