An NSB Wedding

by Alyson Santos

  “What’s so funny?” Mila asks me as the audience starts to disperse and heads into the building.

  “Nothing. Just thinking about how much Parker would hate this bullshit.”

  She gives me a stern look. “Well, it’s necessary for the foundation and—”

  “—is required for a successful launch. Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  Her shoulder bumps into mine, but she’s smiling again. I tuck my arm around her and turn toward the façade of the building. Located in suburban Philadelphia, the campus is a repurposed office complex that had been abandoned for some time. It wasn’t cheap, but with Luke, the other NSB guys, and several high-profile donors, it didn’t take long to raise the funds. Parker’s Play Yard is a one-stop hub for children and their families, including recreational facilities, counseling services, training programs, and even dormitories for short-term housing.

  One day I’d like to fund a full-scale group home for older teens, but Mila says we need to focus on one project at a time. She’s the genius behind the business side of PEF. I had zero hesitation to appoint her COO. When she asked who would run Parker’s Play Yard, that was a no-brainer as well. I immediately called Chris, my original mentor from EZ Kings who guided me, my father, and countless others on the path to recovery. She accepted and will be the full-time administrator.

  “I love you, Jess. You’re going to help loads of kids,” Mila says, drawing me back to the present. I force a smile, and she kisses me gently. “I better get in there and make sure everything’s under control with the launch. Are you gonna be alright?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” I say, not sure. But she can’t help with what’s going on inside me. Like usual, I need her to manage our lives while I manage myself. I don’t know what I’d do without Mila Taylor. She pretends I’m the prize in our relationship, but the truth is, we’re different sides of the same gemstone. And we’re rubble without each other. All of that passes between us before she pulls away with another smile.

  “Come and find me when you’re sorted.”

  I nod and watch her descend the stairs. The stage is empty now, and only a few spectators linger in conversation among the chairs below.

  Just you and me now, Park. What do you think of your legacy?

  My gaze passes over the modern yet playful exterior of the building. It looks inviting, the sign over the grand entrance a work of art in itself. Rewind ten years and I would have killed to have access to a place like this. And really, that’s what inspired the design. The entire complex is an answer to the question, “What would have saved me from the hell of my childhood?”

  “Jesse?”

  I flinch and turn at the interruption. Dad approaches, and I lean into his outstretched arms.

  “It’s amazing, son. Truly remarkable.”

  “Thanks.” I clear my throat. “You should have been onstage with us for the ceremony.”

  He shakes his head. “Nah, this is your project. Plus, I liked being able to watch from the front row.”

  I nod, quickly losing the battle I’ve been fighting since waking up this morning. I promised I wouldn’t, but…

  “I miss him, Dad. I miss him so much.” My voice is little more than a whisper, cracking under the weight of the pain that never goes away. My father’s arms tighten around me, and I bury my face in his shoulder like I’m eight years old.

  “I know, son. Me too.”

  “I thought it would stop hurting at some point.”

  “It will never stop hurting, but because of you and this foundation, the pain can mean something.”

  I want to believe that. Philadelphia: the city of brotherly love. With Parker’s memory pushing us on, we’ve surpassed expectations. Hitting charts, selling out venue after venue, our success has only been another monument to the man who saved my life time and again. That’s why the rest of it will be his in some way. Mila not only understands this, but encourages his inclusion in our journey at every step. When the PR company tried to pressure us to distance ourselves from the tragedy after “an appropriate amount of time,” she didn’t even hesitate before telling them to “fuck off or we’d be ‘distancing ourselves’ from them.”

  Now, over two years later, I continue to relive his loss as a fresh wound more often than I’m admitting to the others. Only my therapist knows the true depths of how Parker’s death still impacts me. But today is about a celebration, so I force the shadows away for another time and place. Maybe I’ll let them free later tonight when they can transform into the healing salve of music.

  For now, we eat soft pretzels and bust some heads at dodgeball.

  ∞∞∞

  “Dude, no fair!” Reece wails from the other side of the gym.

