The Crow Brothers: JET - TULSA - RIVERS - RIDGE

by Scott, S. L.

  The spotlight hits me, but I block it out, letting the music take over. Ten seconds in and my bandmates are at the forefront, showcasing their talent as they start to play.

  And then the lights drift over the audience, the beams flashing, synced to our song. Holy fuck!

  I never miss a beat. Never miss a cue. I don’t miss a second of what this is—the best fucking moment of my life.

  This beats the best fucking orgasm I’ve ever had.

  This is church, the audience our disciples. As we preach, they pray.

  I hit with power; the sounds swimming in my head as if they’re a part of me.

  Time flies too quickly. The set is almost over, and I try to absorb this feeling, this high I’m riding, to keep me satisfied until next time.

  My brothers stepped back to connect with me at different points during the show, and now, Jet rips the riffs on his black guitar with perfection. Rivers tears up the bass. We’ve never sounded better.

  Slamming the last beats of the final song, I stand to make a show of it. Jet, Dave, and Rivers unplug and head for the steps. I run toward the audience and throw my sticks as far as I can before passing the guys and heading offstage.

  Johnny, Tommy, and Dex are there waiting. Johnny says, “Great fucking show.” He shakes our hands and then walks away.

  Tommy says, “Welcome to the big time.”

  Dex is smiling like his cub has made him proud. He has a big fucking ego. I like him. He says, “I knew you could do it. Next time, don’t throw your sticks. The lawsuits aren’t worth the gimmick.”

  I laugh. “Advice taken.” When they walk off, I turn to my bandmates, who are huddled together. “What a fucking high.”

  Jet adds, “We did it. We’ve made it.”

  “I can’t believe I just played in front of that audience,” Dave says.

  Rivers chuckles and tightens his arms around us. “They knew the songs. They fucking knew our songs.”

  We don’t need words. What we experienced out there was surreal. I don’t think I’ll ever forget this night. Fucking amazing.

  Jet pops me in the arm. “You rocked that kit, man.”

  “Thanks.” We need to move out of the way of the roadies, so I step to the side, needing a minute more to soak in this moment before it’s gone. My gaze wanders in the direction of The Resistance’s dressing rooms. Bodyguards surround the guys as they head that way, exposing some of the illusion of what fame means. Those guys can’t go anywhere, not even backstage, without the possibility of a threat being present.

  But I’m distracted by blue eyes, a short skirt, great tits, long, blond hair, and a kickass singing voice—the perfect woman.

  When she catches me ogling her, I don’t look away. That’s not my style. I own everything about the interaction, wanting her to know exactly what I think about her.

  The impact comes from out of nowhere, sending me stumbling to the right. Rivers is laughing, but not as hard as Jet. “Fuck you, Jet.” Him bumping into me didn’t hurt, but I still rub my arm for dramatics.

  “Don’t let your dick fuck up this opportunity. We get one shot at this. If we fail, we’re stuck fighting our way back to the top, and I really like where we are.”

  “What if I’m in love?”

  “It’s called lust,” Rivers says. “She’s hot, but listen to your brothers.”

  Waving a hand in front of my face, Jet says, “It’s like he doesn’t even hear us.”

  Rivers starts for the dressing room. “Leave him be, Jet. You’re never going to be able to talk sense into him when his dick does all his thinking.”

  Jet follows Rivers. “Here I thought he wanted this as much as we did. And it’s not love you’re in, Tuls.”

  “Fine. I’m in fucking lust, but you gotta admit she’s gorgeous.”

  She and her band push through a door and disappear to the other side. I don’t even know her name, so I’m tempted to follow. But when I see my brothers glance back to see if I’m still with them, I stay. This isn’t just about me anymore.

  It never really was. Though I got away with a lot of shit, acting as if I was the center of the fucking universe, I’m not. It’s The Crow Brothers band. I need to remember that and get my act together.

  In the dressing room, we guzzle water and open a few celebratory beers. We finish the first and pop the tops on another round when a low hum of fans screaming in the distance is heard and then silenced with the close of a door. Stepping out, we see The Resistance heading for the stage.

