Page 27 of Love Notes and Late Nights
“Eventually. I stayed with him on the couch.” Harris didn’t want to mention that Wolf also spent the night in his bed, even though nothing happened. “Does something trigger them?”
“I assume so, but I really don’t know. He doesn’t talk about them. We shared a room growing up. No one knows how bad his nightmares are better than me, and he’s never told me what they were about. Not a single one.” Ethan ran a hand over his face and sighed. “I’m worried about him.”
“Me too. But I’m gonna keep an eye on him. We’ll keep the rooms like this. You and Marsh. Me and Wolf. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him. I’ll let you know if he needs anything.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Golden 1 Center was alive with 17,000 screaming fans, all stomping their feet and cheering. The floor shook as Harris waited by the curtain. The crowd began a chant, calling Wolf Pack to the stage. It reverberated in Harris’ ears and fueled his soul. “This place is nuts!”
Ethan stepped closer and peeked into the crowd. “There’s nothing like the first show after a new album. I’m ready.”
“Me too.” Harris’ foot bounced, eager to get out there.
“Are you guys ready?” Ethan asked Wolf and Marshall.
“You bet!” Marsh answered.
“I’m always ready,” Wolf stated, impatience clear in his voice.
The lights in the venue dimmed. Sound effects blasted the long, loud howl of a lone wolf, then the rest of the pack joined in the recording. A roar rose from the fans that almost blew the roof off the place.
Wolf and Marshall ran on stage first. Harris ran out next, jumped on the drum riser, and held his fist in the air while the cheers and howls continued. They all waited for Ethan. The guy took his time, smiling and absorbing the energy in the arena as he waited for the right moment to make an entrance. Finally, he sauntered on stage, encased in a cone of light, with both arms in the air, and the crowd when fucking insane.
The band went straight into playing their first single off the new album. It was fast and hard, and Harris pounded the ever-loving shit out of his drums. They were three minutes into the set, and he was dripping with sweat, so he ripped his T-shirtoff, wiped his face with it, and threw it onto the stage floor. A stagehand brought out a fan and placed it directly on him, and it felt wonderful.
“Hello, Sacramento!” Ethan yelled into the mic, addressing the crowd, once the song was over. “That was our new single ‘Loud and Down,’ and thanks to you guys, it’s sitting at number one!”
Fists pumped the air as the fans hollered.
“I hope you’re ready to rock, because we’re ready to roll!”
That was so cheesy that Harris hung his head and groaned. As soon as he looked up, Wolf turned from his spot on the stage and made eye contact with Harris and they both laughed together. They were so in sync sometimes.
The crowd didn’t care that Ethan used the outdated cliché and cheered harder. They loved him!
Wolf Pack transitioned into the next song, and then the next. Lost in the sound of his double bass drum and the rhythm of the music, Harris played song after song. He didn’t realize that they were almost halfway through their set until there was a short break. While Ethan rested his throat and drank his special tea, Marshall played a repetitive riff, Wolf plucked a steady baseline, and Harris dusted his cymbals.
Since he wasn’t pounding his drums like a maniac, he was able to watch the crowd. It was a sea of rock and roll horns, raised fists, and whistles. He also took this time to appreciate the musical talent of his bandmates.
Marshall, a gifted guitarist, played with fortitude. Even now, during this lull from the hardcore shredding in the heavy songs Wolf Pack usually played, Marshall put his entire body into playing his Fender. His love for his instrument was apparent as he stared at it lovingly and caressed the strings into a softer melody.
Wolf, on the other hand, beat the shit out of a bassline. Even when it was supposed to be subdued during this interval between songs, he plucked the strings so hard it looked as if he were going to pull them right off the fretboard. The deep, sultry boom hit you right in the chest and almost knocked you over with power.
Watching his bandmates gave Harris a rush that he couldn’t contain, and instead of the soft shimmer of the cymbals, he broke loose with thunderous kicks to the double bass and a heavy round on his toms. After a couple of dozen hard crashes to his cymbals, while simultaneously pounding on his bass drum until his arms and legs were aching, he silenced the cymbals, jumped onto his stool, and threw his sticks into the crowd.
Everyone was cheering and screaming. Wolf and Marshall had stopped playing at some point and were watching Harris, big smiles on their faces. Ethan was back on stage, watching him in awe, then brought the mic to his lips and extended his arm toward Harris. “Ladies and gents, let’s hear it for Harris Young and his impromptu drum solo! You’re fucking awesome, dude!”
Wolf gave Harris an exaggerated bow, and Marshall clapped.
Harris, naked from the waist up and dripping with sweat, tried to catch his breath. A stagehand brought him a bottle of water, and he poured it over his head, which garnered an array of resounding screams of approval from the fans.
That set the tone for the rest of the night. The out-of-control energy of the band and the decibel of the cheers and foot stomping from the crowd were loud enough to tilt the Richter scale. When Wolf Pack finally left the stage, they were all flying high. It was the first show of the tour, and it was fire!
***
The afterparty took place in a private room in the back of a swanky club. It had its own DJ rocking tunes from Beartooth,Five Finger Death Punch, the Deftones, Bring Me the Horizon, and more. Top-shelf liquor, champagne, and awesome finger foods were circulated via waiters carrying trays. The room was packed. Harris had no idea who most of these people were, but everyone was having a great time. The first show of the tour always filled him with a high like no drug—not even Iris’ pot brownies. His arms were pumped, and he couldn’t stop air drumming along to the music. When Marshall walked by, he pounded out a little beat into the guy’s huge, round shoulder.
“You’re feeling good,” Marshall stated, before slugging back the last of his drink.