  “Get off the court, loser,” I call back, palming a stiff foam ball. Our team has already won the first match. If we take this one, we officially crush the first ever PPY Dodgeball Tournament. My pint-sized teammates are deafening in their support of my strike on Reece.

  “You’re out!” an excited ten-year-old shrieks, pointing at my bass player.

  Reece grunts and slams the ball he’s holding on the floor. I give him a taunting look which he returns with some weird gesture that was probably a middle-finger filtered for the presence of children. This only makes me laugh harder.

  I scan the few remaining opponents, passing over the kids in favor of my bandmates. Derrick is still in the game, more serious than I’ve ever seen him. Jay got knocked out in the first ten seconds—probably because he was way more interested in checking out the auditorium sound system than throwing rubber balls around. My theory was confirmed when he skipped off the court and disappeared from the gym before we could even harass him for sucking at sports.

  Me? I only have one mode when it comes to physical competition: cutthroat.

  I whip my ball at Derrick, who ducks just in time. But the high-pitched yelp he lets out makes the miss totally worth it.

  “What was that, dude?” I call over.

  He grins back with a valiant arm flex. His throw is way less impressive, and I duck under it easily.

  “Jesse, Jesse!” one of my teammates calls over. I turn to the girl and motion for the ball she’s preparing to toss me. I catch it and launch an immediate strike back at Derrick. This time he doesn’t have a chance and hits the ground like a sack of rocks.

  His groan is as fake as his date’s orgasm last night. God, that girl made us gag. Sharing a wall with Derrick definitely has its drawbacks.

  Without any band members, I skim the spectators for a glimpse of Mila. She refused to play, something about decorum, but I can’t accept that. I see her chatting with some important-looking older couple and throw the ball with just enough force to earn me an irritated look.

  I shrug innocently, expecting more remote venom. Instead, my girl reaches for the ball and fires it at my knees. The ball smashes into me and bounces away.

  “You’re out!” Reece calls from the sidelines.

  “Mila isn’t even playing!” I shout back.

  “Aren’t I?” she says, slipping off her heels. “You sure about that?” Well, shit.

  She marches with frightening determination to the other side of the court. Her game face scares the hell out of me.

  “What do we do?” Lacey whispers, sidling up beside me. I crouch to eyelevel, all the while keeping tabs on our few remaining opponents.

  “Ms. Mila looks scary, but she has a soft spot for cute kids,” I say, extra serious.

  Lacey nods gravely, dark brown eyes narrowing on my girlfriend. “I think I could take her, Mr. Jesse,” she says.

  “You think so?”

  She nods.

  “Okay. Then this one’s yours. I’ll distract her. You go in for the kill.” I present my fist which she pounds before skating back to position. By her look, I wouldn’t want to be Mila Taylor right now.

  Mila looks adorable all bent over with her hands on her knees. Butt in the air, expensive suit skirt riding up her thighs, she’s the picture of th
e dimensions I love about her. Hope she doesn’t get a tear in those silk stockings. Yeah, that’s a lie. That’d be hilarious.

  I nod discreetly to Lacey before taking a few steps toward the line of scrimmage.

  “Hey, Mila. Why the heck is it called Yorkshire Pudding if it isn’t even pudding?”

  Her features scrunch into the confused annoyance I was hoping for. Just as she’s reaching for a ball to fire at my smart mouth, another one streaks toward her, slamming into her foot.

  “Ow!” she cries, bursting into giggles when she finds the culprit. Lacey nearly explodes with pride and rushes over for a high-five. Three minutes later, the other team is depleted, and the few remaining members on mine are exchanging all kinds of disproportionate celebrations.

  “Thanks, Mr. Jesse,” a small voice squeaks behind me. I turn and kneel to accept the hug of a little boy who can’t be more than six.

  “You got it, little dude. What’s your name?”

  “Ben.”

  “Well, Ben, it’s nice to meet you. Did you have fun?”

