Jet
I stoodon the sidewalk outside the address that Noah had texted me. It was his friend’s place, a squat little blue house set on a hilly street, divided from its neighbors by a rickety wood fence. Clouds passed over the sun as I messed with my sunglasses, fighting the urge to run away.
He invited me here, opening the door to his world a little bit. It was what I wanted, but as I listened to the laughter and music rolling out from the backyard, something in the back of my brain told me it would be easier to flee, rather than risk embarrassing myself and screwing the whole thing up.
I shook my head, lifted the cooler full of soda I’d brought, and headed in. There wasn’t time for avoidance, and anyway, what kind of a freak was intimidated by a barbecue? If I could handle exclusive nightclubs and socializing with pop stars in unfamiliar languages, no reason I couldn’t do this.
This was normal. This was what happy, well-adjusted people with normal lives and good friends did, and there was no damn reason I couldn’t be there, too.
I headed around the side of the house, pushed open the gate, and ran smack into a new wall of feelings when I saw the crowd in front of me. There must have been thirty or forty people, some sitting around a picnic table, some huddled by the barbecue, and a few more tossing a football in the far back. A couple of dogs ran around, playing on the grass, and a kiddie pool was set up with a couple of toddlers in it.
What really hit me, though, wasn’t what the people were doing, but who they were. There were gay couples, straight couples, lesbian couples, all mingling and mixing together. A butch woman ran the barbecue with a tatted-up man my age, a younger guy in makeup held court at the picnic table, and I was pretty sure I spotted a pro from Pittsburgh’s hockey team, chuckling with a woman who appeared to be his date.
I blinked and set the cooler down. I’d figured Noah’s world was more like our parents, uptight and exclusively straight. But this? Some of the people at the barbecue actually reminded me of my own friends on the road. It was equally relieving and, for a reason I couldn’t explain, disorienting.
“Hi there! How’s it going?”
A short guy who must have been about my age approached. He had curly hair, and he wore a black T-shirt with a band logo printed on the front and a tight pair of jeans. He was skinny, kind of geeky with his big glasses, and he offered me an easy smile.
“Uh, hi,” I said, then offered my hand. “Jet.”
“Shawn,” he answered, then gestured toward the house. “This is my place.”
“Right. I’m… Noah invited me.”
Shawn bounced on his heels. He had a warm, buzzing energy and a sweet voice that rolled out of him. I probably should have told him that I was Noah’s brother, but that felt like it would open up a whole host of questions I couldn’t answer.
“Noah’s around here somewhere,” Shawn nodded. “Can I get you anything? There’s burgers, veggie dogs, a bunch of drinks.”
“I’m good,” I said, then lifted the cooler. “I brought some drinks.”
“Thanks!”
I glanced the band on his shirt again, then startled. “Oh, Jolt,” I said. “They’re fucking great. I don’t listen to a ton of rock, but I caught a show when I got to town a few months ago. Unforgettable, man.”
Shawn’s smile widened. “Yeah! My husband is the drummer, actually.”
“Aw, shit,” I laughed. “Amazing. I’m a DJ, mainly, but I’m starting to produce, too. I only moved here a few months ago. Didn’t realize Pittsburgh had such great sounds.”
“Yeah, totally,” he agreed brightly. “Nothing like a local music scene.”
Just talking with him on the edge of the crowd, I started to relax. Shawn was easy to relate to, and if he and Noah were in the same social group, maybe that meant Noah and I had more in common than I first realized.
Hell, if the drummer from Jolt was at this party somewhere…
“Hey babe!” A taller guy approached. He had tattoos inching up his arms and longer hair. Over his chest, he wore one of those harness things to carry a baby, who squirmed and laughed and looked around adorably. “Oh, hi,” he said, his voice deep and even. “I’m Cass.”
“Jet,” I nodded.
“A friend of Noah,” Shawn told Cass, and I didn’t bother to correct him. “This is my husband and our daughter Carina.” His face opened in a wide smile as he turned to his daughter, then kissed her on the forehead. “Like the nebula.”
Fuck, they were sweet together. I never would have guessed the drummer of Jolt went home to a life like this, lucky guy.
I quickly cast my eyes across the party. Still no sign of my brother.
“What’s up?” Shawn asked Cass.
“Oh, right,” he answered. “Well, they’re running behind at the grill…”
