by Jamie Knight
“Same as on the tour. Seth wants us to be a sharp as possible for our world debut.”
Stig set a print copy on top of the bass drum, held down with a rock to avoid slippage on account of the heavy vibration. Even more than usual, the tumultuous feelings raging through me turned my drumsticks into the hammer of Thor.
There was something about being away from Stephanie, or even the threat of it, that could turn me into a berserker. Luckily, I kept lots of spare drumheads, just as a precaution. Sadly, my vocal cords weren’t so easily corrected.
“Is there something you want to talk about?” Stig asked.
We’d just finished “Immortal Territory,” a song written especially for the Norway show, and I had somehow reached down into the darkest pits of my soul and my usual soft growls were guttural snarls of rage.
“No,” I replied, extracting the end of my stick from the middle of my snare drum.
I changed my drumheads, and we kept going through the list, Varg and Stig exchanging looks on occasion. They seemed to know that something was up, most likely with my secret lover, but didn’t seem to think it was funny anymore.
My wrathful ire was direct as much at myself as anyone else. I was usually smarter than that.
There was no way it could have worked with Stephanie. We were both far too involved with our work, with almost no time for lie, let alone love. That was what logic said. Unfortunately, everything else in me disagreed.
“Take five guys,” Seth said.
Hesitantly, Stig and Varg left the practice room, as I checked for further punctures in my drums.
The rest of the practice was a blur. I did my best to tone things down a tad. Not least because I was running low on new drumheads. Before we could run ourselves into the ground, Seth called time, and we were allowed to relax a bit before the rigors of sound-check.
There seemed to be a notion, particularly among aspiring musicians that being in a band was all sex, drugs, and rock and roll. The reality was closer to the description often given of combat. Hours of boredom and preparation, punctuated by brief moments of intense action.
It was an odd sort of procession as we went to the van, parked in a trident point alongside Seth and Sven’s cars. Like pallbearers without the coffin, bits of my kit distributed between us, the guitar and amps already packed.
“Ride with me,” Seth said.
It wasn’t really an order. There was so much demand in his tone, which wasn’t his normal style, even if I knew full well that it would be best for everyone concerned to do what he wanted.
“I’ll see you guys there,” I said, setting my bass drum into the confines of the van.
Silence rang as I parted ways with my childhood friends. Something was coming. The question was what.
Seth had always struck as the calm and patient sort. I’d never even heard him raise his voice, which was surly enough to think him a gentle soul. That was a mistake often made; it’s usually the quiet ones you need to watch out for.
“How are things with Stephanie?” Seth asked, once we were out on the highway.
“Complicated.”
“I recall the feeling.”
“How so?” I asked, interest piqued.
“Jonna and I didn’t have the easiest start. Not least because of our shared, if unspoken fear, that it was just a fling. Not quite a fear on my end to be fair, I’d honestly thought that was what it was, at least a first. It wasn’t long before I changed my tune.”
“Did you have issues with the age gap?’
“Partly, though there were other considerations. In the end, we just couldn’t live without each other, so we found ways to deal with it,” Seth said. “One thing I can promise is, once you’ve made the decision, and are truly committed, to the cause, as well as each other, things get a lot easier.”
I was embarrassed, though not for the reasons I had expected.
It wasn’t because I was being counseled. I was always open to good advice, no matter what the source. The true reason for my chagrin was rooted in the fact that I really should have known better.
I was no stranger to adversity, the alleged risk to reputation, but being with someone that clashed with my image and lifestyle was new to me. At least on the surface level— surfaces meaning so much, while counting for so little. Social conventions were basically like Santa Claus, only really existing for those who believed in them.
Just what the frilly hell was I doing?
Letting the potential disapproval and even ridicule of others dictate what I did or who I lived?
If I was, it was certainly a new development.
I would have to take a long, deep look into the corners of my soul to figure out exactly when I started giving a shit about what other people thought of me.
The venue had help, so we didn’t have to set up our own stage. That was one of the advantages to being the only band. It was good practice for the tour, when we would be the headliners.
I felt bad for our potential openers on tour. Our fans still showed a tendency to be dismissive, at the very best, to any bands that weren’t us. At least on the local scene.
It was possible, and we could only hope, that European fans weren’t quite as intense as those in Seattle. The pre-orders for the album filled up within hours. Not just in town but all up and down in the coast. From San Diego to Vancouver.
It was a lot of attention, as well as a lot of pressure.
None of which was nearly so daunting as really having it out with Stephanie.
A European tour? No problem.
Opening my mouth and saying the words “I love you” to Stephanie?
That was fucking intimidating.
Chapter Twelve - Stephanie
Five Months Later
It was the change in schedule that was most difficult. My life had always been planned. Not always fully, since emergencies would come up, like as they tended to, but I always tried to have some idea of what I was doing at all times.
I had to be regimented, reserved, always on task and knowing where I was going no matter what.