  He nods, long dark curls spilling over his forehead. “Ms. Jean says we can come here lots.”

  “Yeah? That would be awesome.”

  “She says you are a famous music-player.”

  I laugh and shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. I play music, anyway.”

  His eyes grow huge. “I want to be a music-player too one day.”

  “Nice! How about we talk to Ms. Jean about the music classes here? Maybe you’d like to take some and learn how to play?”

  “Really? A real guitar, even?”

  I nod. “A real guitar. Here.” I reach in my pocket and pull out a pick. “You’ll need this. Be sure to bring it to your first lesson and tell them Jesse sent you.”

  The little boy’s jaw drops as he stares at the object in my hand. Hesitantly, reverently, he collects it from my palm. “I can have this?”

  “As long as you promise to use it,” I say.

  He nods, curls bobbing in approval.

  “Tell you what. I have to go get ready to play for the concert tonight. How would you like to sit onstage with us?”

  His eyes look ready to pop from his head. “For real?”

  I hold out my fist. “For real.” He bumps it with a giant smile. “You show them that guitar pick and tell them you’re Jesse’s friend, okay? Make sure you bring Ms. Jean.”

  “What about Malik?”

  “Is Malik your foster brother?”

  He nods.

  “Well, then you better bring Malik too.”

  He shrieks, and before I know it, I’m being tackled by little arms. He pulls away and darts back to the sidelines where a smiling woman who must be “Ms. Jean” waits. It’s then that I realize how much my cheeks hurt from grinning.

  ∞∞∞

  We’re doing last minute prep before call time when my phone buzzes. I glance down and smile to myself at the name.

  “Hey, Luke,” I say, tucking the phone against my shoulder so I can lace up my shoes.

  “Hey, Jess. I’m not interrupting anything, right?”

  “Nah, just about to go onstage.”

  “Oh, shit. That’s right, sorry. Well hey, call me later. I want to hear how the grand opening went.”

  “Great so far.”

  “Yeah? That’s awesome. Sorry to miss it. I wish we could have been there.”

  I laugh and switch the phone to the other shoulder. “You’ve kinda got your hands full, dude. No worries.”

  “Yeah, but still… Hey, you’re still coming tomorrow, right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. We’re hopping on the plane right after we finish here.”

  “Okay, great. Well, I’ll let you go. Call me when you have time. Send pictures too.”

  “For sure.”

  “And Jess?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Parker would be so proud of you.”

  I bite my lip and nod, hoping Luke can sense my response through the phone.

  “Call me later,” he says, softer, knowing.

  I swallow. “Will do.”

  ∞∞∞

  Ben, Malik, and Ms. Jean sit just offstage in chairs Mila arranged for them. The entire band delivers high-fives and greetings as we pass, and awe bursts off the little cherub faces. Ben holds up his pick, and I give him a thumbs-up.

  We continue to the stage where the lights are already signaling that something incredible is about to happen. I’d insisted that the designers and contractors spare no expense when it came to the in-house concert venue. Jay oversaw the AV design himself, and it really is a thing of beauty. I’m honored to be the first to play this room, but I’m also counting the days until I’ll be in the audience, watching kids like Ben raise hell up here.

  For all the stages I’ve played throughout my life, there’s a special reverence as I step onto this one. The rest of the band seems to sense it as well, and I watch Jay hesitate when he approaches the place where Parker should have been. I smile over at him with a nod. He nods back and settles in.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I grip the neck of my guitar and move toward the mic stand. The crowd roars, faces shining, eager and mostly young. I’m out there somewhere, Parker too, along with all the kids like us who didn’t have a prayer. But somehow, somehow, we survived—often because of big brothers like Parker Everett who refused to let fate have its way. It may take a lifetime, but I’m going to spend it fighting to be half the man he was. These kids will have a prayer and grow up knowing the influence of mentors like Parker. They will be loved, protected, and believed in.

  They will know the light that flickers in the darkness.

  I stare out over them now, glimpsing the past, anticipating the future. This is it: the start of something that started years ago.

