by Cat Mason
“Pro-baby bandwagon right here!” Bristol cheers from the passenger seat. “Team Tanner.”
“What the hell?” E barks, shooting her a look. “You can’t pick a paternity team. That’s a fucking dick move, man.”
“Okay, look, man. Have you seen your baby pictures?” she asks, glancing over at him. “It’s not about picking a paternity team, or whatever crazy bullshit you’re spittin’ at me. This is about how Quinn’s vagina would look like a blown-out truck tire after shooting out your kid. I’ll bet my orgasms for a decade, E, if God’s a woman, that kid’s comin’ out with Quinn’s blonde hair, Tanner’s dimples, and a normal sized un-Evan-like head.”
“Whatever.” Pulling into a parking lot, he takes the guest spot in front of the radio station. “I was a perfectly healthy, eleven-pound baby, with a normal fucking head.”
“Wow. Really?” I swallow hard. “Eleven pounds?”
“Yep,” he answers proudly. “And I was almost three weeks early. Mom had me on the Rez in the middle of a damn snow storm. No drugs. No hospital.”
“Imagine that,” I breathe, feeling queasy and dizzy all of a sudden.
I think my vagina has officially joined Team Tanner.
Inside the studio, a man sits at the front desk waiting for us. His dark blue hair is almost black, and there are large white plugs in his ears a black arrow through his left eyebrow and two hoops through his bottom lip. Standing, he smiles and makes his way around the desk to greet us. His faded black jeans are ripped like he was attacked with a machete and the boots he has on look like they have been through a couple of wars. “Welcome to WBFD.”
“Thanks so much for having us.” His smile widens when I shake his hand. “I’m Quinn. This is Bristol, Greer, Tanner, and our cuddle bear muscle, Evan.”
“Duke. We couldn’t be more excited to have you guys stop by and hang out.” Releasing my hand, he shakes Tanner’s, before pulling Greer into a massive bear hug. “Dude!” Greer’s entire body stiffens, eyes widening to the size of bass drums. Looking to Bristol I giggle, knowing that inside my brother is freaking the fuck out over being ripped out of his comfort zone by being put on the spot. “I’m a huge fan, man. You’re a fuckin’ badass.”
“Thanks,” Greer grunts, looking to me for help. “It’s great to meet you.”
The biggest part of me believes that my brother chose the drums because it always kept something between him and the rest of the world. Being the biggest percussion piece of the band kept him in the shadows and usually meant he wasn’t noticed or latched onto by fans as much. Although he enjoys the occasional groupie, and making music, it is always Greer that controls the pace and intensity of those interactions because he demands the upper hand in all exchanges.
Then Duke had to go and get handsy with his man crush.
Is it wrong that I find this hilarious? Because I do.
Growing up, Greer put the focus on me. Or the group as a whole. Deflection is by far his greatest superpower. We have been his safety blanket. It’s pretty damn satisfying to see that someone has seen his brilliance for what it is and is allowing him to shine for a minute. Even if it makes him uneasy.
I also find my brother’s unease comforting because sometimes it is daunting as hell being Greer Baker’s little sister. In his eyes, I was perfect, as if he was blind to every flaw I could clearly see. It wasn’t like he embraced my imperfections, like I’ve learned to do. While I love my brother more than anyone in the world, I can’t help want to throttle him sometimes and force him to see the world for what it is.
Perfect is a lie, normal is a myth, and when someone places you on a pedestal it only makes the fall from that much more painful for everyone.
“How long until we’re on?” Tanner asks, stepping up to bail out Greer.
“Right.” Releasing his hold on my brother, Duke steps back. “The guys are setting up now. I’ll take you back.”
While Evan heads outside to grab the last of our gear, we follow Duke down the hall to the glass encased studio where Beats and Buzz are currently making fun of the top celebrity buzz. Buzz is a thin guy in his mid-thirties, with a black mohawk. Beats stands across the room from him, making large hand gestures as she talks. Her long red hair swishes with her dramatic take on a secret celeb wedding that was ambushed by photographers over the weekend in the Caribbean.
