Rhythm & The Blue Line, Chapter Two by PennLady -11/22/2011

Description: Some dinner and some conversations.

Series to: Rhythm and The Blue Line Chapter One

© 2011 All rights reserved


A week later, Ryan was pleased to be in a soft cast. Her ankle hurt far less and she was off her crutches, but she couldn't wait to be done with the whole damn thing. At least, she thought as she came in from work, she wasn't thinking about how it had happened every time she walked more than a block.

Just a few more days, she reminded herself as she stared at the contents of the fridge. She frowned; pickings were slim. She wondered if there was any mac'n'cheese. A knock on the door distracted her and she went over to answer it.

"Hey, Brody." She smiled. "Come on in."

"How are you? I almost didn't recognize you without the crutches."

"Oh, very funny." Ryan shook her head as he stepped in. "What brings you by?"

"Just thought I'd say hi. Got the night off."

"Nice. Good game last night."

Brody grinned. "You watched. You must like me."

"Don't get your hopes up, buddy. I caught the score and some highlights." And I will never live down checking the score on my computer at rehearsal, she thought, then relented. "Nice goal."

"Hey, Obie could set up a tree stump, but I'll take it."

"And so modest." Ryan laughed.

"Part of my charm." Brody looked around. "So, what's on tap for you tonight?"

"Not sure. I was just trying to decide on dinner."

Brody gave her a skeptical look. "Do you have any food in here? I mean, something not processed into a box or can?"

"I have . . . ." She opened the refrigerator again and cocked her head. "Apples . . . and leftover Thai. I think. I was considering mac'n'cheese. I haven't checked the freezer, though. There might be more there."

Brody rolled his eyes. "Jesus. Come on, Ryan. Let's go."

"Go where?" She closed the fridge.

"Back to my place. I'll make something."

"Brody, I can fend for myself. I'm a big girl, you know."

He looked on the verge of saying something, but shook his head. Ryan wondered what he'd been about to say, but didn't ask.

"I couldn't sleep tonight knowing you were going to eat 'Thai, I think.' Come with me, I'll make you some real food."

Ryan gave in and grabbed her phone and keys. Brody waited while she locked the door, then led the way down the hall to the elevator.

"So, how goes it with the band?"

"Good, thanks." Ryan was pleased he asked. "We've got shows at a couple of colleges coming up, and then we're headlining at the 9:30 Club."

"Really? That's awesome. I was there for a show last year. Which colleges?" He held the elevator door for her. "Maybe I can come."

"We have one in D.C., at George Washington, and another at Maryland. But don't you have a road trip coming up?"

He studied her as the elevator went to his floor. "Is that a hint I should stay home?"

"No, no." She looked up as she stepped off the elevator. "I just thought you'd be busy. Come and bring friends, we need the exposure."

"I could do that." They walked to his place and he unlocked the door and gestured for her to go in.

Ryan walked in and took stock. There was dark leather furniture—a couch, a couple of chairs—and a large flat-screen TV. Not much in the way of knick-knacks, but there were a couple of pictures on the wall, and she saw some books and smaller pictures on a shelf. The layout was similar to her place, but his was much neater.

"Nice place," she said.

Brody grinned. "You say that like you expected it not to be."

She laughed and shook her head. "I don't have much to compare to. My brothers are in college and in my experience, guys aren't the neatest housekeepers. I refuse to go to our bassist's place anymore, because you need a hazmat suit to use the bathroom."

Brody laughed. "I grew up in a messy house and I guess it shouldn’t bother me, but it does. So I keep it neat." He went into the kitchen and Ryan followed.

She gave a low whistle as she looked around at the gadgets and appliances on the counter. "Wow. You really are serious about the cooking."

"You bet. But mostly it was good timing; they'd just re-done the kitchen in here when I was looking for a place. Couldn’t pass up a new kitchen. Have a seat." He gestured towards the kitchen table. "How's your ankle?"

"A lot better, thanks." She sat with a sigh of relief. "Can't wait until this cast is off, though. I don't like hobbling around, and it's just plain old annoying."