  This is your moment, bro. This is all you.

  EPILOGUE THREE: LUKE

  “Sh—I mean, ouch.” I suck on my throbbing finger, while my son critiques my oven skills from his high chair. “Explain to me again why a caterer couldn’t do all of this?” I ask Holland who’s having way more fun with mushy sweet potatoes and our kid.

  “Because it’s Parker’s first birthday and it needs to be personal. We don’t want to be those people.”

  “What people? People who can’t cook? Because we are.” I duck to avoid the cracker puff that flies at my head. “Careful. I don’t want to have to vacuum again too.”

  Holland snorts a laugh. “Right. Because you’re such the domestic genius.”

  “Hey, I’m the one over here burning my fingers off on these cream puff things.”

  “They’re mini quiches.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You volunteered for appetizer duty.”

  “Better than decoration duty. Those dancing pigs scare the sh—crap out of me. When’s Jesse getting here anyway? He’s the chef of the group.”

  She glances at the clock. “Any second, I think. They flew in last night so they’re probably sleeping in.”

  “Daaaaaaaaaa.” Tiny arms reach toward me, and I melt into the little puddle of Daddy mush that I become every time that kid looks at me. How such a miracle can come from a mess like me, I’ll never understand. Must take after his mother.

  I plant a kiss on Holland’s head and move to scoop up Parker.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You look like you need a break,” I lie. Holland’s eyes narrow, but she has zero resistance to the sight of me losing my shit over our son. The kid’s so damn perfect. “We need to work on our song. Don’t we, little dude?”

  “Daaaaaaa! Daaaaa!”

  “See?” I direct to Holland who’s crossed her arms in disapproval. Even Parker doesn’t buy it. I grab the rag and wipe him down.

  “What about the party?”

  “Eh, we’re good. Besides, your mother is going to re-do everything when she gets here anyway. I’m surprised she didn’t stay over so she could start last night.”

  A smile peeks out on Holland’s face.
“Well…”

  I tuck Little Dude against my shoulder and give his mom a hard look. “What?”

  “She may have asked to stay over tonight to help after the party. I may have said okay.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “It’s the least we can do for how much she helps with Parker.”

  “Hey, I’m not complaining. Just don’t let her near the studio again. Last time she dusted the mixer and moved all the presets.”

  Holland bites her lip, trying not laugh. “I promise.”

  “It’s not funny,” I say on my way out of the kitchen. It wasn’t. I was pissed. Now, several months later, maybe it kinda is.

  “Daaaaaaaa?” Parker pads a chubby hand against my cheek.

  “I know, dude. We’re going.”

  We make our way through the house, and down the stairs to the finished basement. Parker is already jumping in my arms, struggling against my pace that’s not fast enough for his one-year-old schedule. I put him down and let him lead the way to the studio with his zombie-baby strut. Kid’s definitely going to be a lead singer like his parents.

  He pushes on the glass, adding another handprint to the collection, and I grab his hand before opening the door.

  As soon as we’re in, he’s on the move toward his pint-sized drum kit.

  “You ready to work, my man?” I ask, crouching down.

  “Daaaaaaaaa!” He climbs up on the little stool-chair and points to his ear protection. I grab the safety muffs and secure them around his head. His grin is everything and matches the one on my phone’s lock screen. I barely place the short sticks in his hands before he’s banging away on his kit. Yep, the custom four-piece baby set was a shower gift from Casey and Callie. Casey insisted the first NSB kid was going to be a drummer. Parker hasn’t figured out the pedal for the kick drum yet, but he loves kicking it.

  “Well, hang on. I didn’t even tune my guitar yet,” I say to no one because my bandmate is long gone in baby-music-land.

  I nod my head to his beat as I remove my acoustic from its case. The kid would definitely benefit from some time with a metronome, but for a one-year-old, he’s pretty damn solid. Huge blue eyes shine over at me through the banging, and I give him a thumbs-up. I insert my own ears so I can hear my guitar over my son’s accompaniment.