The Song Remains the Same (14 page)

“So what if you do?”

He blinked at me in surprise.

“We’ve got a little time. Do you want to meditate with me?” I asked.

He nodded, and we found a quiet corner to settle down in, both of us taking lotus pose. I sat before him, still holding his hands, wanting to transfer my calm energy into him.

“Will you talk me into it?” he begged. “I might not have it in me.”

“Of course,” I replied. “Close your eyes.”

We both did so, shutting out vision.

“Take a deep breath. Imagine that breath is cleansing out your fear. Another. Each one is releasing more of it, replacing it with a sense of calm and peace…”

I felt the subtle shift within him. He stopped trembling, and his body relaxed.

“You’re sinking inside yourself, slipping easily into a state of suspension. It’s warm and safe, filled with love…”

Connor sighed, the last of his fear dissipating. I was there with him in the warm, safe dark place. I could see him as a sweet silvery glow, pulsating with energy and love. He was so ready for this, excited to be a part of his favorite band, headlining the festival that he’d once watched from the other side with his sisters.

He didn’t want to let Our Boys down. They had put so much faith in him, and he loved each of them as though they truly were his brothers. They had handed him his lifelong dream. He didn’t want to screw it up.

“You won’t. You were made for thi
s.”

In my head, I smiled at him, and his silver glow brightened.

“You’ve done this before. Phil’s right. If you can do it in front of hundreds, what’s a few more? Don’t let yourself be intimidated. You are one of the strongest souls I’ve ever known. This is what you’ve worked so hard for. Don’t let fear take it away from you.”

He was reliving all of the fantasies he had had over the years of performing on stage, rocking out with what had once been nameless, faceless band members. Now, he belonged to a tight brotherhood, their faces very real, and they were there for him, holding him up, proud to call him one of their own.

Phil’s blazing hot energy gently touched on my shoulder, prompting my ascension. As I opened my eyes, my vision dazzled as I beheld the aura of my other half in red and gold and every radiant hue in between. He was so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at him.

Glancing at Connor, I could see his aura, too. With blues, greens, and silver, he was calm and collected, ready to face the multitudes.

“Connor?”

He opened his eyes and smiled at me. When he turned his sight up toward Phil, his eyes widened. Connor saw Phil’s true self, too, and like me, he was drawn to it. Phil’s aura sank back into himself, and his dimpled smile made my heart race.

“Five minutes, little brother.” Phil’s voice caressed over us.

Connor smiled broadly. “Fuck yeah.”

Meditating for more than twenty minutes, we had worked through Connor’s fear in that timeless dwelling. The veil of the real world descended, and time caught up with us. Bounding to his feet, Connor allowed his excitement to carry him, rush through him, and he filled himself up with courage to face his first huge concert.

Grabbing me into a bear hug, my brother whispered, “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Then, he passed me to my fiancé and bounced over to his other brothers while Phil pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

“You’re just so wonderful, you know that?” he said softly, his deep voice sinking below my skin, into my organs, before absorbing into my soul.

“Go give me my show.” I laughed. “And take care of Connor.”

“Anything for my Baby Girl.”

Just like that, he was gone. He was Phil fucking Deveraux, heavy metal front man, legend among the gods. I was just his other half, watching from the side stage as he entertained the masses, in complete awe of what I was now truly a part of.

“New York!” Phil roared after their first three songs. “Are you having a good fuckin’ time?”

The cacophony of cheers that washed over the stage was staggering. Fifteen thousand voices united in a sustained single wave, crashing and pooling around Our Boys. I could see Connor was in a blissful state of mind.

“What do you think of our new album?” Phil asked the multitudes. “Does it reach your esteemed standards?”

The replying cheer confirmed that they certainly enjoyed it.

“That’s fuckin’ fantastic. You all should thank our newest brother for the way that turned out because, without him, we couldn’t have made such a musical fuckin’ masterpiece. To be honest and in no way fuckin’ modest, that’s what it is. We even surprised ourselves with this one. Everyone, greet our little brother.” He turned and pointed to Connor, who waved. “And fuckin’ tell him thank you!”

“Thank you!” echoed and bounced as fifteen thousand voices acknowledged Connor.

“We got a bit of an epic one for you. If you’ve got
Homecoming,
you know this one because it’s too fuckin’ long to put on the radio waves. Have you guys heard our little ditty, ‘The Fortunate Fallen’?”

Yes, it would seem that the crowd knew it by the volume of their united voices.

“All right. Get ready then because we’re ready to jam the fuck out for you all!”

The intro started off with Flipper, Connor, and X bringing out the melancholy beauty, and then it was picked up by Jason some heartbeats later. Then, Phil opened his mouth and sang as though his life depended on it.

“Our adventure begins on a dark stretch of highway/

An anthem in our hearts for the tribe we leave behind/

A band of brothers united by the song we play/

We follow the road of our own design./”

For the chorus, both Jason and Connor sang backup vocals, enriching Phil’s powerful voice, making it swell and rise up and over the crowd.

