On the Road
Playing the first concert of a new tour is, in an odd way, like coming home. I feel so much more myself out on the road than I do at home. That’s especially true since we moved back to Tulsa. Don’t get me wrong, Tulsa’s a nice place. But it’s not exactly the party capital of the world, which is fine for everyone else. Isaac and Nikki have kids to raise, and Zac was never really into partying anyway, even if he was still single. But me, I’d much rather be back in New York, or maybe out in California. But I’m not. So being on the road, even if we’re working, is heaven for me.
At least, it was usually heaven for me.
This tour, however, I wasn’t looking forward to at all. Ike and Zac had met with Seamus a few weeks ago to iron out the details of the tour, but I managed to come up with some lame excuse to stay home. That was nothing more than a cowardly move on my part to assure that I didn’t have to see him until the very day the tour began.
It wasn’t like this was even the first time I’d put myself into an awkward situation on tour. I was pretty talented at screwing around with opening acts, in fact. It all started years and years ago with Michelle; I thought it was just a tour thing, but it got a little more serious when she recorded a few songs with us the next year. I liked her, sure, but then there were Natalie and Alex, too; I was good, but I wasn’t quite good enough to juggle that many relationships. After that, I made a point of not getting serious at all with the opening acts. Ben was cute and we had great chemistry, but he knew it was over when the tour ended.
Touring with Seamus would no doubt be even more awkward than those two combined. I hadn’t exactly made myself vulnerable with him, but getting shot down at all was rare for me. Maybe he wasn’t even into guys; I didn’t know. That’s the part that killed me. I didn’t understand why it happened, and it was far too embarrassing to considering asking him.
And, unfortunately, we were sharing a tour bus. He’s a low maintenance kind of guy, so he wasn’t even bringing anyone out on the road with him – just one suitcase, two guitars, and himself. So, naturally, Isaac had to offer him that extra bunk we would normally use to store all our crap. Thanks a lot, Ike.
Thanks to the livestream we did on our website and some radio promo stuff, I didn’t actually have to see Seamus for most of that first day on the bus together. We had met up with him in New York, but I pretended to be asleep in my bunk, even though I could hear him and my brothers talking just outside.
Even though it wasn’t really my job, I volunteered to do the requisite coffee run after our soundcheck that afternoon, just to buy myself a little more time outside the venue. This little club in Buffalo was an odd place to start the tour, and it wasn’t nearly close enough to any kind of coffee shop, but here we were. Finally, after wandering the streets for several minutes with my cell phone in hand, I found a Starbucks and placed the list of orders Ike had texted me. Sure, there was plenty of food at the venue, but very few venues could get my complex coffee orders correct. Plus, I really just wanted to get away from the venue while Seamus was warming up.
It didn’t quite work out that way, though. I wandered back, arms loaded down with espresso and milk in all possible combinations, just in time to hear his distinct voice filtering through the venue’s speakers. He strummed a few mindless chords on his guitar as I handed out drinks to everyone backstage. As much as I didn’t want to, as much as I had tried to avoid it, I couldn’t help being drawn out into the venue to watch him.
Seamus was every bit as beautiful as I remembered. He stood alone on the stage, tuning his guitar with his back half-turned to the audience, which consisted of only me. His hair was a little longer than I remembered, close to the style I used to wear. Even though he was only wearing a white tee and ripped jeans, he was still breathtaking; it was his casual, unassuming attitude that made him turn heads.
And, of course, he turned around to find me staring at him.
“Taylor.”
God, my name sounded amazing when he said it. It sounded like music.
“Seamus,” I squeaked out. If he sounded like pure fucking music, I sounded like a teenager with laryngitis.
He shrugged his guitar off and sat it down on the stage. I knew what was coming next, and I felt like crawling under my bar stool and hiding. I really couldn’t remember another time when I’d had to confront someone who rejected me; hell, I couldn’t remember last time someone had rejected before Seamus. It seemed to give him this weird, sickening power over me. I didn’t like it. He hoisted himself onto the stool next to me and I could do nothing but stare at him and wish to turn invisible.
“It’s a bit early to start drinking, isn’t it?”
I stared down at my Starbucks cup, fully aware that he was mocking me. After all, I had been drunk the last time he saw me. He wasn’t going to make this tour easy, I realized. I gulped down the last of the unfortunately cold drink, then glanced back up at Seamus, painting on my best fake smile. “You know me. Bit of a lush.”
“I suppose that is one word for you,” Seamus responded with a grin. “So, I didn’t you see this morning.”
“Slept in. It’s odd, but I sleep so well on a tour bus.” It’s also odd how easily I can let those little lies fall off my tongue, but in this case, it’s a skill I was glad to have.
