Author: Olivia Cunning

“Who cares what Mrs. Blake thinks about you?” Aggie said. “Rebekah loves you. What her mother thinks doesn’t matter.”

The three turned to watch Mrs. B chatter animatedly with Isaac, who was cutting dough into strips, while Rebekah coiled them and placed them on the baking sheet. Rebekah glanced at Eric and offered him a miserable smile before turning her attention back to her dough arranging.

“Rebekah would obviously rather be over here with you,” Aggie said.

“Yeah? So what’s stopping her?”

Aggie shoved the pot of peeled potatoes into Eric’s chest. “Go rinse these in the sink over there, and bring them back so we can cut them up.”

Eric did as he was told. While he was washing the potatoes, Rebekah appeared at his side. “Do you mind if I wash my hands?” she asked. She held her greasy fingers up for inspection. “I’m

all buttery.”

Eric stepped aside. “Go right ahead.”

“Did my mother say something to you?” she asked as she scrubbed her hands with dish soap.

“No.”

She sighed heavily. “Liar.”

She rinsed her hands and was gone before he could find his tongue. He was starting to wish he’d never come. The heartache wasn’t worth viewing Rebekah from afar.

Eric did his best to avoid Rebekah and crew while they were in the kitchen. When it came time to serve, he found himself in charge of serving mashed potatoes. Rebekah was to his right with the gravy, and Isaac to his left with the stuffing. Hell. On. Earth.

What made it worse was that Trey was at the end of the line. Being the social creature that he was, he kept slowing up the line as he chatted with and teased every person who wanted dessert. And everyone wanted dessert when Trey Mills was offering it.

“Can I get some extra stuffing?” a legless man in a wheelchair asked Isaac as they waited for the line to start moving again.

“Of course. Just don’t tell my boss,” Isaac said and scooped more stuffing onto the man’s plate.

“You can have extra potatoes too, if you want,” Eric said.

“I would like more potatoes. Thanks.”

Eric added potatoes to his plate.

“The stuffing is excellent,” Isaac said and scooped more onto the man’s plate.

“But not as good as the potatoes,” Eric insisted and added to the heap already on his plate.

The man looked relieved when the line started moving, and he could get some gravy for his mountains of stuffing and mashed potatoes.

Isaac scooped larger and larger servings of stuffing onto each plate. Not to be one-upped by a twerp, Eric made sure each person’s serving of potatoes was larger than their pile of stuffing.

“What are you trying to prove, rock star?” Isaac growled out of the corner of his mouth.

“Not a thing, doc.”

Rebekah shook her head. “Will you two take it easy? We’re going to run out of food. I know you’re both generous, but—”

“I’m way more generous than he is,” Isaac said.

“Not!” Eric added.

The news crew flitted about, zooming in on the band members as they served people they would never encounter on a regular day. Despite Isaac’s constant presence as a thorn in his side, Eric started to remember why he was there in the first place.

It wasn’t to ogle Rebekah. It wasn’t to wonder if he’d ever win over Mrs. B. It wasn’t for good publicity. It wasn’t even to hang out with his best friends. It was to make a small difference in a stranger’s life. Instead of stuffing visitors with potatoes, he shifted his focus to talking to them while they waited for Trey to stop yakking at the end of the line.

When a mother with two young daughters made their way through the line, Eric’s heart melted. The two girls stared at him with wide eyes, uncertain what to make of the tall, thin guy with the crazy hair.

“How come your hair is blue right there?” one of the girls asked. Eric estimated her to be about seven.

“I wanted it to match your eyes.”

“Mah eyes is brown.”

He leaned over the counter for a better look. “I guess they are. Should I change the color to brown then?”

She shook her head. “I like blue. I never saw blue hair afore.”

“Don’t frequent West Hollywood much then, do you?”

Rebekah snorted.

Her younger sister stared at him, but was apparently too shy or too scared to initiate conversation. “Do you like blue too?” Eric asked.

She nodded.

“It’s about time for me to change colors again. What color do you think I should do next?”

“Purple!” the older girl said.

The younger nodded again.

“Purple?” Eric pretended to be perplexed. “Isn’t that a girl color?”

“No, pink is a girl color,” the girl insisted. “Boys can have purple.”

“Alright, purple it is. I trust you wouldn’t steer me wrong and make my hair a girl color.”

The younger girl laughed. “Pink. Pink. You should have pink hair!”

“Now I know you’re trying to make me look silly.”

“You’ve already succeeded in that on your own,” Isaac mumbled. Eric refused to take his bait.

The mother offered Isaac a scathing look and then smiled at Eric. “Thank you,” she said quietly and helped her girls push their trays further down the line. Eric caught Rebekah smiling sadly as she offered gravy to the two little girls. He placed a gentle hand in the center of Rebekah’s back, and she leaned against his arm. When she looked up, his throat closed off, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her.

“Yo, Eric,” Sed called from the beginning of the chow line. “Gather the rest of the guys and come down here for an interview.”

