And I curse that same darkness for not having the decency to hide those damning eyes when they suddenly swing back my way. Drilling into mine with an intensity that is all at once unquantifiable and significant—I’ve never felt as captivated by a simple look in all my life. Not even back when we were kids.

Get a fucking grip.

I don’t know if it’s that old, familiar panic pulsing under my skin or the sudden urge to punch him in the face, or if it’s the alcohol sloshing heavily in my stomach and buzzing through my veins. There’s really no logical explanation for what I do next, other than I’m apparently five and never learned how to deal with my feelings or confrontation or anything in a serious manner.

Not once breaking our stare-down, I move both sticks to one hand as I lift the other. Spreading my thumb and forefinger into a wide V, I point them at my hardened gaze before jamming them his way. I’m watching you.

And what does the fucker do? He grins. Like a full, megawatt smile that is white and blinding in the shadows.

Fuck...

Lowering my hand, I ignore the bite of polished wood rubbing into my sweaty palm as I clench my fist. And my jaw. Because it’s taking everything in me to not match that smile with one of my own.

Just like when we were kids...

I ignore the rise and fall of his shoulders as he no doubt laughs at my immaturity, and drop my sticks, effectively cutting off Mason’s little speech. I feel more than see his sharp, baffled look as I jump into the heavy drum intro to “Man in the Box ” by Alice in Chains. The masses roar with glee. Both Shawn and Mason join in seamlessly, even though I clearly moved the order around without discussing.

No one will question it, though. Not even my bandmates. At this point, everyone knows better than to question why I do anything ninety-nine percent of the time.

The three of us wrap up the night. Like always, time flies once we lose ourselves to the music. I can still remember the early days of performing, when nights like tonight could simply be distinguished into good and bad. Nights where we struggled to connect, and nights where it came naturally and organically. As if some celestial presence was pulling our strings.

Those days are few and far between now. We’ve learned to cut our strings and forge our talent into something real and something easily accessible. We might have a bad song here or there, but we always recover and make up for it in spades. And no longer do we rely solely on some ephemeral force to dictate our successes.