His grin shifted to a more serious look. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk, though.”
“You were?” Funny. I wasn’t.
“I wanted to apologize for getting us off on the wrong foot before,” he said. “I know this tour could be really awkward, but I don’t want it to be. It’s a big opportunity for me. So let’s not let some drunken silliness get in the way of having an awesome tour.”
He wanted to apologize to me? I didn’t understand at all. I was the one who had obviously made an unwanted advance, but my stupid pride wouldn’t even let me apologize for that. I tried my best to meet his stare and chose my words carefully. “It’s no big deal. No hard feelings.”
It wasn’t an admittance of guilt on my part, nor an acknowledgment of how much he had wounded my pride. But it was the best I could offer him.
“Of course. No hard feelings at all,” he replied with the faintest of grins. “Wouldn’t want that to keep us from being able to enjoy a drink or two together. After all, we’re stuck on that bus for three months. Got to let our hair down sometime, don’t we?”
I nodded, but I still felt like he was mocking me, somehow. Had I actually been dumb enough to hit on a straight guy? He seemed so amused by what had passed between us, and I couldn’t understand it. Was turning down Taylor Hanson’s advances really that funny?
“Taylor,” he said again, and I cringed at the way it seemed to turn my insides to mush. “You don’t need to beat yourself up over it.”
“I’m not.” I was.
He nudged my knee almost playfully. “Everyone strikes out once a while, right? Look, we were both a little drunk and it just wasn’t the ideal situation.”
I nodded, my throat dry. I wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to tell me, but I knew that somehow, it was supposed to make me feel better. It didn’t.
“Well,” he said, glancing down at his watch. “I should finish up my soundcheck so that you guys can get on with yours. Have a good show, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “You too.”
He stood up and gave me one last smile. I thought that was it and he was going to walk away without another word, but he leaned in close and said, “You know, you might have better luck if you’re sober. Just a thought.”
If I rarely ever strike out, then it’s even less common for me to be speechless. Apparently, though, Seamus was capable of making both of those things happen. I could do nothing but stare helplessly at him as he walked away from me and back to the stage. My desire to watch the rest of his soundcheck vanished, and I scurried backstage while his back was still turned.
Despite me being pathetically distracted, our soundcheck went well enough. I’m sure Zac and Ike noticed something was wrong when I let them pick most of the setlist, but neither one of them commented on it. As much as I hated feeling that way about the first show of the tour, I just wanted to get it over with and go back to my bunk.
When Seamus took the stage, I found I was once again a moth to his flame. I stood by the side of the stage, just close enough that I could see the rise and fall of his back as he strummed his guitar, but far enough back to avoid setting off any ridiculous screams from the audience. He played a few songs I recognized from his set at Southby, before launching into some I didn’t know.
His set was fairly short, culminating with a few rather downbeat songs that he apologized profusely for. After strumming a few idle notes, he leaned into the microphone and said, “Now, this is my last song of the night. It’s a new one from my EP, and I’d love you all forever if you bought a copy. Do enjoy this one.”
I knew I was never gonna talk to you tomorrow
And oh, the birds how they sing
If you were a bird could you sing me a song of sorrow
‘Cause all I know from you is grief
But I never wanted to be your rolling train
I never wanted to be your dancin’ shoes
I just wanted you to love me
I just wanted you to love me
Touch, feel & lose
And cry, cry, cry
I thought maybe I could be some kind of shelter
But oh, your storm how it raged
You know your kisses, they like lightnin’ and thunder
And your smile is sweet and come down like rain
I never wanted to be your dancin’ shoes
I just wanted you to love me
I just wanted you to love me
Touch, feel & lose
And cry, cry, cry
I just wanted you to love me, honey
Cry, cry, cry
It was yet another downer, but I had to admit I enjoyed it. There was something haunting about it, something that
crawled under my skin and threatened to completely unnerve me for the rest of the night. That was the absolute last thing I needed on the opening night of the tour.
When Seamus finished playing the song, he thanked the audience and reminded them that the boys they were all there to see would be taking the stage soon. I was still too shell shocked to even move, so within mere seconds he was walking toward me, his eyes on mine as he approached.
His shoulder brushed mine as he passed and I couldn’t dismiss it as unintentional. Leaning in close to my ear, ostensibly because of the noise of the crowd, he said, “Have a good show, Taylor. I’ll see you afterward? Let’s not get a drink this time.”
Wordlessly, I watched him disappear into the darkness of the backstage area. I let out a long sigh as I looked out at the crowd. They were already chanting our name, already on their feet and probably a little drunk themselves. Despite everything else that was going on and distracting me from what I was here for, I couldn’t help feeling oddly settled by the sight. This is where I belonged – on stage, performing. This was my home.