“We are the Fortunate Fallen/

Heroes for each other, if for no one else/

We strengthen these bonds to be unbroken/

Our heart’s anthem a force unto itself./”

Watching them from the side wasn’t the greatest, in my opinion. I would’ve loved nothing more than to run out and view from the crowd, but it was still magical to behold. Seeing the poise and grace in Phil on stage was something else.
He
was something else up there.

While I was watching Phil swell up with the air needed to release his powerful voice, my eyes spotted something far across the stage. Barely visible was a drawn pale face framed in black fringe with dark circles ringing the eyes. I knew he had attempted to wash the paint off, but he’d ended up leaving a trace of black liner.

Dressed in all black, Devon watched Phil, too. I could see how affected he was by this song, by the power of the music, the lyrics. He ached with it.

His eyes shifted and found me, and the emotion behind them struck me hard behind my rib cage. Devon wasn’t just affected by the music. He was in pain. Devon looked repressed on a level that I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Smiling a tired, sad smile, he pressed his hand over his heart, tapping twice. He had only wanted to hear them, see them perform it live. He knew it by heart already.

“We ride away from our only truth/

From the ones we love above all else/

Searching the world for glory to bring back home/

Hoping we haven’t sacrificed all just to be ourselves.

Fighting to be the Fortunate Fallen/

Hardened heroes for each other, if for no one else/

Holding on to the unbroken bonds between us/

Our heart’s anthem crying out for itself./”

A part of me wanted to reach out to Devon, to help find a way to heal whatever it was inside that was ripping him to shreds. But it wasn’t my reach that was needed. It was Phil’s.

“Against all hope, praying Our Chance won’t fuck with what’s fated/

We fight. We bleed. We’re so close to breaking/

Only our faith in each other holds us together/

Undivided to the end, we still stand.

We are the Fortunate Fallen/

Heroes for each other if for no one else/

Graced with the unbroken bonds between us/

Our heart’s anthem heard and felt.

The passing of time has opened deep chasms/

Our longing for loved ones too painful to ignore/

This band of brothers turns toward muddy waters/

It’s time to find our tribe along the shore./

We are the fortunate fallen/

A band of brothers, homesick and sore/

Glory now found in our unbroken bonds/

Homeward bound, a tribe waits without blame/

The adventure is over for now/

We are forever changed.”

Once more, I looked across the stage.

Devon was gone.

“Thank you, New York!” Phil roared.

Our Boys joined at the front of the stage to take their unified bow. Phil gave the crowd his Namaste, and funnily enough, so did Connor. To me, it wasn’t unexpected, but Phil caught it, and his smile was blinding.

As they exited toward us, Alys, Lili, and I launched ourselves at my little brother. The four of us howled at the top of our lungs.

“Fuck! That was
amazing
!” he roared.

“Dude, I think we just got dumped for the new guy,” X stated in mock incredulousness.

Throwing his arm around his flame-headed best friend, Phil grinned. “I don’t blame them. He’s a fuckin’ cutie pie.”

Untangling from each other, I turned to throw my arms around my incredibly sweaty fiancé, receiving a dimpled grin and a kiss that made my toes curl in my Chucks.

“Amazing show, babe.”

“Gotta please our number one fan.”

“
Your
number one fan.”

“Yeah, that, too.”

From Bethel, New York, the tour headed to New Haven, Connecticut, then to Providence, Rhode Island, on to Boston, Massachusetts, and Concord, New Hampshire, before wrapping up in Portland, Maine.

Wow. Talk about exhausting.

We’d done five shows in ten days.

Luckily, we had a two-day break back in New York, away from the stinky bus and everyone else. We weren’t getting on each other’s nerves so much as a little privacy went a long way.

Connor’s confidence had been growing with each show. I called Da regularly to keep him updated since I was pretty sure Connor was too busy to be bothered with letting our parents know how he was doing.

A lot of my time spent on the bus was with Lewis, designing recipes of local favorites from each town we stopped in. We had been doing our best to provide the healthiest cuisines for the guys and ourselves, avoiding fast-food joints and restaurants. Unless we were staying in a hotel for a night, Lewis and I would cook.

Lili was also involved with Lewis’s cookbook, taking photos of the finished products, and I had to congratulate her. She was truly embracing her photography, and with all the time on her hands to do so, she’d been developing a great style.

We’d discovered a couple of gems, mostly on the second stage. The crap stage was still producing…well, crap. My reviews had been received with positive feedback from the guys, and I felt I had been developing a decent writing style myself.

Sheri was a wonder. Always in a decent mood, she was ready to help in whatever capacity she could. She and Tim spent long hours going over details and arranging stuff. I didn’t even know what. I just thought the two of them were amazing at whatever the hell it was they did.

Connor and I practiced our yoga together every morning, and Sheri would join us, glowing with health and happiness from her stable diet and regular exercise.

Mopping the sweat off her face and chest after a particularly vigorous routine, she smiled. “It’s incredible. I have the energy to tackle practically anything, all day long. Before, when we toured, I was dying by nighttime.”