Eric knew Sed could do a fine job with the interview on his own, but he did his bidding anyway. Something about Sed made Eric always want to do his bidding. “Bring Dave with you. And Rebekah too.” Especially when Sed made requests such as those.

Eric gathered his bandmates and Dave. They went to sit at one of the picnic tables. Trey sat on the table with his feet on the bench, while the rest lined up in a row. Dave maneuvered his wheelchair into the space at the end of the table next to Sed. The only one not present was Rebekah. Eric made a return trip to retrieve her.

“Sed wants us all to have an interview with the news crew.”

“Why me?”

Eric shrugged. “I dunno. He specifically requested you join us though.”

She handed her gravy ladle to a volunteer and wiped her hands on her black pants. Eric noticed the flour handprints on her ass and wondered if they belonged to Isaac. He wished he could say that they belonged to him.

“Where are you going?” Isaac asked.

“I’ll be back,” she assured him and headed toward the group.

Eric hung behind her so he didn’t take her hand. He sure wanted to hold it, but that would bring Mrs. B running for sure.

“Okay, everyone’s here now. You can start,” Sed said to the reporter.

The reporter spoke into her microphone, “It’s been awhile since you gave an update on the state of the band. It’s obvious that Trey’s hands are better.” Trey wriggled his fingers to demonstrate. “But how’s your voice, Sedric?”

“Perfectly fine,” he said.

Which wasn’t exactly true. His throat specialist harped on him constantly about screaming in live shows. He was getting better at keeping his volume down and allowing the soundboard operator to increase it electronically. Rebekah made a lot of adjustments for him. Eric glanced at her. She looked a bit shell-shocked to be sitting amongst them in an interview.

“A lot of fans were upset when the new single had less of your signature screaming and more singing. Was singing a decision or necessity?”

A little of both, but Sed chose to sugarcoat it.

“Well, as a band we wanted the new album to show our growth as musicians,” Sed said. “When I first started out, I screamed because that’s what I knew how to do best. As my singing voice evolved, I wanted to sing more, but the fans have come to expect screaming.”

“We’re taking a lot of chances on this album,” Brian said. “We hope our fans stand beside us as we stretch our creativity to its limits.”

“So there are more surprises in store for fans?” the reporter asked.

“You might say that,” Eric said.

“You’re the main composer, right?” the reporter asked Eric.

“More of an arranger,” Eric said. “Brian writes the guitar music. Sed writes most of the lyrics. I pick out the pieces that work well together and arrange them into songs. Then I add drum tracks, and on this album, Jace worked out the bass lines.”

“What does Trey do?”

“I just look pretty for the camera,” Trey said.

Everyone laughed.

“You don’t compose at all?” the reporter pressed.

“Brian writes the guitar music,” Trey reiterated. “No way could I ever come up with the amazing stuff he composes. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Trey has written the lyrics for a couple songs,” Sed entered.

“I did write ‘Goodbye Is Not Forever,’ our only ballad,” Trey said. “And I wrote one of the new songs.”

“‘Sever’?”

“No, Sed wrote that one. We’re not finished recording yet. My song might not end up on the album, so I don’t want to say much about it.”

“It will end up on the album,” Sed said. He squeezed Trey’s forearm, and some connection between them solidified.

Eric decided it had something to do with Trey’s addiction to painkillers and Sed’s involvement in getting him off them.

“What’s it called?” the reporter asked. Eric could tell she was hanging on Trey’s every word.

“‘Fall.’”

“Like the season?”

Trey shook his head and stared at his hands, which clutched the fabric of his jeans.

Sed patted him on the back. “It’s a great song,” Sed said.

Trey smiled a little but didn’t raise his head. The reporter seemed to realize she should change the subject.

“You’ve added a couple new instruments to the mix too. Will you play violin on the album, Sed?”

“I mostly used the violin to fill in for my screaming when my throat was injured, but yeah, there are a couple songs where I use the violin on purpose.” Sed chuckled.

“Can’t wait to hear that. The piano piece sounds amazing on ‘Sever.’ Did you write that, Jace?”

Jace flushed and shook his head. “It was originally one of Brian’s guitar solos. Eric modified it into piano music.”

Eric caught Rebekah staring at him with something that might have been adulation. He wasn’t sure what had brought it on all of a sudden.

“So when can we expect the new album to hit the shelves?”

“This spring. We still have some tour dates to make up in January, and then we’ll hit the studio hard and heavy in February. After that, we’ll take a little break and start a tour next summer to promote the new album.”

“Sounds busy.”

Sed chuckled. “We’re always busy.”

“And we’re all happy about that.” The reporter turned to Dave. “You’re the soundboard operator who was injured in the bus crash in Canada, right?”

“Yeah. David Blake. I’ve been working with Sinners for several years now.”

“Are you still part of the crew?”

“No, I—”

“Yes,” Sed interrupted. “That’s why I called you over here. We want you to come on the road with us in January, if you’re up for it.”