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Few knew the boys were coming home for the summer. Mom said the label wanted them to find inspiration and work on the next album. Dad said they had to write the next album, or they likely wouldn’t be able to continue. I’m sure my brother told them both things.
My brother Steven and his best friend, Dean, started Hazy Summer during my senior year of high school. There had been many loud jam sessions coming from the basement as they found their sound and eventually added the rest of the band members.
I picked up Dorothy’s strawberry shake from the window and passed it to her. “I’m busy.”
“Betty Robertson, since when have you turned down a party?” She fidgeted with the straw in her shake before taking a sip. “It’s a welcome home party. At your home. You have to be there.”
“I was thinking of picking up an extra shift.” I didn’t want to be around the band. I could see my brother tomorrow after they’d all left the welcome home party.
“Betty!”
“I’m saving money.”
“You’re avoiding the reunion.” She gave me a look, knowing me all too well.
I turned away from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I dare you.”
I froze and looked at my best friend. “Dorothy, you promised.”
“Desperate times.”
If I were mean, I’d call her a bitch. She kept my secrets though. I’d never been able to turn down a dare. Maybe it had something to do with having an older brother who would always say I was too chicken to do things growing up.
“Fine. I get off in thirty minutes, you can meet me at the house and help me figure out what to wear.”
“Yes!” She threw a hand up in the air, then drank half of her shake before squinting and complaining about a brain freeze.
It had been three years since the summer that changed my life, the one that allowed me to dream big and then nearly broke me. I had nothing to show for it but regret. On one hand, they’d made it. On the other hand, what if I hadn’t given up so easily? It was my fault. I’d given up too easily when their asshole manager suggested it. Three years since I’d seen anyone in the band besides my brother.
In a world where things were constantly changing, I was stuck. It’s why I needed to make this move at the end of the summer. I needed it.
CHAPTER TWO
DEAN
Some people would fill with dread at the Welcome to Cedarville sign greeting them as they entered the small town. Like a beacon into the past, reminding them of their mistakes they wished they’d stayed away from. For some, hope and a promise of a better tomorrow.
For me, both.
Cedarville was home. Sure, it was small, but that was part of its charm. A place known for extended summers on the lake, tailgates before the game, and late weekend nights at the Rollerama.
The breeze coming through the partially open windows of the bus was warmer than I remembered. That’s what happens when you move one thousand and three hundred miles away. We had to come back to where we started. It may have taken moving to Los Angeles to make it, but it was here we found our sound.
This is where we found our sound.
We needed to come back to find it again, without all the distractions that the big city brought. We never finished recording our second album, always coming up with excuses. The reality was, we didn’t have new material. I was running on fumes, and I knew the rest of the guys were too. They distracted themselves with booze and drugs, just like I had, but it would only run us into the ground more. I couldn’t let them know the truth.
The label was ready to drop us after our first small tour didn’t do as well as they’d hoped. I persuaded them to give us the summer, and we’d come back with something that would blow their minds. They told me if we didn’t, not to bother coming back at all. This was the last chance to make things continue for Hazy Summer or we’d be on a permanent hiatus.
Ollie, our manager, told us two days ago the studio was booked for September. We had two months to come up with something new. I hadn’t told the rest of the band yet. Honestly, I don’t know if they can handle the pressure. I’ll tell them, but not yet.
Everything had been planned for the summer. The bus would be parked along the back of the Robertson’s property. Steven’s folks were always supportive of the band. They had the garage converted into a practice space while we were still in school several years ago.
Honestly, his parents were great about pretty much everything. It rubbed off on him, probably why we grew up as best friends and then started the band in the first place. They were the family I never had.
The bus would be close enough where we could access it, but far enough so it was out of the way. The only people who knew where it would be parked were the band and the Robertson’s.