“They’ll introduce you first,” Duke explains, showing us to the adjoining room. “Once you perform, they’ll take a break to give you a breather before they ask some questions that came in on our website.”
“Sounds good,” Bristol nods.
“Great.” Duke winks at her. “Let me know if you guys need anything.”
“We’re all set,” Tanner says, handing me my guitar bag. “Thanks, man.”
While Tanner and I unpack our guitars, Greer gets set up on a stool with the drum tablets he uses to practice rhythms on. The damn things look like he is banging on thick, rectangular chunks of wood, but are actually designed to put off differential beats and sounds all depending on how and where he hits them. Doing this gig unplugged is a big deal for all of us. Not only is this the first time we have performed a live acoustic version of any of our music, I can’t help feel an extra tinge of excitement over being the one that suggested going this route with the performance. It’s a rare thing when Vicki doesn’t shoot down one of our ideas before we can get it off the ground.
Barely Bruised in itself is so important to Bristol and me. Both of us having felt the words so powerfully while writing and putting together the music, decided there was no other choice but to fight tooth and nail to make sure it was not only the title for the album, but also the leading single for release. After everything we have dealt with the last few months there was no other choice for either of us.
Surprisingly, after hearing it, Vicki had no argument.
It’s safe to say we were all a little shocked at her stamp of approval, versus the snarky bitchiness we have become used to. Not that anyone is ever mentioning that to her.
The light above the large glass separating us from the other part of the studio flips on. “Now,” Beats says, pushing a button on the board in front of her. The glass separating us opens, disappearing into the wall. “We’ve got Absent Without Leave in the studio with us today. Buzz, I couldn’t be more amped for this new album.”
“That makes two of us,” Buzz says, pushing to his feet. “They’re unofficially kicking off their next tour today by giving us a taste of what they’ve been working on over the last few months.”
“Thanks for having us,” Bristol says stepping up to her mic. “We couldn’t be happier with the way the album is coming along.”
“Tell us a little about it,” Beats chimes in. “I know we’re all dying to know how much of that music was inspired by Grindstone Harbor’s very own Tage Crosby. I think it’s safe to say Tristol has been a hot topic for AWOL fans all summer.”
“The songs, as always, have been a group effort. Actually, the lyrics for Barely Bruised, the title track for the album, were written mostly by Quinn.” Looking over at me, Bristol smiles. I’ll also guarantee she rolled her eyes the moment the chick said the word Tristol. B hates the attention her relationship has gotten the last few months and does everything she can to avoid it. “As for my love life, and its impact on the album, I think I’ll leave that up to the imagination of the listeners.”
“Mysterious teasing from AWOL’s very own Bristol Lachlan,” Beats says, clearly attempting to make a mountain out of a mole hill. Nothing we aren’t used to. “Well, the studio’s all yours.”
Nodding, Bristol wraps her fingers around the mic and looks to Greer. “This is Barely Bruised.”
Greer thumps out the beat on the side edge of the larger of the two drum tablets. I come in on my acoustic guitar, backing him up, while Tanner strums along beside me. It is soft, smooth and not overpowering. For this performance we want the vocals to do that.
“Your arms.” Bristol comes in soft. “T
he only place where I truly belong. Your kiss. Your name. On my lips they feel so right. My heart.” Her voice gets harder. Louder. “Has been yours all along.”
“How does it feel?” I sing along with her. “To see the damage you’ve done? How does it feel? To know you hold the smoking gun.”
“I’ve been knocked down,” Bristol sings into the mic, her voice gritty and filled with emotion. “Wounded. Left empty and broken.”
“The pain never fades from words left unspoken,” she and I sing in unison.
“Cut my heart open and it bleeds for you.” Letting my eyes close as she continues to sing, I feel the words as deeply as I did when I wrote them on the page. “You made me need you then walk away. Barely bruised.”
Throughout the entire song, Tanner’s eyes burn into me. I can only imagine what is going through his head right now, knowing the part I played in the songwriting. The last thing I expected was for Bristol to drop that little tidbit of info in the middle of the opening conversation. Now that she has, all I can do is embrace it all and keep my emotions in check during the interview with Beats and Buzz.
