Ray.

~~~

The late afternoon sun burned bright in downtown LA as I loaded the guitar case to the back of the van. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, dampening the collar of my T-shirt, but I didn't care. The air buzzed with the low hum of anticipation that always came before a gig, no matter how big or small.

And while we were rehashing a few times per week I missed the feeling of the crowd. Our band Purple Rain has been off-tour for a few months now.

"Are we seriously doing this?" James—our band guitarist asked. His arms were crossed, his expression sour as he stood a few feet away from the van.

"Yeah, James, we are," I replied, my tone calm but firm. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?" James scoffed, shaking his head as if the answer was obvious. "We've been selling out venues across the countries, and now you've got us hauling gear to some college house party. This is beneath us, Ray."

I glanced at our bassist and my best friend Andrew, who was leaning against the van with his arms folded, watching the exchange with a faint smirk. "You think playing at a packed party is beneath us?" I shot back. "You were not there when we started out just like this."

James rolled his eyes. "Don't give me the whole 'humble beginnings and going back to roots' speech again."

"You clearly need to hear it again," Andrew chimed in, pushing off the van with a casual shrug. "This is good for us, man. Keeps us grounded. Besides, it's for Logan's friend, Scott. It's not like we—you have anything better to do."

James muttered something under his breath and kicked at a stray rock on the pavement. "Still feels like a waste of time."

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "It's not just about us, James. Logan might get laid," I try to lighten up the conversation.

Andrew grinned, patting James on the shoulder. "Come on, buddy. It's one night. And hey, you might even have fun if you let yourself, plenty of girls at the parties like that."

James didn't respond, but he didn't argue further either. I took that as a small victory.

My brother and the band's drummer Logan appeared from around the corner, carrying the last amp in his arms, his face flushed from the weight. "You guys done bickering yet?" he called out, his voice light and teasing.

"Almost," I said with a small smile.

Logan set the amp down with a huff, wiping his hands on his black jeans. "Scott's stoked about tonight. I'm pretty sure he's banking on us to make him look like the ultimate boyfriend."

I chuckled. "Ah, so you are not getting laid then," Logan gave me a sheepish smile. "Zero pressure for us, then."

I met Scott a few times, he came by our rehearsal last week, and he seemed okay, a bit creepy but it's hard to judge a person from the little interaction we had. Logan got acquainted with him a few weeks ago, and I noticed my brother had a little bit of a crush. But now we know Scott was taken, though I wouldn't pass my brother to fuck that up at some point.

As the four of us finished loading the last of the gear into the van, the mood lightened. Andrew cracked a joke about James's perpetually grumpy attitude, earning a reluctant smile from him. Logan hummed a tune, his easygoing nature always a balm to the tension that sometimes flared between us.

"We good?" I asked, double-checking the straps.

Andrew nodded. "Yeah. Let's meet back in an hour. I'm hitting the shower before this thing starts."

"Same," Logan added, stretching his arms above his head. "Give us a lift?" Andrew agreed with the nod, hopping into the driver's seat.

"Let's move," I said, shutting the van doors with a final thud.

The familiar creak of the front door welcomed us home, followed by the warm, faint smell of cinnamon that lingered in our childhood house. My mouth watered from the mere smell, bringing a smile to my face. Mom made cinnamon rolls.

"Mom? We're back!" Logan called out, his voice echoing through the modest entryway.

"In the kitchen!" Mom's voice carried back, light and cheerful.

I followed Logan inside, the tension from earlier easing with every step. The house hadn't changed a bit. The same faded pictures hung on the walls, chronicling milestones we rarely revisited but never wanted to forget.

One in particular caught my eye: Logan and me, grinning ear to ear, clutching our first toy guitars. We were kids, barely old enough to tune a real instrument, but the spark of what would become our lives had already been ignited.

We found Mom at the counter, chopping vegetables for what looked like one of her famous salads. As I guessed cinnamon rolls lay in a metal tray, faint steam still rolling from them.

Her brown hair was streaked with more gray now, but her energy hadn't dimmed. She turned, a smile breaking across her face as she set down the knife.

"There are my boys," she said, pulling Logan into a hug first. When she turned to me, her embrace was just as warm, her arms strong despite her petite frame. "You both look tired. Sleeping enough?"

I chuckled, leaning back against the counter. "Define 'enough.'"