  Johnny’s head is down, the noise that drew us out here seeming to be lost on him. Dex weaves the drumsticks between his fingers with a deftness that only comes with years of practice. Kaz and Derrick talk casually behind the others as if they’re not about to play music for a crowd of twenty-thousand screaming fans.

  How are they so calm and collected, like this is just another day?

  Guess it is for them.

  It does make me wonder how we’ll change as the band gains more fame. Rivers elbows me. “One day, I hope that’s us. One day, maybe we’ll be the headliner.”

  I nod but look to Jet. I think we’ve always looked at Jet for how we’re supposed to react and be. His guidance has been integral in my life. He’s not just my brother. He’s the dad who wanted us when our real father never did.

  Jet says, “No maybes. We will. But for now, let’s enjoy what we experienced out there.”

  Rivers nods. “They knew our lyrics. They’re listening. That means they’re buying our music. They were here to see us. That’s fucking incredible.”

  I’ve never seen him look so electrified, so pumped after a show. I feel the same. “This blows my mind.”

  We trek back to the side of the stage, beers in hand. Dex settles on the stool surrounded by his massive drum kit. A circular section of the stage that supports him and the kit raises, and the lights beam down when he kicks into his solo.

  It’s a cool as fuck intro, one every drummer dreams of having. The rest of the band joins in flawlessly; the stage is bright like the sun, and the light show begins. They’re well rehearsed, never missing a beat in performance or sound or song. The crowd devours everything they serve as if it’s their last meal.

  This is what makes them legends at such a young age. Dex and Johnny are barely in their thirties. Kaz and Derrick are still in their late twenties. But these guys perform as if they’ve done these songs for forty years.

  I envy how comfortable they are on stage, how they read every cue silently, and own every fan in this arena.

  “I want that.” My brothers turn back to look at me, so I glance back and forth between them and repeat myself.

  A slow smile slides into place on Jet’s face. It’s as if he’s seeing me in a new light—not as his pesky little brother but as his equal. He nods and turns back to watch the band. Yeah. I want that.

  Rivers doesn’t say anything either but gives that familiar nod we all do—understanding and pride mixed with appreciation. Our hands meet in the middle—two slow slides, three fist bumps, and a quick chest hit, and we bring it in. I’m patted on the back before he turns back and leans against Jet to tell him something while pointing at Derrick on stage.

  Tommy comes up behind me. “They don’t even think about it. They just get on that stage, sharing what comes naturally. Giving everything they have, they bleed for the audience.” He turns to me. “That’s what makes them stars versus just another band on the music scene.”

  Although I don’t have the word for it, I can see what he means. Everyone in this stadium can; everyone in this building can feel it in every song The Resistance plays. I’m about to say something, but he adds, “You guys have the same spark, the same magic. You just have to believe it. Fame is part talent and part arrogance to believe you deserve it.”

  “Are we talking fifty-fifty?”

  “No. More seventy-thirty.” He chuckles while rubbing his chin. “The seventy is talent, just in case you were wondering.” He leaves my side and takes a
few steps up the stairs.

  I finish my beer and toss the can into the recycling bin a few feet away. Laird and Shane show up, minus the hot little lead singer. Shane high-fives me and says, “Great show.”

  “You too.”

  “Faris Wheel is clever, by the way. I meant to say something last night.”

  “We went with the obvious. Hey, we didn’t get much time to talk before, but I heard Dex put you on drums only a few months back. You hit better than most drummers I know who’ve played for years.”

  “Thanks, man. I play drums and guitar. I learned drums first when I was a kid, but my lazy ass only gravitated to guitar because it was easier to drag around.”

  “How’d you end up on the skins again?”

  “We lost our drummer to a stable job at a tech firm.”

  “Oh man, that sucks for him. Missing out on all this. He must be feeling crazy regret.”

  “Yeah, I suspect. I moved back to the kit to fill in, but Dex suggested I give it a go in the studio on the album. I’ve stayed ever since.”

  “Do you prefer the drums or the guitar?”

