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Paper flapped as the notepad sailed through the air, bounced off the coffee table and landed on the floor with a splat. The pen at least landed on a cushion. His damned brother didn’t even glance at the floor as he glided across the room, gracefully avoiding the same spot that had tripped Tripp up.
Grasping around and damn near bobbling his phone, Tripp nearly missed the couch in his effort to smack his brother in the back of the head with an orange he threw at him. Of course, Winter just laughed harder and wandered out of the kitchen again. Tripp could hear him rummaging around in the den, a sound soon followed by the blips and laser fire of some kind of video game.
Rolling his eyes, Tripp cast his gaze in the direction of the wooden entryway and the wind chimes he was forced to duck every time he passed through it.
Who the fuck hung chimes in the house anyway?
His twin, apparently, a fact that Winter took great pleasure in tormenting him with. If only he’d kept his mouth shut the first time Winter had hung one. At leastthatone had been in an out of the way corner. He hadn’t understood why until the first time the heat had come on and the chime had tinkled lightly when the air made it sway.
Winter had hung one in the bathroom too, right in front of the window, which he was constantly leaving open. The result was that every breeze made the chimes clank together, sometimes violently on the nights the winds truly kicked up. For something that was supposed to be soothing, it drove Tripp to distraction sometimes, or maybe it was just that his brother liked it and would soak in the tub for over an hour listening to the breeze rock it instead of telling the smart speaker to play music like a normal human.
“Okay, I’m sitting, my supper will apparently have to remain raw a little longer.”
“It’s all for a good cause, I assure you.”
“It better be, I skipped breakfast.”
“So nibble a graham cracker and open your ears. Don’t try telling me you don’t have any when Winter said you have s’mores at least three times a week when you’re home.”
Huffing, Tripp yanked the drawer open and snatched the package from inside.
“Thank you. Now, they need small shows, we need some soft runs on the new material, so I was thinking…”
“No, hell no. Fuck you for even thinking we should go back on the road again. I just got a new couch. We haven’t even broken it in yet. Not a single divot.”
“Thought that’s what you and Winter would be writing the new songs on.”
“We have, doesn’t mean we’ve made a suitable imprint yet.”
“Okay, guess we’ll put off working the kinks out. Too bad. Jesse suggested we invite Riley and his crew to give them a chance to work on their new material. I hear Dez and Zakk have almost two albums worth of material. It’s a good idea, if you ask me. Oh, and get this, Saint’s Seduction reached out to Dez, again, and tried to get him to come back and play for them. The way I heard it; he never took the call. James gave them the flat ‘no’ Dez had conveyed to him the previous time and hung up on them.”
“Can’t say I blame them, the guy is talented.”
“If you think so, why do you two end up foaming at the mouth every time you’re in proximity to one another? I can practically hear you snarling from across the room.”
Tripp sighed, ‘cause he’d asked himself that for a couple of months now and what he kept coming back to was a relationship he didn’t know what to do with.
He was jealous.
Not of anything musical when it came to Dez’s ability and experience, but of the man himself and the time he spent with Zakk. Even the knowledge that Dez was dating Riley didn’t dull the possessiveness he felt towards a man he was barely lucky enough to see six times a year.
Wait…
Something clicked in his brain, along with a voice telling him to stay the fuck outta his own way before he fucked things up, again.
“Are you saying it would be us, Tattered Angel and Wild Child?” Tripp asked, excitement beginning to surge through him.
“Yup.”
“And who the hell would book that insanity?”
“James and Russ are raring to be unleashed on the project, but there are a few hiccups to iron out.
“Like?”
“Who would headline?”
“We’ll rotate, everyone should be good with that.”