Even in the limbo of post-graduation, everything I’d ever known, my dorm, my food card, the rigor of classes, all stripped away in one fell swoop, I knew what I was doing.
Or, at least had the strong feeling I did. Anticipating the dark day of personal Armageddon long before it had actually arrived, I’d prepared.
Off-campus housing was at a premium, but with no job to speak of, I’d contacted the gray-market accommodations and gig economies, sleeping on couches and in spare bedrooms in exchange for domestic work. The latter ranging from cleaning, to cooking, to what amounted to unpaid babysitting. A lot like what I’d been doing in the years leading up to going to college, so no great adjustment was really needed.
But now, even without a plan, at least not one set in stone, I knew how to do things myself, and for myself. And distinct from my post-collegiate experience, I actually had help. Not quite the help I would have expected, but beggars couldn’t really be choosers.
Asgard was actually quite accepting of my intuition and offered me some quite generous maternity leave, with a promise to hold my job for me when I was ready to come back. Which only told me how vital I was to them as an employee. Or even if it was a decision driven entirely by their bottom line, at least I knew they were doing the right thing for the wrong reason.
I also happened to know they already had a good staff daycare, making me think it was at least a little altruism. There shouldn’t be any trouble on that front.
I also had all the support, of every flavor, from Jonna and Seth. It was kind of weird to think our babies would be cousins, but that was just how genetics worked.
Between it all, I would be okay being a single mom. It wouldn’t be easy of course, but parenthood never really was. No matter the situation, there were some things that never really changed.
I still missed Ragnar. Not just in the emotional sense, of wishing he were there, which was certainly a factor, bu
t thinking he was.
Not often, but occasionally, I would walk into the bedroom and expect to see him there.
Or I would wait to talk and even pick up the phone before remembering I didn’t know his number anymore.
I’d tried it a couple of times only to be told by a recorded voice that it was no longer in service. I never knew his email, so that was out, as was Skype. Despite my instinct toward independence and going it alone as much as I reasonably could, there was so much I wanted to say to him.
That I loved him, that he made my life more exciting as well as better, and I would never regret the time we had together. Even if it was brief. The brevity had been at least partly on my end.
I had no way of knowing where he saw us going, or if he considered me a girlfriend or a fling. All I knew was that I loved him, and having him gone would be physically painful, like losing a part of me.
I didn’t even end up going to the last show, even though it was my last chance to see him before he went away for months.
It was best to make a clean break. At least, so I’d thought, before I’d actually tried to do it.
It was almost like he had died, and, in addition to the broken heart, I was in grieving. Not only for the loss of Ragnar, metaphorical as it might have been, but for the life I’d always thought we could have together, despite my ultimately foolish concerns.
What did it matter what other people thought of us?
We didn’t even know there would be any trouble at all. It wasn’t the 1990s anymore. People were a lot more accepting in general, and even those who weren’t tended to at least be quiet about it.
The familiar beep-boop-drip of an incoming video call echoed down the hall, like a submarine was passing my office. Old instincts kicked in, ones that drove me to answer every call, just in case it was important, no matter what obstacles might be put in my way.
At that moment in the space-time continuum, the greatest challenge was getting up off the couch with a nearly fully developed infant inside me. Nearly six months could be an exceptionally long time, depending on the circumstances.
Hauling the dead weight and heft to generally where I wanted to be, I sat in the ergonomic office chair, tipping back a bit further than I meant, and answered the call.
I’d never seen a ghost before. Aside from the extended Halloween that constituted the most extreme stretch of Jonna’s Goth phase, my experience with the supernatural and non- corporeal was pretty much nil.
Yet, there he was on the screen, like a ghost trapped in a digital afterlife.
“Hi,” Ragnar greeted me with a tentative smile.
“Um, hi, where are you?”
“Germany.”
“That explains the music.”
“Oktoberfest— really big deal around here. We wouldn’t have gotten a hotel had Seth not booked months in advance. I’m surprised anyone is coming to our show at all. We do expect drunkenness, however. There’s also fairly good security so things should even out.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Feelings once again collided like passing lightning bolts, the jolt to my heart, not to mention much further down, that occurred every time I saw him, overtaking me.
Despite everything else, it all fell away when I saw him again. Even if it was just on a computer screen.
“I have something to tell you,” he said, returning to default serious mode.
“Okay.”
“Stephanie, I love you. Truly, weirdly, illogically love you. I’d be the first to admit that we shouldn’t work on paper, but fuck paper. My lived experience tells me we do. These last few months have been hell, and I can’t take it anymore. It hurts to be away from you and, if you agree to try, I would like to be with you. Officially, openly no more semi-secret meetings or wondering what anyone else might think.”
“Yes! Of course, yes, I feel the same. You just seem so dedicated to the band, and the tour and all that. I couldn’t see how we could work, but I was being the idiot my parents raised, well screw that, no screw giving up because things might get difficult. That has never been me and never will be. At least not again. I’m yours, totally and completely.”
