Love Will (8 page)

“Good luck getting that. He won’t talk to Max.”

“I’m hoping he’ll talk to Mom. You don’t think he’ll have a problem with the name change thing, do you?”

“He disowned us both,” I tell Jon. “I would think it would make him happy.”

“That’s what we were thinking.”

“Good, yeah. I think it’s a good idea, then.”
Max Scott
. Sounds weird. “Oh, fuck,” I say laughing. “We just got our little brother a genuine nickname:
Mascot
is born.”

“Oh, no,” Jon laughs with me. “I knew something sounded familiar about it when I said it… Mascot. No, I like that.”

“I think I like it better than Max,” I tell him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, still chuckling. “It’s cute.”

“Totally fits him.”

“Absolutely.” I’m proud of Max for taking this step. He should disassociate with the asshole, and sever all ties.
I probably should, too
. “So, ummm… what about you?” he asks, interpreting my silence like some creepy psychic… one who’s known me all my life, and now that he’s taken some time to step outside his bubble and see me for who I am, probably knows me better than anyone.

“What shitty nickname does my combination make?” I ask him.

“If your name was Wayne, you might have a problem, but
Will
does nothing for us. Will Scott. It just makes you sound more like my brother. That’s it and that’s all.”

“Yeah, you’ve thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Little bit, yeah.”

“What do
you
think?”

“I would welcome you into my family,” he says, obviously smiling. “I’d love for you to have my last name. I know Mom would love it, too.”

“Mom would blow a l–”

“You’ve
got
to find a new phrase. You’ve got a
Master’s Degree
, Will. Talk like it.”

“Our materfamilias would be exultant if I carried the same surname she does.”

“Digging up the Latin… nice,” he says.

“I know how to please you.”

“So? You need some time to think about it? I mean, I get it. It’s a whole new identity… people already know you as Will Rosser. You’ve made a name for yourself. It’s up to you. I won’t be hurt or offended. I just thought, since we’re starting the process with Mascot, you know…”

I laugh again. “What would the process be for me?”

“You fill out some paperwork online, petition the courts, pay sixty-five bucks, and put an ad in the paper. Done. I’ll even cover the cost, if you want to do it.”

“Yeah, let me think about it. But send me the link, if you have it. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. And Will?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t let what happened the last few months influence your decision. I was stupid. I’m here for you. Anything for my brothers. You said it. You live by it. I’m gonna live by it, too. Anything. I mean it. No matter what.”

“‘kay,” I answer him.

“Okay. One last thing. Looks like you have a three week break in November. Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, no. That’s a writing and recording thing in LA. We aren’t going home.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding disappointed. “No breaks?”

“We get a few days off around Christmas, and we have some gigs up there right after.”

“Okay, then. I know Max already misses you.”

“I miss him, too.”

“As for me, I have a trip planned to San Diego the same time you’re there, so I’ll see you a couple weeks before then. I’ve already got my ticket to the show. Maybe I can take you out to dinner, too.”

“We’ll see,” I say, purposefully non-committal, but I’m sure I’ll go.

“Good enough. If you need anything, you let me know. Anything at all.”

“All right, Jon.”

“Thank you for calling… and I was going to call. I swear.”

“I believe you,” I tell him. “Tell Mascot and Callen hello… and Jack, Emi… Matty and Nolan… and kiss Edie for me… and tell Livvy goodbye…”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re not talking to her again for awhile.”

“Fuck, you
did
hear me?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Sorry, man.”

“I appreciate your honesty. And I’ll tell Liv not to mention anything to you that gets you hot and bothered, or… what was it? Makes you blow a load?”

“Oh, no… gross, no, you can’t say that shit. No. Goodbye, Jon.”

“Bye, kid,” he says, laughing through his send-off.

Chapter 5

I’m sweaty and out of breath after our second night in Chicago. It’s the biggest venue we’ve played so far, and the crowd was the loudest I’ve ever heard. They were alive; an entity that moved together, sang our words back at us, shined their phones our way as we played our newest ballad–the one I had spent the last week perfecting. I wasn’t sure that Damon was ready to sing it, but I underestimated him. He was flawless. We played it acoustic, just me and him, and it was entrancing. Girls on the front row were crying, which means there were plenty of others I couldn’t see doing the same. I shouldn’t be happy about it, but they were my words. It was my melody. It was mainly my song that did that to them.

The look on Damon’s face at the end showed me his appreciation. I thanked Peron, because without his constant focus and his drive to make me do the same, the song never would have happened.

Ben had anticipated the reaction, and threw a bunch of money into the production of a couple hundred CDs of that song plus two other hits, recorded in his room on the bus. A special edition Damon Littlefield concert tour EP. We sold every last one, quadrupling Ben’s investment. It would hit the peer-to-peer sites by midnight and probably find it’s way to some college stations by morning. Needless to say, I won’t be surprised when the girls are singing with us at the next show.

“Where’re you going?” Damon shouts to me backstage as I wipe the perspiration from my forehead with the end of my shirt. “You’re celebrating with us tonight. You said you would.”

“I have to call my brother. It’s his anniversary and Livvy’s birthday.”

“Make it fast,” he says as he walks toward the green room, signing autographs for some fans. I run out the back door, thinking it will be quieter, but I’m met with at least fifty shrieking women held back by some bouncers.

“Where do you need to go?” one of them asks me.

