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Dylan steps in between them. “No fighting in the recording studio.”
Jett smirks. “But we can fight somewhere else?”
“Come on.” Gibson motions to the door. “Let’s have a brawl in the middle of Main Street.”
“We’ll liven things up.”
Winter Falls doesn’t need livening up. It may be a small town of barely over one-thousand inhabitants but the place is anything but dull. There are pagan festivals at least once a month and visitors from throughout the state of Colorado pack the town during them.
If the festivals didn’t already liven the town up, the residents would. To say they’re kooky is a major understatement. There’s literally a man who walks his squirrels without pants on. Yes, squirrels.
I thought this place was going to be dull when we arrived to record our latest album here. Cash convinced us other bands had recorded at Bertie’s Recording Studio and we went along with him. Mostly because we all needed a break and a small town seemed a good place for one.
Little did we know he had found out the brothers he never knew about while growing up live here. He’s now part of a big family and is settled down in Winter Falls with the love of his life.
“We’re not done yet,” Stan, our producer, announces over the speaker.
Gibson bounces on his toes and begins shadow boxing. “But we’re having a rumble on Main Street.”
“Another night in jail won’t kill me,” Jett declares.
Dylan growls at the reminder of the first night Jett spent in jail here. It was because he scared Dylan’s woman, Virginia, to death when he broke into the library where she works.
“Guys,” Rob, the studio engineer, calls. “Can we try the song in a different key?”
“Why? It was perfect,” Gibson says.
“Mr. Humble has arrived at the party,” Jett mumbles but he sits back down behind his drumkit.
We play the song again. For as much bitching as Gibson and Jett do, they are professional when it comes to the music. If they weren’t, I’d probably have pushed them off a building by now.
“Whoo-hoo!” Jett twirls his sticks in the air. “We’re finally done with this album.”
“Not quite,” Dylan says.
“Close enough. I can’t wait for some time off.”
“Are you heading off somewhere?” Cash asks the question I’m thinking.
“There’s a surfing competition I want to enter.”
Gibson’s nose wrinkles. “I thought you quit surfing after the shark bite.”
Jett rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t the one who got bit by the shark.”
Gibson snorts. “Which was a surprise considering how much you screamed like a little girl.”
“I did not scream like a little girl.”
Their bickering could go on forever. I stand and put my bass away.
“Hungry,” I say and aim for the exit.
“Are we doing the brewery or the diner?” Dylan asks as he follows me.
“I vote the brewery. They have the best burgers,” Gibson says.
“You just want a beer,” Jett says.