Chapter Twelve
Son of a Shitshow
Quinn
After finishing up our song, Duke is waiting at the door with water and sodas, along with another love-fueled hug ambush for Greer, before we head into what Buzz and Beats refer to as the Rock World Interrogation. Listeners are given one week to post questions on the WBFD site to have answered on air. Beats and Buzz pick a few of the best, then rapid fire them, essentially putting guests on the spot.
“I feel like I’m being led to the firing squad,” Bristol says, nudging me with her elbow. “One where every bullet is labeled Tristol.”
“Just tell them all how good the dick is,” I whisper, biting back my laugh when she slaps me. “What? That’ll shut ‘em up.”
“There’s so much wrong with you,” she snorts, dropping down in the seat closest to the door.
“I’m blunt, unapologetic, and fucking delightful,” I toss back, taking the seat beside her. “It’s why you love me.”
“Mhm.” Glancing my way, her lips twitch up into a smile. “You’re also a pain in my ass.”
As expected, Greer takes the seat furthest away from everyone, putting Tanner on my other side. “Welcome back to the Beats and Buzzkill Show,” Buzz says into the mic in front of him. “If you’re just tuning in, we’re in the studio today with Absent Without Leave.” His eyes fall on us just as some dramatic sound effect starts to play. “Our listeners have questions.” His tone hardens, becoming more intense. “Now it’s time for AWOL to face Rock World Interrogation.”
Leaning back in my chair, I cross one leg over the other. “Fire away, Buzz.”
Beats’s eyes drop to the Ipad screen in front of her. “Stacey wants to know what’s been your favorite city to perform in?”
“That’s tough,” I admit, going over all the places we’ve taken the stage over the years in my head. Looking over at Bristol, I smile when she nods. “I guess that one has to be back home. It holds a special place in our hearts.”
“Yeah,” Greer and Tanner say in unison.
“For sure,” Bristol agrees. “Only stage I’ve ever been nervous on. It was a turning point for us. Playing a sold-out arena in our hometown will be something I’ll never forget.”
“Sounds like it was memorable.”
“Another would be Nashville,” I add. “Some great memories there too.”
“Yeah,” Tanner chimes in, glancing my way. “Nashville is a favorite for me too.”
Beats glances down at the screen again. “Next question is from Sam in Fawning Falls. You guys all spend so much time together, is there ever any sexual tension between band members? Does that affect the dynamic?”
“Nope.” Settling back in his chair, Greer stretches out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Quinn’s my sister. Bristol may as well be. And Tanner, he’s not my type.” He winks at Beats. “For obvious reasons.”
Tanner laughs. “We all grew up together.” Leaning over, he jabs Greer in the arm. “G’s right. Bristol’s like an annoying little sister.”
Beats and Buzz’s eyes both move from Tanner to me, brows arching in silent question. My face flames. “I’ve never felt the need to go there,” Bristol pipes up, saving me from nearly hyperventilating under their silent scrutiny. Glancing over at Tanner and Greer, she smiles. “They’re family, and I love ‘em, but like they’ve said, they’re basically my brothers. As for any possible awkwardness, the love for each other and the music will always win out over any sort of tension. We agreed a long time ago never to take any of that into the studio or on stage with us. Once we’re in that zone, it’s all about the music.”
“Quinn and Bristol,” Buzz blurts, sitting up in his chair expectantly. “You’ve been linked romantically in the past to longtime friend of the band, and head of security, Evan Pahl. That doesn’t add a level of awkwardness? Especially with you Bristol, now that you’re dating former NHL star, Tage Crosby.”
“There it is,” Bristol snorts out a laugh. “Evan Pahl has been a friend of ours for a very long time. I adore that big jerk, but we’re not, nor have ever been, together. As for Tage Crosby,” she smiles like a total idiot the moment she says his name. “I think the tabloids have more than enough to print on us without me going into detail about the time we’ve spent together. I’m not ready to share him, or us with the world just yet.”
“That’s very sweet,” Beats swoons, before turning her gaze on me. “Quinn?”
