Almost Easy

Everything was falling into place. Brian had gotten into sync with our group musically and socially. All of our tour dates were sold out or impressively profitable. The details were smoothed over, the crew was set up to get to work. All that was left was to go.
Oh, and our album debuted at no.7 on the charts. This came as a surprise not only to us but apparently to the media. Most outlets were now predicting that our album would climb in its first week on the shelf—we crossed our fingers for a no. 1, even though it was famed to be pretty elusive.
I would have been naïve to think that Tyler’s passing hadn’t aided our sales. The media was in a frenzy with his death and the aftermath of it all. It had certainly projected our name into the world at a rate we wouldn’t have known otherwise. I guessed I should just be thankful instead of letting it build into a form of resentment.
We were two weeks out from the tour and I was finally getting excited. It was our collective hope as a band that we’d start to see some money after our touring stint. I was starting to really feel the strain of my lifestyle. A paycheck would certainly help.
It was awkward to rehearse with Brian for the first while. I had hardly known him as a musician and it was weird to sing in front of him. At the end of it all, though, we were both professionals and had to put whatever discomfort we were feeling aside. In regards to the music, we were Blair Peterson and Synyster Gates. We could only be B-squared at home. And boy were we ever.
He was smitten with Tyler’s parents. They’d done such a fine job of welcoming him in and taking an interest in his life—maybe too much of an interest. He was constantly commending them for how sweet they were. It seemed to almost wash the memory of my aunt’s behavior away. I’d made a vow to myself to never, ever put Brian and my aunt in the same room again.
We’d wrapped another productive rehearsal and after what felt like an eternity, we were free.
“We need to go and unwind,” Justin told the group matter-of-factly. “It’s been a long fucking week.”
“I have plans,” Chris told him as he packed up his things. “I can’t cancel on Kaylie again or she’ll stab me.”
“Whipped,” Justin said seriously. “So unbelievably whipped.”
“You say that now,” Chris retorted cockily. “But when your ass gets dumped, we’ll all know why.”
Justin furrowed his brows, “What? Why?”
Brian scoffed, “Because you’re an asshole.”
John and Chris erupted into laughter, nodding in agreement.
“Fuck that,” Justin snorted. “I just don’t let women push me around like you three.”
“Those are fighting words,” John grinned at his friend.
“They’re not. They’re the truth,” Justin continued on his angry rant. “You guys are so god damn pussy-whipped it’s not even funny. It’s a little pathetic though. This guy,” he gestured to John, “has to ask permission to go out for a drink past 8 o’clock.”
“Mel likes to go to bed early,” John grumbled in humiliation.
“This guy,” Justin gestured to Chris, “fucking always has plans with his girlfriend. Anywhere we go, you better believe Kaylie is coming along.”
“I thought you liked Kaylie,” Chris pouted.
Justin rolled his eyes, “That’s not the point.”
“I like to hang out with my girlfriend,” Chris shrugged.
“And this guy,” Justin continued, finally landing on Brian.
Brian challenged him visually. He had been packing his guitars but had abandoned that and was now standing straight, his attention zoned in on Justin. I abandoned my own packing to watch, frozen in anxiety.
Justin kind of switched gears when he caught Brian staring him down. The others had always easily bowed to Justin. He was the loudest of us all and no one ever cared enough to argue with him. Brian was not like that, though.
“What about this guy?” Brian asked cockily.
Justin looked like he might back down but then didn’t, “You abandoned your fucking band to go chase your girlfriend around the country. You’re probably the most whipped of us all.”
John cringed so hard that I could feel the vibrations from where I was. My heart kind of thudded. In a really bad way. I was both horrified that Justin had said it and terrified that Brian might hit him.
“You’re welcome,” Brian spit.
Justin was speechless. Who would have ever guessed that two tiny words could shut Justin the fuck up. It was a simple response but fuck was it ever an impact.
“Who wouldn’t chase her around?” John joked, trying to break the tension.
Brian and Justin were still engaged in a stare down.
“Justin,” I snapped finally. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I’m just saying,” Justin finally conceded before going to back to his things.
“Way to ruin a good day,” John groaned from the corner, pulling a guitar case into each hand before heading for the door. “Instead of criticizing everyone for their choices, maybe you should give yours some more thought.”
He pushed passed Justin, saying goodbye to the rest of us cordially before disappearing through the door.
Chris completely ignored Justin as he made for the exit. But he stopped abruptly and turned to Brian.
“Don’t listen to that idiot,” Chris told my beautiful Brian. “We’re really glad you’re here. Don’t get the idea that we don’t appreciate it.”
“Don’t even worry about it,” Brian half-snarled from inside his guitar case.
Chris shrugged subtly at me before taking his leave. Justin took off next but didn’t say a word to either one of us. Why he was made was beyond me.
This left Brian and I alone and it was really fucking uncomfortable.
“Hey,” I sighed and took a seat atop his amp, “I’m sorry about Justin.”
Brian looked at me funny, “Why?”
I paused, “What he said was rude.”
Brian shrugged, “Yeah, so what?”
I bit at my bottom lip, “I just don’t want you to think—”
He rolled his eyes a little, “Blair, it’s fine. I’m not sensitive. I really don’t care what Justin thinks.”
I reached out to touch his face, lifting his chin so he’d actually look at me. He softened a tad.
“I care what you think,” I told him. “And I want you to think that we appreciate you, because we do. I do. I am so thankful for you. We’d be fucked if it weren’t for you.”
“You would have found someone else,” Brian said. “I’m not your savior.”
“I love that you think that,” I half-smiled.
“Let’s get out of here,” he breathed. “I’m ready to be anywhere else.”
“Yours or mine?” I asked as I hopped off his amp and back onto my feet.
I picked up one of his guitar cases as he picked up the other.
“Mine,” he smirked. “Mine means you in a bathing suit.”
“You know,” I giggled, “if you play your cards right, maybe it’ll be me out of a bathing suit.”
Brian smirked, “Don’t tease me, Peterson.”
I sighed heavily, “Don’t—”
“Don’t call me that,” Brian mocked in his squeakiest voice.
I had a feeling tour was going to be a good time.

Notes