  “If I’m being honest, Dex was right. And now that we have roadies, it’s not a bad gig to have.”

  Shane laughs, his hand hitting Laird in the chest. “This dude is outrageous. Love it.”

  Laird chuckles. “We’re going out later if you want to come.”

  After seeing their singer, I’m curious about her. “The singer dating anyone?”

  Laird snaps, “Don’t even fucking think about it, much less look at her.”

  “I take that as a yes,” I mutter under my breath.

  Shane shakes his head. “She’s my cousin, dude, but she’s his twin sister.”

  “Twins?” Oh, shit. “Really?”

  Laird checks the irritation that flickers across his face. “Look. We had a good time. Let’s not blow it. She’s my sister. I don’t want to think about her hooking up with anyone, but I definitely don’t want to see it.”

  I just came off stage with the biggest high of my life. No point getting sidetracked, especially if she’s off-limits. “First round on me tonight.”

  3

  Nikki Faris

  Break a leg? Seriously?

  God, how embarrassing. Does anyone even say break a leg anymore? He probably thinks I’m beyond ridiculous.

  Considering the way he stared at me, though, I think I might be in the clear. I was tempted to lift his chin back up. I’m used to getting looks like that: surprise that I’m not a goth girl, folksy, or sporting a full-sleeve tattoo, covered in skintight leather.

  No one expects an ex-beauty queen who can sing and play guitar better than most guys out there. My voice is strong, and I can hold the notes. I used to kill it in the talent portion of the pageants.

  Despite my natural poise and etiquette training, I almost stumbled right into his arms. I wasn’t expecting a cross between James Dean and a male model to greet me coming off stage. I don’t know what it was about him, but I looked back, needing one last visual before I left.

  I guess I missed the close-ups when I researched The Crow Brothers online. With a face like that, I should have paid more attention. Instead, I learned some basics about them being from Austin and listened to their new album.

  I floated right off that stage until I hit those damn stairs hidden in the dark. Me stumbling doesn’t matter. That we just performed in front of twenty-thousand screaming fans does. Tonight is different, though. I feel it.

  The adrenaline from tonight is intoxicating. The smell of possibility filled the arena. We did this on our own and created music from nothing but pure determination.

  So tonight is the start of something new. It’s not just about the show, but the adventure ahead, the doors that are opening for us after years of hard work.

  Although I’ve never had to worry about money, I don’t want to rely on my parents forever. Independent means is the only way I’ll ever feel free. I relied on someone once, fell for the charms of a man not worthy of me, and it left me lying in a playground mutilated on the outside and damaged on the inside.

  Two fingers snap in front of my face while I look back at the Crow brothers. “Nikki! Pay attention.”

  “What?” I ask my brother.

  “You came in late on the second chorus of ‘Sleepless.’”

  “I think you came in early.”

  “What do you think, Shane?”

  My cousin will step in when necessary, but he’s smart enough to stay out of our differences most of the time. Shane shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. I didn’t notice Nikki coming in late or you coming in early. Let’s just enjoy the fact we just played Staples Center. Like holy shit, guys. We did it!”

  I punch my brother’s arm. “He’s right,” I say, smiling. “We did it.”

  Laird stops walking, letting Johnny and the other guys go ahead. He grabs my wrist, and I look back, his expression hard to read. “What?” I ask.

  “We just played Staples, Nik. We just fucking played the Staples Center.” I’m pulled into a tight embrace, and he kisses the top of my head. I wrap my arms around him as it sinks in. We just played Staples. Holy fucking wow. “You did good, little sis.” Our arms goes wide, and we look to Shane. “Bring it in, cuz. Everything we worked for, all the long hours writing songs, practicing, performing, and recording was for this. This tour. The album. Staples Center.”

  It’s always been the three of us. We aren’t just family; we’re neighbors and friends. Schoolmates. Roommates. Bandmates.

