3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Laredo
M y brother, Adam, slams on the brake of the car, waking me from a much-needed dream distraction. I was onstage at the L.A. Forum, my third encore, a sold-out stadium filled with rabid fans refusing to let me leave. The front rows were overflowing with beautiful women screaming my name. It’s the dreams that keep me going these days.
“We’re home. Get the hell out of my car.” Adam reaches over the back seat, his large bass-playing guitar hand shoving my shoulder hard. I’m stretched out, boots off, the plastic bag filled with ice pressed to my bruised cheek, nothing more than a puddle of water. “Next time you pick a bar fight, don’t do it with one of the regulars. You’re no longer welcome at the Dive Bar.”
My bones ache as I push up and struggle to slip on my boots as it all comes back to me. “As if I’d ever be caught dead there.” I deflect my disappointment with attitude, something I’ve mastered these last months since I walked away from my record deal. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. The Dive Bar was my latest fail in a long line of failures, a local dump that barely held two dozen patrons for my show. A show that was interrupted by a group of guys at the bar talking loudly. Did I notice? You bet I did. Did I call them on it and pick a fight? Yeah. Did I overestimate my abilities and get my ass kicked? “Where the hell were you when I was getting knocked around like a pi?ata?”
I give my brother fake anger so that he doesn’t give me the look of pity that has been plastered on his face for weeks. I don’t want his pity.
“I was protecting the equipment. Your prized guitar is safe. Thank you very much.” Adam gives me a sparkling smile that reminds me he’s the good brother. The responsible one. The one who keeps a level head, but I’m onto him. He’s been tagging along to my gigs recently because he’s as lost as I am. With our sister Hailey’s solo career exploding, our family band is history. At least I know what my future holds: performing and becoming a rock legend. Adam swears his performing days are behind him but hasn’t a clue what he wants to do.
I slip out of the back seat just as he pops the trunk and meets me at the back of the car. He’s holding the guitar case by the strap, and I pause. The guitar holds a lot of history between us two. For our entire family. “Next time, protect my jaw.” I deliver the line with a smirk, the only concession I give him. He made the right choice. There will be other bar fights, but there is only one blue thunder—yeah, I gave it a cool name. I’m that guy.
“There won’t be a next time,” Adam says, handing me the guitar. “You’re out of invites. There’s not a bar in a twenty-mile radius that will put up with your antics any longer, Laredo.” Just when we were sharing a moment, he reminds me what a piece of dirt I am.
I can’t prove it, but I’m sure Dale from the label has been badmouthing me to every agent in the industry. There’s no other way to explain the lack of interest. When it comes to performing, every local bar turns into scenes like today. Tiny crowds filled with drunks not interested in music. I pull back my shoulders and stand tall. Never let them see you sweat.
“Something big is coming. I can feel it.” I slam the hood of the car hard. I leave the rest of the equipment in his trunk, knowing he’ll not be able to sleep and will return in the middle of the night to unpack the car and return each to its rightful place in the garage.
Adam runs a frustrated hand through his dark curls. We’re twins, born ninety-three seconds apart, but we look nothing alike. Where I look the part of a rock star ready for the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, Adam is practically the cover boy for American Eagle Outfitters. “Whatever, jerk. I plugged in your phone. Don’t forget it.” He points to the front seat of the car. My phone is sitting in the cup holder. Like I said, he’s the good brother.
He disappears, headed to the front door of our childhood home, the one we now share, and I grab my phone. I swipe and ignore the social media alerts about my sister Hailey. I still haven’t adjusted to her sudden fame. I have two text messages from a number I don’t recognize.
With Adam no longer in sight, I lower the heavy facade I wear, its weight taking a toll. These months have been brutal and frustrating. “Please, please,” I whisper and swipe.
Unknown – Hey guitar god, this is Ariel from Devil May Care. I’m working on some new music; a new sound and I need someone without any home training that won’t blow smoke up my ass to let me know if it’s any good. You in?
My mouth hangs open, and my pulse kicks up. The aches from the bar fight dissipate in the time it takes me to reread the text.
Ariel is the lead singer of an insanely talented and successful band, Devil May Care. We crossed paths at a music festival last summer, but more importantly, Adam and I played with her band for one track on Hailey’s album. We spent a full day together in the studio, and I knew I left an impression. I swipe to the second message, sent a few minutes after the prior one.
Unknown – The gig is for a few days in Seaside. I’m prepping for the festival again. I’ll pick up all your expenses. The invite is for both of the Williams boys. Two perspectives are better than one. Adam has already accepted. Let me know—A
I squeeze the phone like it’s a lifeline lowered from a heavenly helicopter to me in the middle of a lonely ocean. This is it. Ariel is a big deal. A multi-platinum artist with a loyal following. And she wants to meet at the Seaside Music Festival in Oregon, one of the biggest music events of the summer. It’s where Hailey found fame and landed a record deal. It’s only natural that I’d return a year later and do the same.
I save Ariel’s number to my contacts and pound out a reply.
You had me at guitar god.
I stuff the phone in my back pocket and strut with a confidence I’ve not felt since that morning in Chicago months ago.
My mind races ahead. Playing onstage with Ariel. Reps from every label seeing me in my best light and realizing their mistake in not signing me earlier.
A laugh escapes my lips picturing Jonah and Dale witnessing me hanging out with Ariel and Devil May Care. They’ll care.
My laugh fades as I realize who else might be in the audience. The woman who hung with me for the entire festival last year. The only woman in my recent memory who lasted that long.
The only woman I’ve ever wanted to hang with for that long.
Betty Vacarro.
We shared some special moments that still puts a smile on my face a year later. We both agreed it was a onetime hookup. I never return to the same girl if I return to a city. But for the first time in my life, I’m considering it.
If Seaside is going to give me a second chance, maybe it’s a sign I should do the same with Betty.