“I was just looking for someplace quiet. I need to make a phone call.”

“Follow me.” As the rest of the bulky guys keep the ladies at bay, the other man takes me between the venue and the building next door. It’s a dim alleyway, one that I think half-way through that I probably shouldn’t follow
anyone
down, but it’s kind of too late for that.

On the other side is a busy street. We take a right and cross through a traffic light, finally coming to a stop at a very high-end-looking spa that’s obviously closed. Jaff–as he introduces himself to me–takes out a set of keys and opens the door.

“Where are we?”

“The club owner’s wife runs this place. Bands come here after hours sometimes.”

“For…”

“Whatever. Phone calls, you know.” He winks at me.
Not sure what that means
.

“Right, well, this’ll just take a second. Thanks.” I dial Jon’s number and sit down on a couch that practically swallows me into it.
Shit, that’s a comfortable couch
. I hear Edie crying before anyone actually says anything. “Hello?” my brother says, out of breath.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“We just got back from dinner. Bunny apparently had a bad night with Matty. I think she has a little fever.”

“Should I let you go?”

“I have a couple minutes.”

“Just wanted to wish you and Liv a happy anniversary. I can’t believe it’s been a year already.”

“Thanks, Will. Yeah. A great year… you still in Chicago?”

“Yeah. We have a free day tomorrow. Ben got us a suite, so you have no idea how excited I am about that. At a real hotel, too. Not some shit-heap motel.”

“You’re making some money?”

“We’re doing okay,” I tell him. “And I wrote a new song that did really well tonight.”

“That’s great, kid. Is it Bunny-safe?”

“I think Edie would like it a lot. It’s a ballad. It’d need a little content censoring to give it a happy ending, but I’d do that for my niece. Hey, can I talk to Livvy?”

“Depends…”

“Let me talk to her.”

“Fine,” he says. I can hear him speaking softly to his wife in the background before she picks up his phone.

“Hey, Will.”

“Happy birthday, Liv!”

“Thank you!”

“And happy anniversary.”

“Also… thank you for that.”

“Is Edie okay?”

“Yeah. I don’t think she has a fever after all. I think she’s just hot. Matty put her in this jumper and had the heat on in the loft. Even I’m sweating, and you know I’m always cold. Well, normally, but now that my hormones are out of whack, I’m all over the place.”

“Ummm… TMI? Maybe?”

“Oh, shit,” she says. “Shoot,” she corrects herself, undoubtedly because Jon’s given her a dirty look for cussing in front of the baby. “Yeah, I guess so, sorry. That didn’t turn you on, did it?”

“Shut up!” She bursts out laughing. “Where’d you go for dinner?”

“This place called Eleven Madison Park. A fifteen course meal.”

“You broke up for a second. It sounded like you said fifteen.”

“I did.”

“I’ve never heard of such nonsense,” I tell her.

“Well, your brother picked the place, and it was fabulous, and it earns him points, and we’re ending the conversation now.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Ohhh…” I say, understanding what the points Jon earns must get him. “Shame on you, Liv. You said you wouldn’t say things like that anymore.”

She giggles, making me smile. “A word to the wise: learn from Jon before you find a nice woman to impress.”

“Got it.”

“Have you… have you met any nice women?” she asks.

“Not really, no.”

“She’s out there, Will. You’ll find her.”

“Thanks. I know. I’m glad you both had a nice night, and I love you guys.”

“We love you. Take care… and be careful.”

“I always am, Liv.”

“Okay,” she whispers sweetly. “Bye bye.”

“Bye.”

I look around for Jaff, but he’s not in the lobby with me anymore. I decide to take advantage of the soft cushions while I’m here, kicking my feet up until he returns. I probably shouldn’t be so intimate with the furniture since my clothes are still a little damp with sweat, but I blame it on the couch. No one could resist this damn sofa.

Five minutes later, I hear two sets of footsteps approach, and sit up, alert. Jaff is followed by a blonde woman in a tight pink dress, holding a glass in her hand. “You look like you could use a drink,” she says.

I glance between the two of them, my mouth agape. I
am
thirsty. I swallow, feeling the dryness in my throat, before answering. “Water?”

“With a slice of cucumber,” she says, “and ice. Very refreshing.”

She sits down next to me as she hands me the glass. “Thank you.” I drink it all, very aware that they’re both staring at me. “You’re right. It was very refreshing. I should get back to the club.”

“In a hurry?” Her hand’s on my knee. Her small, soft hand, with perfectly-manicured nails is on my knee.

“Yeah, they’re waiting on me. The band…”

“Damon’ll wait.” I feel the warmth of her hand inching farther up my leg. “Let’s go in one of these back rooms. I’ll make it quick.”

“Make what quick?” I ask her, leaning into her as the question comes out.

“I saw your show,” she says. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank
you
. I just wanted to show my appreciation.” She shakes her head demurely. “That’s all.”

I don’t particularly want to leave the comfort of the couch, but Jaff’s peering eyes are making it distinctly uncomfortable. “Show me that back room.”

She takes my hand and leads the way, bypassing two doors before entering one on her left. There’s a wide, comfy massage table that’s reclined into a somewhat seated position. “Climb on up,” she says.

“What’s your name?”

“Lola.”

Sounds like a stripper name… or worse.
Suddenly I realize what a bad idea this is. In fact, how did I get into this room at all?