Page 114 of Before Now

The video blacks out before I manage words. Probably a good thing because I can deal with heartless prick with a god complex Heath Erickson all day long. But I am ill-equipped for whoever I talked to just now.

I return to reviewing footage, nearly caught up. Heath was technically right. Other than three key shots and a handful of self-indulgent ones—I still haven’t used the projector—Glory, Nate, and Xander could complete shooting for the last month of the tour. It would clear me up to start assembling raw footage and structure the story.

But I have two reasons to stay. Foster is obvious. The other is a vibes thing I can’t explain. When I worked on the documentary for Sound Clash, I went in with a solid plan. I left with a completely different one because of moments I couldn’t have anticipated.

The all-girl punk band I ended up centering the experience around, I bumped into while the first band played. They were neon colors and feathers and giggles. I fell in love with them.

I only asked the guitarist to wear the spy glasses during their set, but they continued swapping them off all weekend. What they captured changed the story I wanted to tell. All the way down to the final minutes.

You never know when a tiny detail can shift a perspective. Leaving the tour early, I might miss one.

Needing more than the same two rooms and a balcony, I pack up and move down to the hotel’s lobby.

The band flew in this morning, and the private floor is a prime spot for them to hang and write. If they want to avoid me, I won’t force myself on them.

I have no idea if anything changes now. Things with Foster still feel fragile, but more in awhat comes nextsort of way. We haven’t talked about what anything from the other night means. He left before I woke up the other day, and outside of a few texts, I haven’t heard from him. Understandable with their stop in California, followed up with the benefit concert.

His last text said he had a few things he needed to do today, but tonight, I was all his. I’m trying to not fall too hard over it, even if it feels like I’ll succumb to the Foster-induced fever faster the second time around.

I set up with my laptop, sinking into a cozy armchair in a tiny nook near the elevators.

After an hour, a shadow falls over me. Then a disappointed sigh.

“Have you left the fucking hotel since we got here?” Colton asks.

“I don’t stop, remember?”

When I look up, he half-smiles. “Adams told us you weren’t behind the shit the label pulled.”

I shake my head. “It was a misunderstanding that got out of control. No one’s come close to crossing my boundaries. If they did, I’d have said something, and I know it wouldn’t have happened again. You guys are all your own levels of douches, not creeps.”

Colton nods, then squints. “On the douche hierarchy, where am I? Specifically in regard to Adams. More douchey or less?” He breaks into a full grin when I glare and dips his chin toward my laptop. “You’re done working. It’s time for some mandated chill time.”

“What are we doing?” I ask, realizing how much I missed him. The easiness.

He shrugs and walks to the elevator. “Put your shit away and find out.”

* * *

For the firsttime since leaving LA, I ride in the front seat of a car rather than the back of a van or Uber.

Colton drives us to a different part of Austin in the flashy little coupe he rented. Much more residential with the cozy neighborhood vibe. Kids even dart out of the street to let us through, kicking a soccer ball to the middle again once we pass.

When he pulls into a cul-de-sac, he parks in front of the gorgeous Mediterranean house nestled at the end. Shrubs line the walk, a balcony on each side, and it even has a turret. I climb out, already seeking out the details before shutting the door.

“And this is why you left the camera.” Colton steps on the curb and turns back, hands on his hips. “Can you drool over the arches on the inside at least? Maybe if you’re really good, I’ll let you foam at the mouth over the rooftop patio later.”

I toss him a look on our way up the drive. “I have a feeling I’ll like your brother more than you.”

He snorts. “Insulting, honestly. I’ll remember you said that.”

A metal gate leads to an outdoor entry. On one side sits a smaller structure, but I follow him through the double doors into the main house on the other side. We step into an airy kitchen, opening to the living room. A brunette glances over her shoulder from the couch and grins.

“My favorite of the brothers,” she says.

The elbow to my arm isnotsubtle, Colton nearly knocking me down.

She rounds the end of the couch with a smile, sneaking a side hug that ends with a hard smack to his stomach that makes him grunt. “I saw your gift, asshole.” She nails him with a look and then swings to me. “It’s a lamp shaped like a woman’s ass that you turn on and off by slapping it.”

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