Hayden

Chicago

My head bumped against the airplane window as our chartered plane landed at O’Hare Airport. After being on the road for the past ten months, I couldn’t wait to lock myself in my apartment. I’d sleep in my bed for three or four days straight and then sit on my balcony staring out at Lake Michigan. There were many things that I missed while we were on the road, but my home, my sanctuary, was what I missed most of all.

“Fuck yeah! Home!”

I looked up at my bandmate, Danny Sullivan our rhythm guitarist, smiling. We were all pretty jazzed to be back for a while, but Danny more so than the rest of us. He and his fiancee, Julie, were planning a Christmas wedding and Danny couldn’t wait to give his input. Danny took a lot of shit from everyone, me included, but I was happy for him and couldn’t wait to see him marry Julie.

“Julie meeting you?” I asked.

“She sure as shit is. I can’t wait to see my woman.” He had a smile spread across his face that was infectious.

Our plane finally stopped and I stood up, eager to get off the plane.

“Hey sis?” I turned towards my brother Marcus’ voice as I pulled my carry on roller case from the overhead bin. “Can I crash in your spare room?”

“Dude, fucking get your own place.” Jensen Porter, our bassist yelled as he shoved his laptop into his messenger bag. “Most pathetic fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Fuck you, Jensen,” Marcus yelled back.

“Has a point, Marcus. She’s your baby sister for God’s sake.”

I looked up at Marcus as I put my various bags on my shoulders and grabbed my roller bag. His face was red and I knew he was close to exploding.

“Guys,” I said calmly. They all looked at me and then at Marcus before turning back to me again. “Marcus, the room is always there for you. You know that.”

I headed towards the door of the plane, wanting to get off of it and then figure out which of the cars our assistants had arranged is actually the one to take me home.

Many people would think being Hayden Stephens, drummer for the band Bar Down, would be spectacular. Sure, it was a long time dream of mine and I get to do something that I have loved for a very long time. But when you’re a teenager dreaming of playing music and being in a band, you don’t really understand the ramifications of that dream. The guys and I had money, we created and played music that people loved, but being gone from our homes and our families for ten months, sometimes stuck on a tiny tour bus with the same people day in and day out, killed all those other fantasy pretty quickly.

As I walked down the stairs onto the tarmac, I could hear the guys horsing around. At times, the brother bond I had with the four of them was magical. But there were times, like now where I couldn’t wait to get away from them…my own brother included.

“Ms. Stephens, please follow me. Your car is down here.”

I followed the gentleman in livery attire towards one of the cars in the middle of the pack. He took my bags and began to place them into the trunk of the car. We’d have to wait for the rest of the luggage to be unloaded from the under belly of the plane, but I knew this service we used was very efficient and would ensure they had everything in the cars and all of us on our way fairly quickly.

“Hayden,” I looked up and see Samuel Masterson, lead singer for Bar Down, running towards me. Sammy had a stage persona that oozed sex, drugs and rock n roll. With his messy, shoulder length wavy blonde hair, the sleeve of tattoos on both arms, multiple facial piercings and a body that makes me want to worship to his family genetics, you’d think he’d walk around with an ego the size of Texas. There were many lead singers of less popular bands that did just that, but not Sammy. In private, he was quiet, reserved and was often found with his nose in his e-reader.

“Hey,” Sammy said breathlessly as he stopped in front of me. “What was the name of that book you were reading that had you cracking up? I think I’m ready for something funny.”

I smiled and couldn’t resist the urge to wrap my arms around him. He instantly put his arms around me and hugged me back. Not counting my brother, it was Sammy who held a special place in my heart amongst all the guys. Even when we were kids and Marcus refused to let me play with the band, it was Sammy who was there to dry my tears and encourage me to keep trying.

Back to the question at hand, I knew immediately what book he was referring to. My best friend Kellie had recommended a book told from a guy’s perspective that she said I would love, given who I spent most of my time with. I loved every God damn page of that book because it was all so true. Sammy may be different than the other guys, but I didn’t think he’d really appreciate the humor in the book.

I leaned back and looked up at Sammy. “It was called TANGLED by Emma Chase. But I’m not really sure that’s one you’d really enjoy.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s about a guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to women finally meeting his match and falling in love.” I wasn’t sure how else to put it, but that pretty much summed it up.

“And you don’t think I’d enjoy it?”

“Sam, you’re the most open-minded person I know, but I know how you get when you think something is inaccurate.”

He looked at me for a moment, but I knew he wasn’t so much looking at me than contemplating what I had just said.