"I know the feeling. I sprained my ankle last year and was out for four weeks." He opened the fridge, muttered to himself, then made a decision. "You good with pasta?"

"Love it."

"Cool." Brody took some vegetables and chicken out of the fridge. "Pasta's handy stuff. You should keep some around. I don't know how you survive without actual food in your place."

"Oh, funny. Do I look like I'm wasting away?"

He turned, took his time looking her over, and grinned. "No, you look just fine to me."

"Thanks."

"So, how big do you think the crowd will be at your shows?" Brody put some water on to boil, then started sorting through the vegetables.

"Not sure. We're trying to get the word out, and we've got some fans, and it'll be a Saturday, so that should help. We have web pages, and Lara updates them. And we're working on flyers."

"Here, eat this." He handed her a carrot.

She took it and laughed. "Brody, I actually do eat vegetables of my own free will."

"Humor me." He watched until she took a bite, then turned back to his preparations. "Let me know the dates and I'll see if anybody else on the team can come."

"That'd be great."

"Does your family come to your gigs?" When she didn't answer, he looked over and saw her frowning. He felt a little guilty. "Sorry. Sore spot?"

"A little." She shrugged. "My youngest brother, Evan, he comes sometimes. My parents don't come."

He glanced at her, then put some oil in a skillet. "Why not? You'd think they'd want to."

"You'd be wrong."

"Come on, it can't be that bad." He started slicing a zucchini.

"My family is obsessed with sports. Suffice to say that I haven't had a ton of support in my musical ambitions." Ryan studied the carrot before taking another bite and didn't look at him.

"Really? I mean, I know I only heard the one song, but it was great." He looked at her and then checked the water. "My parents would have been all over that. My mom plays the piano, and my dad plays the guitar."

"That's nice." Ryan was silent for a moment and then changed the subject. "So, what are you making over there?"

"Not sure yet. Some kind of pasta-veggie-chicken thing. With sauce. I'll call it chicken a là Lang."

She smiled, and Brody was glad she seemed to have cheered up. He remembered the call where he'd overheard her talking to her mom, and wondered about it. His parents had always supported him; sometimes it was hard to realize not everyone's parents reacted the same way to their kids' choices.

They chatted about Ryan's day job while he cooked, and when he brought the food to the table, she asked him if he minded all the traveling he did with the team.

"Not most times. I mean, there are times when you're just beat and the last thing you want to do is drag your ass onto a bus or a plane, but then you get over it." He handed her a glass of water and sat down, motioning her to take some food. "And it's not as bad as the minors, let me tell you."

"We've done a little traveling, the band, I mean. We lined up some dates and did a self-designed tour a couple of times. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to do any kind of extended tour, sponsored by someone." Ryan took a bite of chicken and vegetables. "Hey, this is great. Really."

"Thanks." He grinned. "See, I told you it'd be better than whatever you had."

"I like reheated Thai," she shot back, but laughed herself. "I do appreciate it. When did you have time to learn to cook?"

"Funny what you pick up in the off season." He sipped some water and then ate a few bites himself. "I have four brothers and sisters, so sometimes it was cook for yourself or take your chances on what someone else made. Then one summer my mom was sick and it seemed like I was the only one available, so I started cooking."

"What was the first meal you made on your own?"

"Waffles."

"Waffles?" She laughed. "Frozen waffles?"

He narrowed his eyes and pointed a fork at her. "I'll have you know those were made-from-scratch, cooked-on-an-iron waffles. We had eggs, flour and baking powder; it was waffles or pancakes. I'm a guy; I wanted to use the waffle iron."

"I'm jealous. We were always running around so much I didn't have a real waffle until I stayed at Lara's when I was about fourteen. Her mom made Belgian waffles, with fruit and whipped cream." She smiled at the memory. "Those were fantastic. I got her to teach me and tried to make them at home the next weekend, but it didn’t work out."

