On Thursday night, Benji and Lincoln headed south early to hit up some event they saw advertised. Dom left later so he could swing by and pick up Tyson when he got off work. He drove Benji’s two-ton Econoline van—a beast to drive, but it held their amps, guitars, and keyboard, and it had room for Tyson’s drums. The club they were playing didn’t have in-house drums, and Tyson preferred his own anyway. Dom had never been toTyson’s house before, but so far his phone’s GPS was doing a decent job getting him to the right small town.
Not that Delaware had many towns that would be considered big. Next to Philly, even Wilmington was barely a city.
Tyson lived off the state’s main north-south highway. The house was pretty middle-of-nowhere, down a break-in-the-woods driveway that was marked by a red reflector. The dirt path went back a ways, with various trailers set off it. Dom pulled up alongside the mailbox marked “5b” and shut off the engine. His phone said he’d made it to his destination.
The front door of the yellow single-wide trailer opened and ejected a smiling Tyson. The guy was good-looking, especially when he turned on the charm, but he didn’t turn Dom’s crank even a little.
Trey turned it like whoa.
Dom climbed out of the van. “Hey, dude.”
“Hey.” Tyson came in for a chest-bump kind of hug familiar to their group. “Find the place okay?”
“No problem. You ready to go?”
“Sure. Help me with the drums?”
“Yeah.”
The interior was dimly lit, almost gloomy, with a faint medicinal odor that Dom usually associated with hospitals.
“Try not to make too much noise,” Tyson said in a hushed whisper. “My aunt’s dealing with a migraine.”
That explained the darkness. “You live with your aunt?”
“Aunt and cousin.”
Tyson didn’t expand on his answer, so Dom let it go. The drums were ready to go by the front door. They loaded them into the van as quietly as possible. Neither the aunt nor the cousin made an appearance, which didn’t really surprise him. Tyson’s car was the only vehicle parked nearby, so the nameless cousin was probably out.
“Thanks for picking me up,” Tyson said once everything was strapped safely into the van.
“Not a problem. I kind of like driving around in this beast.” Dom patted the yellow van’s back door.
“It is pretty butch.” Tyson’s friendly smile shifted into very obvious flirting. “You good at handling big things?”
He needed to defuse the situation before Tyson got the wrong idea. “Not much of a size queen, actually.”
“A diverse man. I like it.”
Dom cleared his throat. “You ready to go?”
Tyson paused, as if searching for another come-on. “Yeah, sure. One sec.” He dashed back inside, so Dom climbed back into the driver’s seat. Tyson returned a few minutes later with two cold bottles of water and a bag of barbecue potato chips. “I get snacky when I’m nervous.”
“Nervous about tonight?” Dom accepted one of the bottles and cracked the cap.
“Yeah. I always get a little nervous, but it’s been more intense this last week since hooking up with you guys. I’ll mellow out once we’ve played together more.”
“Nothing wrong with some preshow jitters.” God knew Dom had enough experience with that.
He got them back on the road.
Tyson poked at the dash. “No radio in this thing?”
“No. It’s like twenty-five years old. I don’t think the radio has worked since the first Bush fucked up the country.”
He snorted laughter. “Mind if I play my phone?”
“Nah, hook us up.”
