Gabe plays along and roars as he stomps behind us.
Ella squeals with laughter. “Go, go, go!”
At their age, my brothers and I were basically unpaid ranch hands. While the older boys know how to do a lot of the basics around our family’s ranch, Rhett doesn’t work them into the ground like our asshole father worked us.
Which is why I want the kids to enjoy their childhood. If that means they get dirty, so be it. They’ll grow up soon enough.
We stomp around the backyard until I remember I need to reserve some energy for tonight. I line everyone up by the house and grab the hose. “I’d better clean y’all up before your parents get home.”
“Too late.”
I turn to find my oldest brother Rhett scowling at us, and I shake my head. “Don’t give me that look. You said to let the kids play outside and keep an eye on them.” I wave my hand to my line of mudlings. “All alive and accounted for.”
“I figured you’d bring them inside when it rained.”
“You figured wrong.”
Just then, Paige joins us. “Good gravy, what’s going on here?”
I chuckle as I turn on the hose. “You got here just in time for the fun.” I aim the water at my big bro and his wife, and they run inside, laughing. Lightweights.
After I hose off the kids, I grab a stack of towels and dry them off.
Here comes the best part. Once we’re inside, I get to hand off the children to their parents. That’s why being an uncle rocks.I get all the fun and none of the responsibility. Just like God intended.
Smiling to myself, I head to my room on the other side of the house to shower and get ready for our show.
But when I think about tonight, my good mood wanes.
Because I know something no one else does—my band is on its last legs.
By the time I’ve showered and made it to the bar, the energy of the crowd filters down to the green room. The guys sprawl out on a sagging brown couch, surrounded by scuffed-up guitar cases and crates of beer. Behind them, sickly green paint peels off the walls. But upstairs, fans are waiting, and when we hit the stage, that’s where the magic happens.
Lately, though, it’s been tough to remind my friends why we’re doing this.
When I see my bandmates’ faces, I groan. “Not tonight, okay? Just focus on the songs. Focus on why we started this thing in the first place.”
Cooper, my drummer and best friend, yawns. “So I could get out of mucking my family’s barn?”
“Don’t pretend you haven’t had a million groupies in your bed.”
His bushy black beard tugs up as he grins. “Yeah, okay. Point taken. We did it for the chicks.”
Maybe that’s what people say about me too, but that’s not why I’ve spent the last ten years busting my ass. “No, we did it because we love music. Because it’s in our fucking souls.”
“Don’t know about that anymore. Life on the road sucks. Gina complains I’m always gone. I’d like to spend a Saturday night with my girlfriend for once.”
Therein lies the problem with having a girlfriend. “I hear you, but we gotta keep the wheels on this bus a little longer. We agreed we’d do this through the summer.” One last shot to makeit. To get the big record deal or level up some other way. But we need something significant to happen or we’re done.
My bassist Shane takes a pull of his beer. “I’m tired of living on fumes. I gotta get serious about life if I want to move out of my parents’ basement.”
Living on fumes. I feel that. “You think I want to live with my big brother?” Since Rhett married Paige and they had baby Ella, the house feels cramped. If I’m not careful, I’m gonna overstay my welcome.
Shane chuckles. “You have nothing to complain about. I know about all the groupies who climb in and out of your bedroom window.”
“Paige made me nail it shut. She got tired of finding random women’s clothing around the house.” I pick up my guitar and rush on before my bandmates give me shit for still being on my sex cleanse. “But that’s not the point. I need us to give this summer a hundred percent effort. If we don’t make it, fine. But if we half-ass the next few months and miss a big opportunity, that’s wasting all of our hard work leading up to this point. And we’ve come too far to fizzle out.”
Because then what? I’ll return home to wrangle cattle and be the little ranch hand my father beat into submission?