Page 18 of Deliverance

“Good choice, man.”

Our conversation is interrupted by a loud howl from the pool, where Wendy’s oldest is trying to drown his brother.

She leaps to her feet and barks out an order, brows drawn together, “Both of you! Out!”

Cruz heaves out a sigh and leans forward, readying himself in case his wife needs help, but Wendy is a spitfire and she can be scary at times. Her gaze is trained on Rocky.

“He started it!” Jazzy, her nine-year-old, whines, his cheeks wobbling.

“How many times have I told you not to hit your brother?” Wendy scolds the older one.

He just turned twelve and I suspect this little fit is just the beginning. I remember myself at that age. It wasn’t pretty. My parents, while very understanding and supportive of my musical endeavors, threatened to take away my drum kit not once, but several times when they caught me and Justice smoking cigarettes behind our lake house.

Next to me, Faith stirs in Drew’s arms. She scrunches up her sleepy face, a sound a lot like a sob escaping her mouth.

Hazel returns with a tall glass. “The food should be ready in ten minutes,” she says. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I skipped breakfast just for that,” I joke as I take the drink, noting the tiny umbrella and a lime wedge. “Thank you.”

The rich flavor of grilled meat teases my taste buds and I try to see all this through a different lens. The lens of a regular guy, not the guy whose life consists of nights spent in various hotel rooms.

Drew turns to Hazel as Faith’s fist yanks at her hair. “I think she needs a diaper change.”

When they give me apologetic smiles and head for the house, I watch Drew through all the commotion happening around the pool until she disappears inside.

Dom moves his chair closer to mine and whispers, “Stop staring.”

Reluctantly, I tear my gaze from the lingering shadows behind the glass and ask, “Am I that obvious?”

“You’re drooling all over your shirt, Zander.” Dom laughs.

Fucker.

Justice, Cruz, Jake, Declan, and I eventually retreat to the studio. Or more like, we get kicked out of the pool area.

“No talking shop by the pool,” Wendy chided us the moment the Bleeding Faith offer came up again.

We jam without an audience. Mainly just covers. Jake and Justice share vocal duties. Declan handles the guitar. Cruz and I are doing what we do best—the rhythm section. It takes me a good minute to settle into the flow of things. The kit I’m playing is way smaller than my own and one of the heads is tuned too close to the snare, so I have to mess around with it a bit after the first song to stop the buzzing.

Occasionally, the door swings open and I can see children’s giggling faces poking through the crack. I’m certain this is nothing new for them, and moments later, they disappear.

Hazel and Drew show up when we’re in the middle of a Soundgarden song. They lean against the wall and watch us intently with their hands crossed against their chests until Justice stalks in the direction of his wife and pulls her into the middle of the room for a dance. He butchers the lyrics entirely while they’re spinning across the floor that’s littered with cords, his free arm wrapped around her waist. She looks utterly embarrassed by his antics, cheeks flaming red. You’d think he got drunk on the kiddie punch.

Cruz shakes his head and continues to slap the bass, despite the potential hazard the frontman is causing.

We’ve been at it for a while now and my shirt is soaked from the sweat trickling down my back and chest. I can feel adrenaline pumping within my veins. A sensation like no other, the one I live for.

Drew is still on the opposite side of the room, studying us. Her brown eyes slide from Jake to me and our gazes lock. A smile tugs the corner of her mouth. My stomach tightens. I’m reminded of that moment back at the gallery when she was telling me about the history behind the creation of the artwork I bought. I was spellbound by her, just like I am now.

The door bursts open and Aiden is now the center of everyone’s attention. Or his dancing is.

He runs off as soon as the song is over, and Hazel and Drew follow after him.

“You should take him on the road with you,” Cruz tells Justice.

Justice glowers at his bassist, then says, “I think I fucked up a couple of lines.” He turns the mic over to Declan and rakes an inked hand through the hair that’s fallen over his face to push it back.

“You fucked up the entire song,” I tell him, pulling off my shirt. “But I can see where your son gets his dance moves.”

---