Her eyes narrowed in mock disapproval. "You're hopeless, Raymond. Both of you." I reached my hand hand for the cinnamon rolls, only to get slapped away by the spatula. "No sweets before dinner."

Logan stole a slice of cucumber from the cutting board, earning a swat on the arm as well. "Not a sweet," he said furrowing his brows.

"Full on dinner first, then sweets and after you can eat what you want," she teased, but her eyes softened. "I'm glad you're home, even if it's just for a little while."

Her words hit harder than I expected. It wasn't often we got to spend time here anymore, and I knew she missed having us around. But when we off-road we stay with her for as little or as much as we need.

"It's good to be back," I said, my voice quieter than usual. "We can't stay for dinner though, need to be at the party in an hour."

"Dinner is not just for you," she admits, Logan and I exchange looks, thankfully our mom stays oblivious to that. "I have a friend coming over, when do you plan to be back?"

The said friend was her boyfriend, we have no idea why she was hiding they were dating. Tod, our father passed away a few years back and even before his death, he was not exactly a golden husband. Though she loved him, perhaps as much as we hated him, nevertheless we were glad she was moving on even if she was not ready to share it just yet.

"The show will last thirty minutes or so, but we will stay for drinks, I guess," Logan said, glancing at me and I agreed with the nod. "We don't need cops showing up, that part we did outgrew," he laughed.

"Outgrew?" Mom lifted her blue eyes, meeting my brother's gaze.

Logan grabbed a chair and plopped down at the kitchen island, starting one of his infamous rants. "You wouldn't believe James today, Mom. The guy acts like he's too good for a house party. As if we didn't all start out playing in garages and living rooms."

Mom raised an eyebrow as she resumed chopping. "You boys are still grounded enough to know where you came from. I didn't raise you to be snobs."

Logan snorted. "Tell that to James."

I laughed, shaking my head. "He'll come around. He always does. He's just...James."

"Speaking of tonight," Mom said, glancing at me, "Who is hosting this party?"

"Logan's new friend Scott," I said, earning a murderous stare from my brother. "Apparently, he's surprising his boyfriend with the show tonight."

Mom's lips quirked into a small smile. "Sounds sweet. I hope you boys make it special for them."

Logan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. "Ray will. He's got that whole brooding frontman thing going on, that everyone eats it up."

"Shut up, Logan," I say, shifting toward the door. "I will go take a shower and change."

Mom shook her head, but her smile widened. "You two never change."

After a quick rinse and a change of attire, I stood in front of my mom's house with earbuds in my ears, shuffling through my playlist and waiting for my brother. As per usual he was very particular about his outfit and hair.

He walked out of the door twenty minutes later. His dark hair smoothly lifted into a man bun and his face was freshly shaven. Andrew's van horn blared from the side of the curve, just as Longan lit a cigarette.

"That's our cue," Logan said.

Thirty minutes later we pulled up to the house, and the first thing that hit me was the energy. It radiated out like a beacon music thumping from inside, a few people walked on the lawn, red plastic cups clutched in hands as laughter and conversation filled the air. I can now see James's point, not that show as this was beneath us but—I just felt too old for it.

Andrew parked the van near the curb, grumbling as he squeezed into a tight space. "How is this guy your friend, Logan? He couldn't save a couple of spots for us?"

Logan smirked as he climbed out. "Relax, it's a house party, we don't need VIP parking to prove it."

I hopped out and stretched, the cool night air cutting through the residual heat of the day. "Let's just get this done," I said, heading toward the back to start unloading the equipment.

"Ray! Logan! Andrew!" A guy shouted too loud, and he clapped Logan on the back with more force than necessary. "Man, I can't believe you guys are doing this. Scott said you'd come through, but I didn't think he was serious."

"We're here," I said evenly, adjusting my grip on one of the amps. "Who are you?"

"Rory," the guy said with a baffled expression. I glanced at my brother since I had no idea who this guy was.

"The house owner," Logan said like I am supposed to know every person here. "Where's Scott?"

Rory pointed toward the house. "He's moving furniture to make space for you guys."

"Great," Andrew muttered under his breath as we lugged the equipment toward the makeshift stage in the living room.

We set up our equipment and painfully followed Rory around the house since he wanted to give a tour. The house was huge I give him that, but he seemed a bit full of himself but I guess that part comes with the life in LA.