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I push out from the hug and nearly bump into Laredo. He has his blue guitar in front of him. His performance guitar, which shouts he's come to impress. He pairs it with a confident smirk on his face. "You ready for the A team?" I give him an eye roll and step around him.
The amplifier crackles, and I recognize the sound of plugs going in and out. I sip from the water bottle, wipe the sweat from my brow, and turn to see if the boys are ready. The joy from a second ago evaporates, replaced by my fiery anger at what I am witnessing.
My feet step around wires as I race toward the pair. "Adam? What the hell are you doing?" I know exactly what he's doing and can't believe it. He's unplugged his guitar; it now sits in the stand behind him, and he's plugging in his bass guitar.
"About to tune the bass and get ready," he says the line as if it's expected.
"And why would you do that?" I'm dumbfounded. Lost by his actions.
"Because he's a bass player," Laredo answers for him.
I step around both of them and snatch Adam's guitar from the stand. "No, he's not. He's a goddamn guitarist. And he's been playing lead all morning." I shove the guitar at Adam, who has no choice but to take it. When he glances at his brother, I lose it.
"Why the hell are you looking at him?" I can't believe I have to explain this to him. "Does he just show up whenever the hell he wants, wherever he wants, and you just step to the side and let him take what he wants and disappear into the background?" This explains so much. This is the family dysfunction that was on display last year on stage.
A hint of anger flashes in Adam's eyes. Good. He can show another emotion other than kindness.
"Don't do that," I spew, my arms flailing. If Adam is an A student, this is a lesson. I hope he's taking notes. "If you're going to give it away, give it to someone who's deserves it. Someone who's earned it."
Tension sparkles in the air, and I'm not surprised to hear Laredo's voice first. "I'll play bass." He offers it up as if it's a consolation prize not worthy of someone like him. "Today." He reminds us that his ego is and always will be bigger than his brother's.
"But first…" Laredo adjusts the knobs on his guitar and leaps right into the complicated bridge of The Devil I Know. It's the most challenging portion of the piece. One that Manuel spent three weeks struggling with. A complicated melody that warranted a full article in the Riff, a popular industry guitar-focused blog.
Laredo nails it without a warmup, without a buildup, and with very little effort. Close your damn mouth, I scream internally. I can't believe what I'm witnessing. He's more talented than I even imagined.
Head down, focused, his fingers become a blur as he hits every note. I can't prevent my toes from tapping or my head from bopping. The pace quickens, a crescendo building, and my body leans toward him with a magnetic pull of a melody I know in my bones. My breathing shortens, and he glances up at that moment with a busted smirk on his face. Just as he's about to hit the peak note, he lifts his fingers from the strings; the room goes silent with anticipation.
I feel the rhythm of my heart beating in tune with the melody. Anticipating. A longing for the next stroke. To ride the crescendo down the other side of the mountain.
Performing is about timing. It's about anticipating and giving the audience what they want. Laredo proves he's a peacock. He builds up the excitement but fails to deliver. Happy to have the spotlight rest and stay on him.
Laredo scoffs. "Yeah, I'm the one who should hide in the background playing bass." His voice drips with disdain. He turns and gives us his back. His guitar strap being lifted over his head. The sound of silence our punishment. He walks to the stand where I grabbed Adam's guitar and sets his there.
I turn to face Adam, not sure what to expect. I'm hoping to see that the flash of anger from before. I hope to see an I'll show you how to play a guitar challenging stare. An if you can do it, I can do it better one upmanship I've come to expect from men. Instead, all I see is a look of resignation. The look of a broken warrior dragging themselves off the battlefield with an all is lost look on their face.
His look connects the dots for me, too. The dynamics of their relationship are on full display. I don't feel a protectiveness for him. I don't even feel anger on his behalf. All my life, I've had to fight for everything I've gotten. I've scrapped and clawed from day to day to survive. I learned that you have to scream and let the world know what you want to get it.
Adam's actions are obvious to me. He either isn't a fighter, or this isn't something he wants. And that's a shame because it's standing right in front of his face for the taking. All of it.
Chapter Twelve
Adam
It's happening—again. This is turning into a repeat of the disaster of Seaside from last summer.
I pace along the Seaside boardwalk, a place filled with happy families and couples wrapping up a fun-filled day of sunshine and activities. I step around them in a hurry to escape my thoughts.
A year ago, Hailey convinced me to give our family band one last try. A roll of the dice to see if we could land a record deal and save the band. Laredo acted the fool from day one, and our family band never stood a chance. Back then, Laredo carried an unjustified grudge against me, which led to the self-sabotage act.
I thought I had put all of this nonsense behind me, and I did… until Ariel sent the text. So excited someone like her would even consider collaborating with someone like me, I forgot the ways of my brother.
Even when he steps aside and complies, like he did today to play bass on the tune, he has to embarrass me first. His rendition of Devil You Know wasn't just a personal rebuke but a flare across the night sky to remind the world of why he'll always be the choice. I don't compete against my brother for a reason.
"Hold up." The squeaky voice reminds me I'm not alone.
I twist on my toes and watch Emily skip up toward me. We've just finished dinner on the boardwalk, the four of us. An invitation I couldn't refuse.
"Where are you rushing off to?" Emily asks, pushing her hands into the back pockets of her cut-off shorts. She lifts her sunglasses from her face and sticks them into her afro on the top of her head.