“Thanks for the heads up, but I think I’ll try it anyway.” Sam turned towards the plane, watching the roadies unload our gear from the belly of the plane. “It’s really good to be back home. Fucking incredible, really.”

I smiled and bumped him with my shoulder. It was fucking incredible and, if I was honest, about time. Ten months was too long to be gone, but Marcus kept begging us to add more European and Australian dates before we came home. None of us could figure out why, but we agreed if he agreed we would have extended time at home before recording our next album and setting up a tour. He wasn’t happy, but the four of us refused to budge. But I’m beginning to wonder just what had Marcus keeping us away from home for so long.

“Think he’ll be happy at home?”

I looked around until I located my brother and watched him. I knew that was who Sam was talking about, I just wasn’t sure what would make Marcus happy.

“Not sure, but he’s going to have to understand the rest of us want to be home.”

“Well, I’m off. Thanks for the book.” Sammy hugged me, squeezing me tightly. “I’ll talk to you in a few days.”

“See ya, Sammy.”

***

“I’m so glad to be home,” I say out loud as I dropped my bags on the floor. Flipping on the overhead light, I look around my loft style townhouse. I’d missed it.

The city wanted to raze this old warehouse, on the corner of Illinois Avenue and Lake Shore Drive ,to make room for a luxury apartment complex. But I knew the old brick building would be perfect as my home. In the end, the architect had split the building into two townhouses, separated by a grand foyer. I didn’t want to have a neighbor I didn’t know, but in the end it didn’t really make sense to leave the other unit empty. Right before we left Australia, my business manager let me know the other unit had sold.

Marcus pushed through the door behind me, dropping his bags in the middle of the entryway and dropping himself onto the sofa in my formal living room. “God, all I want to do is sleep.”

“Well do it in the spare room,” I tell him as I kick his foot. “Get off the sofa, Marcus.”

“Why the fuck do you have this if I can’t lay on it? And when did you turn into Mom?”

I flipped him off, kicked him one more time and then headed towards the kitchen. Pulling open the refrigerator, I grabbed a bottle of water. Opening it, I drank it as if I hadn’t had water in days.

“Hayden, grab me a pillow. I’m going to just sleep here.”

“No, Marcus,” I yell at him. “Grab your shit and go to your room. You’re not ruining that couch drooling on it.”

“C’mon, Hayden.”

“Stop whining, Marcus. I’m just as freaking tired as you. Get your ass up and go upstairs.”

I heard shuffling from the other room. My view was blocked by the wall that cut off the formal living room and entry way from the dining room, kitchen and family room. Marcus comes around the corner scowling at me as he half-heartedly carries his backpack in with him.

“I’d let you sleep on my fucking couch,” he muttered as he walked up the stairs to the second floor.

“Your couch wasn’t custom made and shipped from France.”

He flipped me off as he rounded the staircase. I couldn’t help giggle at him. Not many people could spend as many hours locked together with their sibling like I do with Marcus. He can be the biggest dick to walk the face of the earth, but he’s helped me realize my dream. For that, he will always be the most important person in my life.

Yawning, I flip through the pile of mail my assistant and best friend Kellie left on my counter. She handles all aspects of my life when I’m on the road and keeps me on track when I’m home. I’d probably fall apart without her, but there is no one else I would trust to help me. I learned very early in this business that there aren’t many people you can completely trust. If you find someone you can, you keep them and pay them really well.

Deciding every thing here can wait until after I’ve had at least twelve hours sleep. I walk into the entryway, pick up my bags and head upstairs. My brother made his way into “his” room, which was at the opposite end of the hallway from my room. His door was open, but I could see his feet hanging off the end of the bed and hear his tell tale snoring. I’d be lucky if I saw him again much before tomorrow night.

Walking into my room, I dump my bags on the floor at the foot of my bed. I walk to the bathroom, kicking off my flip flops, strip off my jeans, boy shorts, t-shirt and bra. I hastily wash my face and brush my teeth. I hit the light switch with my elbow as I put my hair up into a ponytail.

Pulling back the covers, I sink into the middle of my king size bed. The only thought as my heavy lids close is staying cocooned here for the next ten months.

Landon

“I can’t believe you have my ass here at eight in the morning,” my older brother, Zach, announces as he takes a drink from the large to go coffee cup he has in his hand.

“What can I say? Misery loves company.”

“Boys?” At the sound of our mother calling out to us, we both turn towards the entry way.

“I’ve got it,” I tell Zach as I walk out the front door of my new townhouse.

