AllFreeNovel
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Scouring the bodies gathered along the sidewalk in front of the bar, I spot Will first. He’s weaving through the crowd, making his way toward the bus doors. Ivy’s fast on his heels, and just before I look away, I catch Waylon and Will colliding on the edge of the crowd in a fierce hug.
It’s Gavin, Linda, Mom, and Reggie I see next, all gathered by the entrance to O’Leary’s. Reggie’s got his arm thrown around Mom while she and Linda laugh and talk amongst themselves.
A pang of longing shoots across my chest at the sight. I haven’t seen Mom or the others since we left on tour. Not in person, that is.
Behind me, Shawn says, “You comin’?”
I spare one last sweeping glance over the crowd and nod. “Yeah.”
Finally dragging myself away from the window, I grab the duffle I kept up here with me, swing it over my shoulder, and follow Shawn toward the front of the bus.
Ken, our driver, unbuckles and gives us a nod before opening the driver’s side door. “I’ll start unloading your stuff.”
He leaves the engine on. We told him we’d pay for a room at the motel, but he insisted on heading home. He’s used to driving through the night anyway.
A cold gust of air blows from the street, up the steps, and into the bus. It’s early April—two days before my twenty-third birthday—but winter’s yet to fully release us from its grasp.
Piles of snow from a late March storm that blew up the East coast cling to the corners of the street, and slush and salt squish and crunch under my boots when I hit the pavement.
Another wave of cheers rise up, and now that I’m closer, I can make out what some of the signs say.
WELCOME HOME
WE <3 U LOST BOYS
WE MISSED YOU!
A smile creeps up my cheek as I take it all in.
Fuck, it’s good to be home.
Shawn huffs, and I slide him a knowing look. If he was Waylon, I’d muss his hair, or bump his shoulder. Instead I just say, “Admit it. You love this.”
He shoots me a flat look before turning away, ever the prickly bastard.
And yet, still, girls scream his name, demanding his attention, acting like maybe, just maybe, they’ll be the one to pierce their way through his steely bubble.
Good luck with that.
Chuckling, I shake my head, and say hi to a couple familiar faces, accepting a couple hugs and fist bumps.
The crowd seems to mostly be made up of the usual bar crowd—younger twenty-something year-olds from surrounding towns. College kids. Those who used to come weekend after weekend to see us play.
There’s a couple of the older regulars here too—like John and Sid, Sid’s construction crew, and Big Ray—not Izzy and Jeremy’s dad, but the Ray who owns our local grocery store.
We shake hands and slap backs as I pass.
I’m only half-paying attention to what people are saying as they call out to me and squeeze my shoulder in passing. It all sort of runs together as the din of the crowd increases, not unlike how it is before and after shows when we take time to meet with fans and sign merch and take photos.
It’s surreal though, experiencing it like this in our hometown, with people we’ve known for years. Surreal and weird, and a little uncomfortable, if I’m being honest. Not in a bad way, just awkward.
I twist my head, craning my neck, trying to see through the throng of bodies, wondering why it feels like everyone’s paying attention to me and me only.
Where the hell are Way and Shawn?
Sure, to some degree, I’m the front man, being lead on vocals and all—at least in the eyes of the label and marketing….something we’ve been having some issues with the label about—but Waylon and Shawn are just as fucking crucial to the band as I am, and normally the crowd typically treats them as such. They know as well as we do that without either of them, we would not be the Lost Boys—it’s just fucking fact.
And hell, if you look at our band stats online, Waylon’s considered a lead on vocals too. It just so happens he primarily plays drums, unless we have someone fill in for the songs we wrote for two leads, and not just back-up harmonizing.
