Love Is Always Write Volume 4

just reminding myself," he said quietly.
    "You sure you're just tired?"
    Zeb shot his band mate a quick 'drop it' look out of the corner of his eye and kept them moving on the trek out to meet their fans. "And by the way, this is number twelve, not ten. See how old you're getting? Your memory's going already. No worries though. If it gets real bad I'll start writing the songs down on cue cards. We'll put up one of those little black stands – you know, the kind they use in orchestras and high school bands and shit to hold your music during the concert."
    Todd dodged out from under Zeb's arm and punched him in the shoulder. Hard. Zeb smacked back, grinning like a fool, and they kept on like that as they walked out into the main room of the theater.
    Twenty minutes later Zeb's hand was cramping and his cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but he loved every minute of it. He couldn't believe where they were, that they were finally making it. He joked with Todd about each stop, counting them like it was a chore and he tried not to act too nuts about it. But honestly it astounded him; put him in a state of perpetual awe that they were actually on tour. Stop twelve out of thirty, and their CD's were starting to sell like hotcakes all over the country.
    Simply amazing. And so were their fans. Fans – they actually had fans . They'd had a small following in Duluth before they moved, and once things got started in California that number blew up. But it wasn't till the last year things sky-rocketed.
    It all started on a rainy day in July when Zeb was playing guitar in his room alone – or so he thought. If he'd known Todd had gotten off work early he wouldn't have been playing the song. Cry had been something he'd written just for himself. Something he'd thought would be therapeutic (or some shit like that) to write, and had turned into a morbid obsession whenever he was feeling down. Like how two negatives make a positive, it would usually help him out of whatever funk he was in.
    So, there he was, sitting on his bed facing the rain coming down outside, making tracks down his window and shadows across his room. His guitar was in his lap and the headset on so he wouldn't piss off the neighbors as he played. And he was singing. He thought softly, but later Todd argued that point. He didn't think it would be any big deal to open Zeb's bedroom door to listen since Zeb was singing loud enough to almost hear in the kitchen anyway.
    Todd wouldn't have said much on the melancholy song, him being a smart man and knowing you don't go poking a bee's hive, but their agent, John, had stopped by to go over a new booking – he did that a lot if he was in the neighborhood, just stop on in – and Todd answered the door. So, John heard the song. And went ape over it, wanting to hear anything else Zeb had that resembled it.
    He went so far as to accuse Zeb of holding out on him. Of course Zeb had been holding out. That song wasn't meant to be heard, wasn't meant to be played in front of a crowd, and sure as hell wasn't meant to be recorded. But John argued, then begged. He swore, swore, that if Zeb just played it once, at a fundraiser they were playing at next month, John wouldn't say another word about it if Zeb didn't want him to. Yeah, that had been a trap. All the suits from the recording studio were at the fund raiser, invited by John, and they immediately offered a full recording contract. On top of that, they made promises of marketing the 'sound' as well as getting them some tour gigs.
    How in the hell was Zeb supposed to say no to that? With Callie getting married and Laser's girlfriend pregnant, Zeb knew they all needed the cash and the break. So he swallowed his pride, changed a couple strategic words in the song, and cashed in.
    He also broke out into a cold sweat the first time he heard it on the radio. Hearing your own band being played over the sound waves really should have been more exciting than that. And it was, really. He just wished it had been with a different song.
    A waiter brought Zeb a refill on his cola and he was thankful, his throat almost raw. The next group was a bunch of girls from the local college, all with cameras and smiles. Like any group there were some more outgoing than the rest, friendly and flirty, but one was almost scary. She was either a slut or just enjoyed acting like one and seemed to know no shame. Zeb appreciated the audacity, but when they asked to have the small promotional posters signed, it