Page 133 of Before Now

Of Men and Wolves will walk to the stage and cross in front of my projector. The venue’s light gray curtains will work perfectly as a backdrop to cast a video of them performing. I have a lens to soften the edges, and I’ll use a lower frame rate so the shot looks more vintage, and I can add grain in post-production.

I’ve told myself all along this is a self-indulgent shot, one for me. But deep down, I’ve always imagined it as the opening of the documentary. Audio of the crowd chanting layered over top, then a soundbite from one of the band members. A line or two to set the tone straight out of the gate.

By the time I set up the projector, I feel a charge running under my skin. I adjust the angle and then go to arrange the curtain, wanting the backdrop smooth except for one fold near the stage. The heavy fabric takes both hands to slide, requiring me to tug it into place while backing up.

I stop before running into the stage and am still staring up when I’m caught by the waist. A combination of a squeak and a gasp rushes out of me as I’m pulled behind the curtain. Then someone’s kissing me. Someone so incredibly familiar, the lips and tongue and palm wrapping the front of my neck.

When my eyes flutter open, they meet Foster’s. But with the audio techs just above us in the wing and his name echoing through the arena, he’s Adams North right now too.

“What are you doing back here?” I drape my arms around his neck, fingers twisting in his hair.

“What I do before every show.”

The last time I found myself in the dark with him by the stage pops into my mind. And I finally unlock his pre-show ritual. “You’re listening to the crowd.”

“They ground me. Hearing them reminds me they want me out there as much as I fucking want to be.” His hold sinks lower. “What areyoudoing, director?”

“Setting up for a shot that haunts my dreams.”

Foster cocks a brow. “If it’s me bending you over and fucking you against the stage, then our dreams align.”

“Tempting.” I back away, which breaks his hold. “But staying a dream.”

“For now,” he says.

Following me out, he roughs up the back of his hair and then tracks the light beam to the curtain. “What’s the vision?”

“An old video of the band will be playing when you guys pass in front. Your shadows will cut through, light highlighting your profiles.” I admire the perfect fold on one side of the blank projection.

“You should stay recording after we take the stage and grab the audio of me greeting the crowd.”

My eyes bounce to him, surprised I hadn’t thought of that.

He smirks. “I’m kinda brilliant.” Then he nods to the projector. “You need me to pass a couple times so you can check the angles?”

“Isn’t this disrupting your ritual?” I ask.

His shoulder lifts and falls. “Worst that can happen is I ruin the entire show. And in that case, I’ll just blame you for depriving me of your delectable pussy.”

After dropping a kiss on top of my head, he walks away.

I only need him to cross in front of the beam half a dozen times before I figure out the best place to set the tripod. With the cart holding the projector angled, it should cast their silhouette and catch the video on their faces. If I film with the old video of them playing at 2x, I can slow the entire shot down in post-production, then the band will appear moody, slowly crossing.

“Here.” Foster hands me his phone with a video pulled up. “I don’t know what you planned on using, but this probably beats it.”

I watch him, Felix, and Dev play together, an ugly orange shag carpet in a nook behind Felix and his drum set. I look at Foster, recognizing the background. “The music store in Houston where you had your meet and greet?”

“Finding a cheap lefty bass is a pain in the ass, so we drove from Austin after Dev tracked one down. Back then the place was owned by a Deadhead and named Grateful Fret. The guy let us jam while Dev got a feel for the bass.”

When the band stops playing, the person filming lets out a “haaaaah” to emulate a roaring crowd. “Thank you, Houston,” Colton shouts. “We’re Nameless Because Our Guitarist Is A Broody Fuck. Good night!”

In the video, Foster glares at the camera. Beside me, he shakes his head before he taps the screen to pause it.

“The bickering is endless after that, but…” He steadies the phone with his hand behind mine so the other can zoom in on the wall over Video Foster’s shoulder. The blurry image in the frame is barely distinguishable as a wolf. “I stopped being broody, and we left as Of Men and Wolves.”

My smile is so big my cheeks ache when he steps behind me and takes his phone.

“This is vital lore, Foster West. Why am I only hearing about it now?”

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