"What was all the running around for?" Brody almost wished he hadn't said anything, as he could see the shadow pass over her face, although it lifted quickly.

"Sports. What else? My brothers did a lot of baseball and football; we had to travel to games as they got older." Ryan drank some water. "And if it wasn't that, it was going to pro games. Anyway." She cleared her throat. "I guess you learned to get beyond breakfast."

"Nothing like a house full of hungry people to make you expand your cooking horizons."

"So what do I owe you for this?" She waved her fork over the plate. "Not like I can reciprocate in kind."

"Well." Brody scooped some more pasta onto his plate. "How about the all-access backstage pass?" He got up and took the plates to the counter, waving off her offer of help. "I mean, I need the whole experience." He stopped and widened his eyes. "Hey, do you have groupies? Because that could be all kinds of fun."

Ryan couldn't help but smile and shake her head. "Groupies wouldn't fit in the backstage area. Trust me, the band barely fits."

"And another bubble bursts." Brody told Ryan to go into the living room while he dealt with the dishes, and she did. She indulged herself and curled into the overstuffed sofa.

"I could probably fall asleep on this in no time flat," she said when he came out.

"Don’t do that. We're going to watch something."

"We are?"

"You bet. No big revenge stories, though. This is something different. The most basic competition—man versus man. Who's the fastest? Who's got the right strategy? Who will come out on top?"

"Um, Brody, I'm really not much on watching sports."

"Iron Chef is more than a sport."

"Iron Chef?" Ryan stared at him. "You want to watch a cooking show?"

He turned to her with mock indignation. "This is no mere 'cooking show.' Could you plan a four-course meal cold, with no previous knowledge of the main ingredient? In an hour?" He raised an eyebrow as he waited for her answer.

"No, I could not." She shook her head. "You win. But I bet they couldn't write a song."

"True, but that's not what it's about. So, what do I win? Oh, I know." He grinned. "That kiss."

Ryan laughed. "I don't think so."

"Oh, come on. You must know the song, right? Love the one you're with?"

"Nice try, Brody." She shook her head, still laughing.

"All right, I'll let it slide tonight. But some day, Ryan, you're going to let me kiss you."

"You're confident, aren't you?"

"More of a positive thinker."

* * *

A few days later, Brody huffed out a breath as he dropped onto the bench in the dressing room. He grabbed some Gatorade and gulped it down, exchanging high-fives with his teammates as they filed past.

"Good job." Chuck Baxter clapped him on the shoulder as he dropped to the bench next to him. "Now we just have to do it all again next game."

"No problem." Brody grinned. "Give me ten minutes."

Baxter laughed and started unlacing his skates. "Ten? Come on, man, you're ten years younger than I am. You shouldn't need more than five."

They joked and horsed around for a few more minutes, then Brody took his turn at a shower, relishing the hot water that poured over his tired muscles. He was looking forward to some food, then maybe some time to unwind with a video game. He wondered if Ryan would be up, and if she'd eaten anything with any nutritional content.

It had been a good night, he decided. A win was never a bad thing, and he had two assists to add to his totals. He'd taken a couple of hard hits, and a slash on his arm that would leave a bruise, but it was worth it to gain the two standings points.

His thoughts wandered back to Ryan again. She was an odd one, but he liked her. Plus, he mused to himself, there was the kiss that she'd avoided so far. Now it was a challenge; a matter of principle.

"Come on, Langer, let's go grab a beer." Baxter looked over from buttoning his shirt. "It's early yet."

"Excellent idea. Since you came up with it, you can buy the first round."

Baxter rolled his eyes. "You are one cheap bastard, Lang."

Brody just laughed.

At the bar, they rehashed the game for a while before moving on.

"So, Bax." Brody tapped a finger on his beer bottle. "How supportive were your parents when you told them you wanted to play hockey?"

Baxter scoffed. "Are you kidding? I'm Canadian."

Brody laughed. "Right. What was I thinking?"

"Actually, my mom wasn't so enthused. I got a million lectures on how hard it was, how long I'd have to practice, how hard I'd have to work, how zillions of guys want to do that and don't make it."

