Page 29 of Make It Burn

We all ignore him. He is the least of us who ‘has it together.’

“Hey, Drifters are on,” Evan roars, blocking the TV.

I run into the room, brushing my hair out of my face and pushing Gunner out of the way to get the best seat on the sofa. Frankie plops down next to Austin on the other couch, as we watch Axl and the cousins take the stage.

“Get out of the way, dude,” Frankie says, throwing an empty cup in Evan’s direction. “I’m off the clock.”

“So what? Is there something wrong with your hands? Go and make your own damn drink,” Evan grunts.

“Please, if I ask real nice?” Frankie waggles his eyebrows.

“Don’t, man,” Evan grumbles. Still, he heads into the kitchen, mixing Jack Daniels and Cokes for all of us.

Evan hands him his drink, and Frankie grins. Their fingers skim each other’s and Evan’s mouth hikes up a little.

I have never seen my best friend smile like that in all the years I’ve known him. Dude could be even scarier than Gunner if he wanted to. I watch Frankie following Evan, slowly sipping his drink.

Our eyes meet, and Frankie quickly turns his gaze back to the television. The other guys don’t notice.

Evan sits next to me before setting a big bowl of popcorn on the table in front of us and pulling me against his strong chest. Getting comfortable, I lay my head on his shoulder, watching my brother burn the house down with his new hit song.

“Fuck yeah.” Gunner jumps onto the couch beside me yelling in my ear when Outlaw is introduced, set to perform their tribute to Jesse’s band. Gunn grabs a handful of popcorn, putting the bowl between his legs.

I roll my eyes. “I can’t watch this,” I say, trying to stand.

“Oh no, watch, little sis.” Gunner grins evilly, taking my head in a headlock, the bowl almost falling on the ground before Evan can save it from destruction.

“Fuck, guys,” he mumbles.

“Let me go,” I order through gritted teeth.

Gunner releases me, and I brush my hair back. “How old are you?”

“Older than you are.”

“By five minutes, dipshit.”

“Still, it gives me perks,” Gunner says, throwing a couple of popcorn pieces at me.

“Sure, whatever, but I’m not on Dad’s shit list because I had to be bailed out again,” I say, throwing the popcorn back at him.

Gunner grins. “Eat shit and—”

“Guys, come on. Let’s fucking watch this and have a nice evening without verbal abuse,” Evan says, taking a handful of popcorn.

“Good one.” Frankie laughs.

Gunner throws some popcorn his way. “Traitor, asshole.”

Frankie pretends he is busy checking the messages on his phone, ignoring the snowstorm in his hair. Gunner and I are both quietly pushing each other until Evan gives us both the stink eye. That always shuts us up.

They all make me watch the whole damn show. Drifters win the categories they were nominated for. I watch Outlaw take the stage for the final song of the evening and have to admit defeat; Navarone looks fantastic up on the podium with Sterling and his bandmates playing one of his father’s songs. I have difficulty focusing on him and not seeing what might have been, so I turn my attention to his brother, his band brothers, and the rest of the show. I ignore the fact Navarone’s voice, after all these years, can still cut through my soul.

“Well, I fucking lost the bet with your punk-ass brother and crazy cousins,” Austin whines, covering his eyes with his inked hands when the show is over.

“What bet?” I ask, downing a shot of moonshine Evan has put in front of my face. He basically makes me chug it—says I need to loosen up before we go out.

“I promised to work for them when they go on tour this summer,” Austin says, brushing both his hands across his face, groaning.

---