I haven’t lived in Chicago since I was eighteen years old, but I was finally back home. When my contract was up with Toronto, my agent finally earned his twenty percent and got me signed with the team I always dreamed I’d play for…the Chicago Thunder. The team was rebuilding and now was my chance to get in with the organization and the one man who helped mold me into the hockey player I am today. Don Stephens didn’t make it easy on me, but in the end I had my contract and a letter on my sweater.

Running out the lobby front door, I find my parents organizing the movers. Bob and Judy DaSilva had never found a project, big or small, that they couldn’t take over and make run like a well oiled machine. At times like this, they were a fucking Godsend. But I knew in a few hours, when all I wanted to do was sit on my ass and drink a beer it would piss me off.

“Lanny! Get your ass down here and help.” My dad signals for me.

“What’s up, Pop?”

“Why are you standing around? This is your shit, move it.”

“I hate to tell you, Pop, but that’s what I paid the movers for.”

Pop made his ‘you’re full of shit’ face and moved out of the way of the guys trying to bring part of my couch out of the truck.

“Landon, do you have a hose?”

I turned to find my mother carrying flowers from the back of her small SUV.

“Flowers, Mom? What am I going to do with those?”

She looked at me like I just spoke to her in French. I wasn’t sure why my questions should confuse her. I’m a fucking hockey player, not a gardner. The stupid plants were going to be dead within a week.

“Honey, it’s not that hard to water them.” She said it as if it was only that easy.

“What about when I’m on the road?”

“Your housekeeper can take care of them.”

With that, she walked through the doorway into the townhouse. There wasn’t any point in arguing with her, because she wasn’t going to let it go. I’d let them die on the balcony and let her figure it out herself.

“Hey asswipe,” I stepped out of the way of the movers as I spied my best friend, Ty, walk down the sidewalk towards me.

“Hey, man,” I said as I took his outstretched hand and pulled him into our manly hug backslap thing. “Good to see you.”

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You and me both.”

“So I see your parents are in command of the battlefield.”

We both turned to see Pop telling the movers what piece of furniture to bring in next. I was definitely going to need to give these guys a huge tip and maybe a case of beer to make up for it.

“Come on in and check the place out.”

***

“Dude this is a sweet setup.” Ty sat back on the patio chair on the deck, his feet crossed in front of him. “I can’t believe this was that piece of shit building that was practically falling down.”

I hadn’t seen what the building looked like before it was turned into what is now my home, but I’d seen pictures and I’d heard stories.

“Have you met your neighbor?”

“Nah. My agent said the person is hardly ever here.”

Ty looked out towards Navy Pier, which is the view I had from my balcony. One of the things that sold me on this place was the balcony that wrapped around my portion of the building. It was a place that was quiet and where I would be able to decompress after a game, in peace. That was something I didn’t have in Toronto.

It was my fault, the lack of peace. Shit. If I had to do it all over again, I don't know if I would do anything different. When I got drafted by the Maple Leafs, I was twenty and thought I was invincible. To send me off to the motherland of hockey, where women dropped to their knees in front of me like I was a God? Well, anyone should have been able to see I was going to get my ass into a shitload of trouble.

Trouble came in the form of a fiery redhead with huge tits, a tight ass and a mouth that when put to the proper uses could make a man see stars. And fuck if she didn’t make sure I spent a lot of time seeing them to keep one hell of an ugly truth from me. She was bat shit crazy. I didn’t find out that little secret until her crazy ass started following me when the team was on the road. Or constantly calling. Or just showing up in places she wasn’t supposed to be.

I ended up being that guy. The one who thought with his dick and ended up with the psycho bitch who required a restraining order to keep her away. Being traded to an American team made it that much easier to put her behind me, since that restraining order would make it hard for her to cross the border.

Through all of this, I made myself a promise. I was going to focus on hockey. I was going to be the best damn captain the Thunder had ever had. And I was going to bring a cup back to Chicago.

“Hey, Logan,” Ty’s voice brings me out of my head. No good can ever come from me thinking about Canada and it was good Ty was here to stop me from going down that road.

“Sorry, man. Got lost in my head.”

Suddenly music was playing really loud and it sounded close. Like I was five feet away from the stage during a Metallica concert. This wasn’t someone’s radio playing.

“Holy Christ,” I swore as I stood up and looked over the balcony railing to see if I could figure out where the music was coming from. “Only I would move near someone who thought they should be in a band.”