“I really wish I could hug you right now.”
“That might be a bit of a challenge,” I said, smiling as the baby started to kick.
“Oh, why is that?”
“I, er, have a surprise for you. I really hope you like it.”
Rolling away from the desk, I stood up before the camera, showing my very pregnant belly.
“Wow!” he explained. “What? Really?”
“Yes, really. She’s yours,” I said, wiping away tears of joy as I returned to my chair.
“How long?” he asked in shock.
“Oh, about six months.”
“Is that why you didn’t come to the gig?”
“Partly, I also thought it would be better to make a clean break. Remember the bit about the idiot my parents raised?”
“Hey, don’t talk like that about the woman I love. You and Jonna are your own people, right? We all make mistakes.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem, honey.”
“Honey?”
“Um, darling? Kitten?” he tried again.
I made a face and shook my head.
“No, no, honey is fine, you just haven’t called me anything like that before. I just figured you were too serious, or whatever, for pet names.”
“It’s something new I’m trying,” he said.
“I like it.”
“Honey?”
“Yes?”
“Take off your pants.”
Struggling to my feet, I managed to get off my yoga pants and panties with minimal difficulty. Left in only a loose-fitting flannel shirt, I sat back in the chair, spreading my legs as wide as I could to get them over the arms of the chair.
“That’s my girl. Spread your pussy for me, darling.”
Reaching both hands down, I did as he asked, the cool air on my most sensitive spots sending a shiver through me.
When I looked back at the screen, Ragnars had his cock out, stroking his hand leisurely along the throbbing shaft. I unconsciously licked my lips at the sight of it, wanting so much to have him in my mouth, and then my pussy, where he belonged.
Carefully wetting two fingers, I eased them inside my already wet pussy, going up to the second knuckle before starting to move. I touched myself as I watched Ragnar pleasuring his cock. It was a new and strange experience, but I found that I liked it.
Although as I watched him pour his load into his hand, I wished it was my mouth or my pussy instead, and as my walls tightened around my fingers and I howled in release, all I could think about was how excited I was for us to be together again and enjoy the real thing.
Chapter Thirteen - Ragnar
The wail of my alarm clock screamed in the dark, beckoning for relief. Hitting the snooze button, I rolled out of bed, the collision with the hardwood floor shocking me to wakefulness, as the adrenaline hit my brain. Better than coffee and a donut for a pick-me-up, and a lot easier on the waistline.
Seth had booked us each our own room for each spot on the tour. A tender mercy, not just because of Varg’s snoring, and Stig’s early-morning meditation. The way things were, we could indulge in our quirks without driving the others crazy.
A fact which boded well for the future of the band. Though, I would argue that if we hadn’t broken up by that point, it wasn’t likely to happen at all. Ten years could be an awfully long time, no matter how much you liked each other at the beginning.
Dressing as to block the autumn chill, I took the stairs from our upper floor accommodations, and out into the early morning. It was the last date of the tour, and we were home. At least what I once thought of as home.
The place where I’d grown up and knew better than anywhere else in the world. Fine credentials for the title, but there was somewhere else that had started to put up a strong challenge. Not only because it was the place I’d sp
ent as much time as in Bergen, but also because Stephanie was there, with our baby, and she was all alone.
Okay, not exactly all alone, but I wasn’t there, but I intended to be as soon as I could.
The streets were familiar, though still seemed like something from a dream. I’d given thought to buying a map when we’d first gotten into town, just to be sure. Happily, it wasn’t needed, everything being roughly where we had left it.
Completing the circuits that I’d planned out the night before, drawing a map on the branded notepad on the desk in my room, I hit the showers before dressing for breakfast.
We’d agreed to meet in the hotel restaurant, making for and easy commute. Not that one would know it from Varg’s distinctly sour expression.
“What’s with grumpy bear?”
“Not much, just an apocalyptic hangover,” Stig said, stirring his coffee.
There were few things stranger than Stig in the morning. Dressed as would be expected given his career, stirring his black coffee exactly thirty-six times. Not thirty-five, or thirty-seven, but thirty-six, every time.
The tinkling of the spoon inside the ceramic mug provided the soundtrack to his ritualistic perusal of the business section, reading glasses perched near the end of his nose.
I suspected most people were surprised when he joined the band, the general agreement being that he could have done pretty much whatever he wanted.
His parents certainly were under the impression that he was going to be a lawyer. It took a while, but they started speaking to him again, particularly after they actually heard us play, and never really gave up hope, still mentioning it in passing whenever there was a family gathering.
The schedule was tight. We were to go straight from breakfast to the initial sound-check. Seth had planned for two just to be sure.
All our gear was already set up but the venue staff. How we’d managed to fly into multiple cities without any of it getting lost or broken by the airline was a miracle to rival water into wine.
When everything was played and done, we were free to do whatever until two hours before the show, when we would do it all again. No one could ever accuse Seth of cutting corners.