Love Will by Lori L. Otto Page B

at tears running down his cheeks. “Man, what’s wrong?” I ask him, sitting down next to him. He hands me his phone.
     
    - - Peron, we need to talk.
     
    - Answer your phone, Brooke.
    - We just got done with the show.
     
    - - I’ve met someone else.
     
    - Please answer your phone.
     
    - - I’m not in love with you anymore.
     
    - What the fuck?
    - Do not break up over text.
    - I deserve a conversation.
    - Brooke?
    - I love you, Brooke.
    - I’ll quit the tour now.
    - I’ll come home tonight.
    - I’m stuck in a snowstorm, but I will find a way home.
    - ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE!
    - ANSWER MY FUCKING TEXTS!
     
    - - Good luck, Peron.
     
    “Oh, shit, Peron.” I don’t know what else to say to him. I put my arm around him. “Come on, let’s get to the hotel, and we’ll try to call her from there. We’ll try to figure this out. You’re right, she can’t do this with texts. No way. No fucking way.”
    He just sits there like he’s comatose.
    “I’ll get our gear and pack some shit for you. Okay? But you can’t bitch if I don’t pack your favorite skivvies, okay?”
    “I’ll pack my own stuff,” he finally says, getting up and taking the phone back from me.
    “Good man. I’d pack for more than one night if I were you.”
    Hurriedly, we throw stuff together in our suitcases after Ben tries once more to get the bus going. Tavo goes inside the venue and finds a few bartenders are still hanging around, drinking. He hires them to help carry his drums to the hotel.
    “Why do you have three fucking guitars, anyway?” Ben asks me as I settle my electric on his shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you to pack light?”
    “Because Livvy’s parents gave me one the night we left, remember? I wasn’t going to leave it with them.” I hand him my less expensive acoustic after he helps Lola off the bus with her luggage.
    “But I should be carrying her luggage. Did you see the shoes she has on?” Yes, I saw her stripper heels. Not an ounce of class could fit in them.
    “You should be acting as our manager , not as her boyfriend right now. She shouldn’t even be here, Ben. You got everything?” I ask, looking at my equipment.
    “Yes.”
    “Thank you.” Picking up the priceless guitar gifted to me by Emi and Jack and my own suitcase, I motion for Peron to head out the door first. Damon follows, carrying both of the two gaming systems we brought along.
    He obviously thinks like I do–that this is definitely going to last longer than one night.

Chapter 7
     
    My eyes fixated on the frozen tree outside the bedroom window, I strain to block out the noise. A closed door, earplugs and two down pillows should be doing the trick, but no, I can still hear them arguing.
    “I told you to go over the brick wall!” Tavo yells.
    “You said to go around the wall,” Damon argues.
    “Going around it gets you killed, fucker,” our drummer states pointedly. “Obviously. Like you didn’t learn that the first three times you did it!”
    “I just did what you said!”
    I can’t take any more of this. The news has talked about power outages all over the city. Why can’t we have one here–just for a few hours, so we can all have a break from this obnoxious Xbox game? I toss the pillows down with too much force. One of them skips off of my bed toward the other one, narrowly missing Peron as he texts Brooke. It knocks his phone out of his hands.
    “Damn it, Will, watch it!”
    Ripping out the rubber plugs from my ears that I normally wear for shows, I apologize with little empathy. My nerves are frayed after two and a half days of confinement with the band. “Sorry, man. This is too much.”
    “Have a beer already. Or a smoke,” he suggests.
    “No, thanks.” I can’t say I haven’t considered taking up drinking over the past forty-eight hours. And shit, after seeing how relaxed Damon and Tavo were last night after sneaking away to the broken-down, freezing-cold bus for some snacks–aka weed , which they got from the