  Johnny comes back to us. “I’m going to watch some of The Crow Brothers’ show before I need to warm up, but you guys did great. Nikki, you’re a star at the microphone. Captivating to watch.” Turning to Shane, he adds, “You killed it on the drums. Even Dex couldn’t complain. Hey, Laird, you did great. It was a dynamic performance. I still want ‘Sleepless’ on the album. I saw the crowd. They loved it. Jagger already gone?”

  Laird replies, “Yep. He’s catching a flight.”

  “Not easy to take on jobs like he does.”

  “He’s a workhorse, and he’s good.”

  “That he is,” Johnny says.

  Kaz comes by and nods. “They’re about to go on.”

  Walking backward, Johnny says, “You sticking around for our show or catching up tomorrow?”

  Laird is the most vocal of us, tending to take the lead when we’re asked questions. I called him chatty Chad when we were little. Ha! He says, “We’re staying for the show.”

  “Smart choice,” Johnny replies, his bodyguard flanking his side when he turns around.

  I start following, and Laird asks, “Where are you going?”

  “I want to see The Crow Brothers.”

  Jogging to join Kaz and Johnny, I keep a little distance so the bodyguard doesn’t tackle me, but Johnny spies me and asks, “How do you feel?”

  “About the show?” When he nods, I reply, “Great.”

  “You should.” He looks past me as if seeing if I’m alone, although Kaz and Tommy are here. “You have a distinct style in music and looks. That’s why we signed you. Stay true to who you are and your sound, and you’ll go far.”

  I’m not sure if he’s saying me specifically or the band, but I’m not going to question it. Anyway, I have no intention of changing. This is who I am. This is who Faris Wheel is.

  When we reach the steps that lead to the stage, he stops and pulls his phone out. Holding it up, he starts filming just as the drummer hits the kit and the lights go up.

  We deserved that spot in the lineup. We’ve played countless festivals and in front of large crowds, toured Europe performing in sold-out clubs across the continent. The Crow Brothers have solidified their popularity in Austin, and the rest of the state, but what about North America?

  Jealousy is a bitch to deal with. I know the spot went to them because they completed their album, and it hit the charts. It’s still there months later. They earned it. We will too one day.

&
nbsp; I go back to the dressing room and barge in. “We have to finish our album, and ‘Sleepless’ is going on it. It’s worked out. The audience loved it. We’ll perfect it in the studio.”

  Shane lifts his head from the arm of the green vinyl couch, his eyes opening one at a time. “Who lit a fire under your ass?”

  “The Crow Brothers.”

  Laird scoffs. “Finally.”

  “It wasn’t me holding the album up, dearest brother.”

  “This is our first record label. I’m not fucking it up by throwing shit on it and hoping it sticks.” He’s always done smug well, but now there’s an added devious glint in his eyes, making him a little more menacing. “But I agree. It’s time, dearest sister,” he says, matching my sarcasm. “So you want their spot on the tour?”

  “It doesn’t have to be this tour. They aren’t our enemies. They earned their spot just like we did. But next time, yes.” We smile. Next time.

  * * *

  Shane stands. “I need a smoke, and then I’m going to watch The Resistance.”

  Pushing off the vanity, Laird says, “I’m coming with.” He stops at the door. “You coming, Nik?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I want to see them play too, so I follow along. On the way outside, I spot the only Crow who has piqued my curiosity, and his eyes are on me. Again.

  He definitely gets a lot of attention. He’s confident, cocky actually, and well aware of his good looks and the appeal of being a musician.

  Letting myself indulge in the tall, lean, muscular frame of the drummer surely won’t do any harm. I push through the doors and step outside with the guys. Shane steps off to the side to light up. Laird follows him, but I stay near the exit and look up.

  No stars can be seen because of the smog, the clouds, and the bright parking lot lights. I hate when I can’t find the stars. It’s the only thing that gives me something solid to believe in, something tangible that follows me around the world and keeps me strong.

  I had a wild streak that got me in trouble, breaking my once carefree spirit. When I clawed my way out from under the rubble of a hurricane named Andrés, I lay on my back and stared up at the night sky. In too much pain to move, I stayed there until my brother found me in an elementary school playground under the swings. Exactly where they told him I’d be.