“No, no desire. Big Dave, my uncle, is like a dad to me. He’s all I need.”
“Your uncle sounds like Aunt Soph.” Benji says it matter-of-factly, but something in my chest squeezes with pride.
Ever smiles at me and says softly, “Yeah, I think they’re a lot alike.”
“So, your mom raised two kids on her own, with no help from the fathers?” Lola asks.
“Until I was sixteen and went to live with my granny and dad, who was finally sober, to finish high school, yup,” Jesse says. “Mom got her GED and eventually went to school to do hair. We moved around a lot. Because she’d been evicted from an apartment early on, her credit was abysmal, and landlords were leery to rent to her. Short-term leases and they gouged her. It was criminal, really. Mom always worked, sometimes two or three jobs at a time, but it was never enough to support three people. She’d catch up, and then like clockwork, the car would break down, or one of us would get sick and need to go to the doctor. It was an endless loop, but she never gave up. Ev and I started working as soon as we were old enough to chip in. That helped.”
“Bravo to your mom. I was sixteen when I got pregnant with Benji. It wasn’t easy, but I had Soph to help me. In case you guys don’t know this already, the woman is relentless when it comes to making things work out and taking care of the people she cares about.”
“Do you have a relationship with your dad, Benji?” Ever asks.
My nephew shakes his head, unbothered. “No, I know who donated half of my DNA, but I’m better off without him in mylife. I’m like you. I have no desire to meet him. I have Mom, Aunt Soph, and Mabel.” The way he says it leaves no doubt that he’s fulfilled and whole.
“How old are you?” Ever asks Benji.
“Fourteen.”
Ever smiles. “Benji, you have more self-awareness than most adults I’ve met. Hang on to that.”
When it’s quiet for a few seconds, I direct the conversation back to Ever. “So, music was a way to cope with a difficult childhood, then what? How did that turn into Treachery’s Riot?”
He licks his lips like he’s gathering his thoughts. “During the pandemic, I was staying with Big Dave at his farm. I lived with him during most of high school, moved out for a few years after graduation and lived in my camper van. When the pandemic shut the world down, I moved back in to help him out. He had an old shed on his property that he let me take over. I soundproofed it with old blankets and foam and turned it into a studio. It was hot in the summer and cold in the winter, but it was mine. I set up my drums, an amp, and laptop, and bought the best microphone and mixing software I could afford. I spent every hour I wasn’t feeding animals or cleaning the barn recording songs and posting them online. I set up a cot in the corner so I could sleep when I was tired and ate only when I remembered to. I was a man possessed. I’ve never really been a social person, but the feedback I got online became like a drug. People asked questions about my setup or production, and it turned into a community. We taught each other, and we learned from each other. And then there were the fans of the music. They encouraged it, praised it, and begged for more. I’d always shared tracks, but they wanted live performance snippets. And by then, I was in so deep that I couldn’t say no. But I also couldn’t put my face out there—it felt too intimate—so I wore a black balaclava to hide. That’s when my follower count exploded. I hit over amillion on the two platforms I was active on in a matter of weeks. And it grew exponentially from there. That’s when the labels reached out.”
It's surreal, like I’m watching a documentary on TV, not listening to someone I know tell his story. “So, you’re just hanging out in a shed in the middle of Kentucky, writing and recording banger after banger, posting them anonymously online, amassing a cult following, and major labels come knocking?” I ask, fully aware that I sound like a super fan.
When he shrugs and nods like it’s not the craziest question that’s been posed, it hits me. His reality has been bonkers; beyond anything I can imagine. “That’s unreal,” I whisper to myself like no one else can hear because I’m watching this all from the outside.
Jesse laughs like he’s thinking the same thing. “It’s like a movie or something. Did Big Dave know? He had to have known, right?”
Ever scratches his temple. “No, not then. He knew I was playing, obviously, but he didn’t know I was recording and sharing it. I did tell him when the labels reached out, though. I was twenty-two and presented with a potential future I’d never considered, and silly money. I needed a rational voice to remind me it was real and talk through the pros and cons, and Big Dave was there. I’d done some session work and was ready to delve into producing and mixing. I really thought that’s where my future was headed. I was prepared to be behind the scenes to find fulfillment and help others bring their dreams into the light. And then, bam, it went in a radically different direction. It was a shock, you know?”
I look around the room, and everyone is shaking their head. I blow out a long, loud breath and rise. “Anyone else need a shot?” Hands go up around the room, Ever included. “Ev, I say this with nothing but love in my heart, no, we don’t fucking know. Wehave no idea what it’s like to be one of the most gifted musicians of your generation. Because no one knows what that’s like except you and, like, ten other people. We’re all fangirling the fuck out right now.” I look at Jesse and pat him on the back when I pass him. “No offense, Jess.”
“None taken. I just thought it would be fun to sing a few songs at a few bars to make a few bucks and get to hang out with my brother while I sorted my shit out.” He rises from his stool, while I pour shots for the adults in the room. “Little did I know he was selling out arenas only weeks prior.” He shakes his head and laughs again. “This is fucking mental.” He points at Ever, “You’re the man, dude,” and then walks toward the front door. “This conversation requires more alcohol. I have that bottle of spiced rum we didn’t finish in the van. I’ll be right back.”
Over the next hour we pass the bottle around, mixer be damned, while we eat dessert pizza and hear about the dark side of fame. Betrayed and sold out by his management, opposing views about the evolution of the music and creative differences with a label who wanted to put him in a box, objectified by fans, online trolls determined to out his identity, endless marketing and promotion by a PR company that drained him, and a relentless tour schedule that physically and mentally pushed him to the brink of breaking and landed him in the hospital where he was treated for exhaustion more than once. Every step of the way was a fight he fought alone until he couldn’t anymore. And the label is still harassing him. Ever, because he’s Ever, keeps apologizing for being negative as we draw the details out with question after question. He’s so humble. It’s quickly becoming one of my favorite things about him.
“What about the stalkers? Didn’t one of them break into your tour bus and threaten you, or something? I didn’t follow the story too closely because the speculation online was all overthe place, so it was hard to know what was true and what was gossip.”
He pops the last piece of sticky crust in his mouth and chews a few times before he says, “Yeah. It was last year while I was on tour. She broke into the bus and took some of my personal things, nothing important, just clothing, but she left a note behind saying her life had no meaning if we couldn’t be together.” He licks cinnamon off his thumb, and then continues, “Right around the same time, I started getting emails. Innocent at first, but by the end she was threatening to harm herself, or me, if we couldn’t be together.” He shakes his head, and his eyebrows rise. “It got scary.”
Jesse blows out a low whistle. “I’ll say. Jesus.”
“They figured out who she was though, right?” I ask. “I feel like I remember hearing someone was arrested.”
“Yeah, the end was awful.”
“What happened?” I ask, because the way he said it implied there was more to the story.
“She took her life when they tried to arrest her. Her name was Rowan. I was told she had a history of severe depression.” He stares across the room at nothing and rubs his palms together. “I don’t know, I felt like the whole thing could’ve been handled differently. Especially if they knew she was fragile.”
“What do you mean?” Lola asks.
We’re all on the edge of our seats because these rumors circled online, but they were just that, rumors. This is Ever’s reality, and it’s obvious it’s still weighing on him.
He licks his lips. “She needed help. She didn’t get it. She was only twenty fucking years old.” He shrugs. “A few years younger than me at the time. She ran away from home when she was a teenager and was basically left to fend for herself. She had no one. No one advocated for her. And she died alone.”
