Anna

13 - Hell's Frosty Morning

Content warning: attempted drugging

Ten years ago

Joe had no idea what he was doing. In fact, when it came to the monstrous machine in front of him, he was utterly clueless.

"How the fuck am I supposed to work this thing," he questioned, staring at the two thousand dollar espresso machine that now occupied his dressing room. "What happened to basic coffee makers?"

Chase slapped and gripped his brother's shoulder. His hand wrinkled the sleeves of Joe's purposefully tight t-shirt that clung to his bicep tighter than his matching black pants hugged his thighs. While Chase preferred to keep his tattoos covered on stage, Joe wore the few speckled across his arms with pride.

"'Thank you for the espresso machine, Chase.' You're welcome, Joe. I'm glad you appreciate it."

"You need to go back to couch surfing. Remember your roots. Get humbled." Since his career had taken off a few years back, Chase used his powers of persuasion to turn anyone around him into a yes-man. So Joe took it upon himself as his producer, touring guitarist, and brother to keep his ever-inflating ego in check.

Sometimes he actually succeeded.

"It's time to get rid of that cheap thing." Ryan, Joe and Chase's oldest friend, stood up from the futon. "We're not dirt poor anymore."

"We?" Joe questioned. "Last I checked, you were still dirt poor and couch surfing. On my couch."

Ryan walked over to his friends. Joe and Chase were tall, but the six-foot-five man towered over them.

"Not for long," Ryan said, wrapping a beefy arm around Chase. "You're looking at Chase Holland's newest Director of Image and Approvals."

Joe snorted out a laugh.

"Dude, that's not a thing. You just wanted on his payroll."

Ryan opened his mouth to retort, but a voice from the door interrupted them.

"Five minutes," the stage manager called before moving onto the next room.

Joe looked at Chase, then flitted his eyes towards the door and back again, signaling that they were ready to go.

Walking through the arena's tunnels, Joe caught a woman's eye as she passed by. He winked, earning a sly smile before they continued on. He may not have known much about espresso machines, but he sure knew about women.

Joe and Ryan followed Chase to the back of the stage where they entered from. The closer they got, the louder the chatter from the arena became.

Chase took the front and center rig, Joe joined the rest of the backup band behind him, and Ryan waited by the sidelines, where he always was. Joe grabbed his guitar and took his place in the back while Chase bounced back and forth, hyping himself up alone in the front.

On cue, the band played their opening notes, and the fans on the other side erupted in roaring cheers. Chase turned back to look at his brother and the rest of his band. Joe gave a nod just before Chase's rig began to rise, followed shortly by the band's platform.

Energy flowed through Joe's fingers like electricity as he hit a chord at the same time as Chase belted out the first note. And then they played their hearts out doing what they loved and dreamt of, just like they did every night.

After two hours of what was arguably the best performance of his life, Chase ran off the stage, followed shortly by the rest of the band.

Joe collected Ryan from the sidelines. Cheers of congratulation followed him as he traveled down the arena's halls like a king ruling his domain. By the time he found Chase, his arms were already wrapped around his wife.