Ty met me at the railing. “Whoever they are, they’re pretty good. Well, as good as two people playing guitar could be.”

The music abruptly stops. We look at each other, both shrug and sit back down. Just as suddenly the ripping sound of a guitar started again. This time, the music sounded very familiar. One that has forever been ingrained in my memory. Even though I was one hundred percent positive I knew what the song was, I wasn't convinced until the hard driving sounds of drums came to me.

Ty and I looked at each other as we listened to the sounds of this particular Motley Crue song. A song that I haven’t been able to listen to for eight years.

“It’s just a coincidence, right?” Ty’s looking at me concerned.

I didn’t know what to think, other than I might puke, because my luck couldn’t be this bad.

Hayden

When I woke up this morning, in my own bed, it was the most refreshed I'd felt in a long time. I didn't care what anyone said, there was something about sleeping in your own bed that could make just about anything better.

Checking the time, I hopped in the shower. I knew my drum kit was going to be dropped off soon and I wanted to be downstairs when Dave and Ricky, two of our roadies, dropped it off. I rushed through my routine, throwing my hair up in a high pony tail, grabbing a pair of yoga pants and my Chicago Steel t-shirt before heading downstairs.

Opening my bedroom door brought the heavenly scent of coffee. I followed it downstairs and found the reason a freshly brewed pot of coffee was waiting for me.

"Sammy, you are a Godsend." I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before grabbing a mug out of the cabinet and filling it with liquid gold. After adding a liberal splash of peppermint mocha creamer, I took a sip and gloried in it's taste. Nothing was sweeter than a pot of coffee brewed in your own kitchen.

"What are you doing here, Sammy? Miss me already?"

Sam stared down at the countertop on the island, hiding behind the fall of hair hanging in front of him. When Sam felt shy or uncertain, he used his hair as a defense mechanism. It was cute, in a little boy kind of way, and one of the many things that endeared me to him.

"Your kit's coming at ten, right?" I nodded. "I was thinking, once we had it set up and tuned, maybe we could jam a little bit."

Leaning against the counter, I smiled at Sam over the top of my coffee mug. Over the past couple of month, Marcus and I had been teaching Sam how to play rhythm guitar. With Danny's pending wedding, we had looked at some options as far as a rhythm guitarist to fill in for Danny for some of the local gigs we had booked. None of us wanted Danny to feel like he was being replaced, but at the same time, we needed to have options available to us.

“My calendar happens to be free for the day.”

“Fuck it’s early.” Sam and I turn towards Marcus’ voice as he walks into the kitchen. “My ass if fucking dragging.”

Without looking at either of us, Marcus grabs a mug from the cabinet and fills it with coffee. He doesn’t acknowledge either of us until he’s finished the entire mug and stood there at the counter with his jet black hair standing on end in nothing but his gym shorts, with his eyes closed, for five minutes. It’s almost like he’s waiting for the caffeine to circulate through his body before he can engage with anyone. When I first toured with the band, it was a running joke, because this was definitely something that was new with him. But I was beginning to think this was the only way Marcus could deal with whatever it was he was going through.

“Sam, man, why the hell are you here so early?” Marcus makes his way over to the breakfast bar and sits down.

“Figured we could jam once Hayden’s kit gets here.”

“I’m down.” Marcus scratches the back of his head and turns in my direction. “You talk to Dad yet?”

“Nope,” I said after taking a sip of coffee.

“What the fuck, Hayden? You promised you’d call.”

“Marcus, I said I’d do it and I will. Relax.”

“I can’t fucking relax, Hayden. This shit needs to be set up and can’t wait till the last fucking minute.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I prayed to whatever deity could provide me with the strength not to strangle my brother on our first morning home. There were times when Marcus could be the sweetest guy on the face of the earth. Unfortunately, those times were few and far between. Most of the time, he was his normal douchebaggy self and I wanted to maim him. Mainly because his attitude made me resort to acting like a teenager.

“Fuck off, Marcus.”

And there it is. Before things escalated, which they would, I did the adult thing and left the room.

Now was as good a time as any to call my dad and get Marcus’ bullshit out of the way. Opening the patio door from my room, I walked out onto the balcony and plopped down on the chaise lounge before dialing my dad’s office.

My dad, Don Stephens, was somewhat of a celebrity here in Chicago. He was a hometown kid who made a somewhat meteoric rise playing hockey before blowing out his knee and turning his focus to coaching. When I was growing up, Marcus, our older sister Elizabeth and myself spent many hours at the rink while my dad coached various junior and semi-pro teams