Page 5 of Social Sinners

“What’s up, guys?” I asked, plucking the buds out.

“You okay, Boo?” Benny asked.

“Just fucking pissed, ya know?”

“Yeah, that we do know,” River replied. “It’s been a challenge for us toobeing in the limelight that is. Don’t get me wrong, we’d do anything for Mickey. But having your personal life always on display for the world to critique leaves a lot to be desired.”

He had a point there; one I hadn’t really considered. They never asked for this and technically neither did we, but it was part of our chosen profession. So wehadto deal with it, them not so much. All we wanted to do was play music, and share our gifts with others, not invite them into our bedrooms. These two had already been to hell and back. Between River’s heart condition and Benny’s kidnapping by the psychotic Christian extremist a few months back. Both of which were scary as fuck. I don’t know how Mickey kept it together through all of that. It was stressful as hell on me, and it wasn’t my man that shit had happened to.

“Hey guys,” Easton said as he returned from the restroom, “Dad’s already contacted the private airline he books through. Needless to say, when she lands, she’ll no longer have a job to return to. Their employees are required to sign a disclaimer before going on their first flight with the team, and she violated that by not only taking our picture but sealed her fate by posting it. But he um…” he paused.

“Might as well spit it out. Can’t get any worse than it already is,” I told him.

“He’s instructed the driver to take both you and I directly to my parents’ house,” he burst out in a single breath.

“I stand corrected,” I said, defeatedly sinking back into the seat.

“You’ve got this, man,” River said, gripping my shoulder before the duo returned to Mickey, leaving us alone.

Easton put his hand on my knee, leaning forward. “I’m sorry, Diamond.”

“East, listen to me. This isn’t your fault, nor is it mine but it does fucking suck,” God how I wish I had my sticks in hand. This nervous energy had my leg bouncing so hard I was amazed it wasn’t rocking the plane.

“Why are you nervous? You’ve met my dad and have worked with him for years,” he said, trying to reassure me.

“Diamond, the drummer, has met him. Ethan, the boyfriend, has not. I’ve never dated anyone before. Parental meet and greets are a foreign concept to me. Diamond the cocky-ass drummer I can do. Ethan, not so much.” Ethan was a door I’d shut a long time ago. He was weak. Living a life overshadowed by his father’s ridiculous-ass abusive perception of biblical beliefs. No longer was I the scared child he wielded power over. In the ten years since I’d left home, I’d grown tremendously…physically and well, emotionally, I was still a work in progress.

When the plane began its descent, the pilot made an announcement asking us to please stay seated for a few minutes until he gave the all clear. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but I had an idea which was confirmed as we deplaned at the executive terminal at SeaTac. Heading into the office ahead of us was the soon to be unemployed stewardess accompanied by who I assumed, was her current employers. She basically just hand delivered us to the vultures waiting outside the locked gates we had to pass through. Therefore, I lacked the ability to feel sorry for her.

“Ready?” Easton asked me before we joined the others inside the limo.

“We shall see,” I said, ducking inside. As always, Easton was the last to get in. Joe and Maggie’s other friends in attendance had parked their cars next to the terminal.

The driver dropped Joe and Maggie off first, then Joey, Stoli, Mickey, and the twins. Once we were on the road, Easton took my hand in his.

“It can’t be that bad, Ethan.” Easton was the only one I allowed to use my real name; friend wise. Although I was reasonably confident the fatherly speech, we were about to receive was going to include it. Possibly along with a few choice expletives.

We pulled up in front of their mansion in Medina forty-five minutes later. “Here goes nothing,” I mumbled as the driver pulled out of the circled driveway after dropping us off.

“Good evening Mr. Masterson, Mr. Taylor. Mr. Masterson is expecting you. He’s waiting for you in his office,” their butler, Emil said as he shut the door behind us. My heart was racing, and my palms were sweating.

Easton led us down the hall to the right of the grand foyer we’d first entered. He knocked on the door, waiting for his father to acknowledge the interruption before we went inside. “Come in,” he announced, prompting us to enter.

Sal sat behind his lavish mahogany desk, his face devoid of any emotion, his hands crossed on top of it. “Boys have a seat.” He pointed at the two wing-back leather chairs facing him. Having never been in this room before, I took the time to scan the vast area, taking in the decor. I’m sure Sal spent many long hours in here putting out fires the bands he managed started.Ugh, it felt like I’d been called to the principal’s office…again…

“So,” he began, “who wants to step up to bat first?” Sal was an avid baseball fan, he even had box seats to the Mariners games. Numerous photographs of him posing with the players adorned his office walls, along with gold, silver, and platinum records from the same bands whose earnings helped decorate this place. Not that Sal hadn’t earned it, I can tell you firsthand that he had.

“Dad,” Easton began, but Sal quickly cut him off as his hand shot up in the air.

“What a fucking nightmare. The airline, of course, was more than accommodating and apologized profusely. I can guarantee you that Miss Harris is out of a job. Tell me right now, how long this has been going on between you two?”

“Almost a year,” Easton admitted, his quiet tone and timid posture was not something I liked to hearlet alone see. He looked like a scared child sitting in the chair, and that did not sit well with me at all. I felt the hair on my neck stand on end as I clenched and unclenched my fists trying to talk my inner turmoil off the proverbial ledge. Going to battle with Sal would not bode well for either of us, but I’ll be damned if he’ll make Easton feel as though he’d done something wrong.

“I’ll replace Easton,” Sal said, picking up his phone.

“The hell you will,” I told him, both heads snapped in my direction. “You do that, and you’ll need a new drummer too.”

“You’ll be in breach of contract,” Sal defiantly countered.

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