Another wave of laughter crashed over us, and I felt my cheeks heat up.
He stared at me hard, and I could see it warring inside of him. He could make a huge stink and get exactly what he wanted—which was me back up in VIP, but that would infuriate me to no end, and he didn’t want me miserable.
His eyes flicked between One and Two. “You two—” he said, pointing between the guys.
They swelled up at being addressed by Phil fucking Deveraux.
“You’re going to watch out for my Baby Girl, you got that? And Alys, too. Don’t let no one touch our crazy bitches.”
Burly One braced his arms on either side of me, grabbing onto the barricade.
“And don’t be grindin’ up on her either!” snapped Phil. “I know she’s got a perfect ass under those pants, but it’s my ass, and I’ll kill a motherfucker who tries to touch it!”
My brother was losing his shit. He was laughing so hard that he had to lean against a speaker, wiping tears from his eyes.
Ass.
Flipper was just as bad, and when he caught me glaring at him, he waved. He said something to Connor, who righted himself with some difficulty. Jason looked like he was recovering from a bout of giggles himself.
X glared at us. Alys pulled a Lili and flipped him the bird.
Back on his feet, Phil announced, “Now that I’ve recovered from my mild fuckin’ heart attack, let’s throw some new shit around, yeah?”
Our Boys kicked off two of their new songs.
After, a laughing Phil informed me and the rest of the crowd, “Baby Girl, you fuckin’ headbang like a dude.”
I wasn’t too sure how to take that.
Another two new songs passed. Their sound had matured. They weren’t young bloods anymore. The music had become smoother, more rounded, with elements and dimensions that had been missing. Things that could have only come with age and experience. Phil’s lyrics had become more poetic, held deeper meaning, and his voice had taken on greater definition. It was still heavy, still dark, still held a soul for metal, but it was so much more. It was beautiful. And I wasn’t the only one who thought so.
“So, what do you all think? Are we measurin’ up?”
We all screamed our undying love and approval.
“All right! We got one more for you, and in all honesty, we only fuckin’ finished it. This one is dear to me, and I hope it all becomes your new fuckin’ favorite ’cause I won’t ever get fuckin’ tired of singing it. It’s called ‘Along the River Stones.’”
I had been dying to hear this one. Our Boys never shut up about it.
Flipper kicked off with the bass drums—bah-dum…bah-dum…bah-dum—like a heartbeat. X then slipped in the most fluid, elegant bass line I had ever heard. Alys reached out and took my hand, and glancing at her, I saw she felt it, too. It was liquid and smooth, flowing like a rich undercurrent. A few heartbeats of this, and Connor joined in with the rhythm guitar, floating just above the bass line, conforming to and complementing it. Jason sank into it with the grace of a skipping stone, hopping along the surface, sinking, rising, and skipping again.
Phil stood, rocking back and forth with the viscosity of it, his eyes closed as he listened and waited. Fluid transformed into a thicker substance, the intro morphing, and Phil’s creamy baritone dipped into the flow.
“This road feels fuckin’ endless/
I’m sick, I’m broken, angry and disgusted/
Just another lonely mutilated soul/
Crusted over with the grunge I’ve accumulated.
There’s no way I can ever be clean/
I can’t tell if any of this is familiar/
A long time ago, I took a road that led me far, far away from her/
I followed it to the edge of the world/
Hoping I’d come full circle.
Now I’m a fuckin’ mess, not worthy of shit!/
Not worthy…of her/
All I want is to come home again/
To walk along the river stones/
To have one last chance and jump in/
Let the waters wash over me and take me to the end/
I want to rise up! Rise out!/”
His voice swelled, pregnant with purpose.
“Flesh! Blood! Bone!/” he screamed.
“To stand before her, have her call me her own…/” His voice trailed off into soft defeat.
Jason went into a masterpiece of a solo, drawing out a tortured soul from deep fathoms. The man was a fucking genius on six strings—mournful, heart-wrenching, slick with pain. X and Connor both poured themselves into holding Jason up, the upper current to their steady undertow.