“Evan’s a very good friend and a big cuddle bear,” I say, flashing him a huge smile when I see him scowl at me through the glass. Winking, I lean into the mic. “He’s also one hundred percent single and ready to mingle.”
“Evan Pahl likes walks on the beach,” Bristol chimes in. “Can eat his weight in chicken wings, and loves spending his nights cuddled up on the couch with his stuffed animals, watching sappy chick flicks and predictably cheesy romantic comedies.”
Looking up, I giggle when I see E flipping us off with both hands. “Hate you bitches,” he mouths, fighting a smile.
“I’ve personally never felt any sexual tension between Evan and me,” Tanner adds, his hand coming to rest on the back of my chair when he sits up in his seat. Shrugging his shoulder, he hams it up for the interview, laying on that Tanner Hewitt charm and blows Evan a kiss. “Guess I’m not his type either.”
Evan’s brows shoot up before pinching in tightly. Shaking his head, he glances down at his phone. His expression changes. Turning away, he stalks off, disappearing down the hallway.
“Wow,” Beats laughs, fanning herself. “I’ll take a slice of Evan for dessert.”
“Clean up on aisle five,” Buzz snorts, hitting a button on the board in front of him that plays a water splashing sound effect. “Maybe we can convince AWOL to do a live cover of something off the Slippery When Wet album by Bon Jovi.”
“Da doom boom tsssh,” Greer says, drumming his hands on the edge of the table.
“Thank you. Thank you,” Buzz says, doing a makeshift bow from his chair. “I’ll be here all week.”
Clearing her throat, Beats shoots him a look. “Okay, next question.”
Our rapid-fire session continues. Most questions are basic ones we get often. Fans wanting to know about meanings to the lyrics, inspirations, celeb crushes, and our likes or dislikes. Nothing we aren’t used to and able to handle without batting an eye.
“All right.” Buzz clicks on his screen. “Now, let’s move on and see what’s come in for AWOL on our Twitter Page.” His expressions changes and he turns to Beats. Moving closer, she scans the screen before looking up at me.
“Do you get recognized in public a lot?”
“Sometimes,” B shrugs a shoulder. “Not as much as you’d think. We don’t exactly get a whole lot of down time to run wild or anything.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Not to mention we’re actually pretty freaking boring on the off
days.”
“Hmm.” Beats looks between Tanner and me skeptically. “Well, it’s time for us to pay some bills. We owe a big Beats and Buzzkill thanks to Absent Without Leave for hanging out with us today. Be sure to check out all their info on our website along with signing up for their newsletter so you are the first to see when the dates for their upcoming Barely Bruised Tour are announced.”
“As always, the Beats and Buzzkill Show is sponsored by The Nut Truck,” Buzz says, flipping a few switches and clicking something on the board in front of him. “Find out where Jimbo and his big, salty nuts will be next on our website or by following his Instagram: Jim’s Nut Truck.”
A horrifying jingle starts to play about salty nuts that would never make me want to buy anything from Jimbo and his truck. “Okay.” Beats taps the screen and rounds the table we have spent the last several minutes sitting at. “You may want to have a look at this,” she says, placing it down on the table in front of me.
I freeze the moment I hear my own voice on the video. The image is shaky but whoever is filming is close enough to be able to clearly make out Tanner and me standing at the counter of Happy Shack while I went off on the girl behind the register. “Oh my God,” I groan, while Bristol and Greer both lean in closer to see for themselves. “Shit, piss, and son of a milkman. Was I that loud? I don’t remember being that loud?”
“People really have no lives,” Greer mutters, shaking his head. “Videos of you ordering breakfast are the latest shit to go viral?”
“Wait for it,” Tanner tells him, patting my knee just as my voice picks up on the video.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” my voice echoes through the speaker. Followed by an equally loud, “what kind of shit show brown bag nightmare is this place?”
“Quinn,” Greer barks, his eyes snapping to mine. “What the hell?”
“Trust me,” I sigh, wishing the floor could swallow me whole. “That’s not the worst of it.”
“Maybe Daddy?” Bristol snorts. “How did I miss that? You really were letting it all hang out.”