"Typical mom stuff."

"Yeah, but you know." Baxter shrugged. "I got support with the lectures. She'd drive me to practice: 'Work hard, Chuck. You can do it.' She'd pick me up: 'It's a long shot, but not impossible.' All kinds of shit like that. She's a great mom."

"With me it was my dad who was the skeptical one. He kept telling me how slim my chances were and all that. Wanted me to have a back up in case it didn’t work out, so I went to college." Brody grinned. "I started with an English major. You should have seen his face."

Baxter laughed. "I bet."

"But they were supportive, right?" Brody studied his beer, then looked at his friend. "Never . . . I don’t know . . . never made you feel bad about it?"

"What's wrong with you? You never get maudlin over beer." Baxter narrowed his eyes.

"No, no. I was just talking to someone and it got me thinking."

"I thought I smelled something burning."

Brody rolled his eyes.

"Come on, out with it." Bax took another swallow and waited.

"All right, all right. It's a neighbor of mine. She loves music and wants to be a musician, but she said her family gives her a hard time. They're sports fanatics. It just got me to wondering if I'd be playing here if I hadn't gotten the support from my family. I mean, none of us ever questioned that. Mom and Dad were great about helping us do what we wanted. It must be weird not to have that."

"Well, yeah, not everybody does. But people manage anyway. Can't make everyone happy."

"Thank you, Dr. Phil."

"It's true." Baxter shrugged. "My sister's friend wanted to be a hairdresser. Her parents thought it was a waste and tried to talk her out of it. She did it anyway, and now she owns her own salon and she's happy. You want to be happy, you can't care what other people think. Christ, where would we be if we hung on every sports column out there?"

"Good point. Still, it's a lot to do on your own."

"If she wants it, she'll do whatever she needs to, family or not."

"How's your family, anyway?"

"Good." Bax smiled, which emphasized the scar near the right corner of his mouth. "Adam is acing science, and Tara scored a goal in her last hockey game. She'll be the next Cammi Granato, you watch."

"I don't know how you do it." Brody shook his head. Bax had come to the team the year before in a trade with the Boston Bruins, and his wife and two kids were still in the Boston area.

Bax took a pull on his beer, then shrugged. "You just do it. It’s not ideal, but it was best for the kids. I feel bad; it puts a lot on Doreen's shoulders, but we both agreed. The kids were comfortable up there, and we didn't want to uproot them. Tough enough being a teenager, I remember. They'd have been miserable having to change schools and all that."

"Yeah, I get it." Brody took a swig of his own beer, tapped the bottle on the table. "Make sense, but . . . I don't know. Don't think I'd like it."

"Didn't say I liked it," his teammate pointed out. "I said we agreed it was best for the kids."

Brody nodded but said nothing. He'd watched a number of his siblings and cousins marry and start families young; many times too young in his opinion, and along with the weddings, he'd seen a fair number of divorces. That, he'd long ago decided, was something he could do without.

"I think I'll just wait," Brody said. Baxter raised an eyebrow, amused. "I'm in no hurry for the house, kids, and picket fence."

Bax chuckled. "That's what they all say, until they meet someone. Like you and your musician."

"You're way off base on that one," Brody informed him. "She's nice, and it's cool she's in a band, but neither of us is looking for anything."

"Neither was I when I met Doreen."

"Yeah, well." Brody shrugged, then grinned. "Guess I just have more willpower than you."

Bax guffawed. "That's what I said. Then I asked her to marry me. Jesus, Langer, you sound just like I did. You're sunk."

Brody just shook his head and smiled as he finished his beer.

* * *

Ryan stifled a grin as Lara regarded her with exasperation.

"You're not going to tell me anything?"

"There's nothing to tell."

"Oh, come on." Lara threw up her hands. "I swear, you're doing this just to aggravate me."

Ryan couldn't hide a laugh. "You're right. It's much more fun to string you along over any potential love life I might have than to actually have one." She leaned back in her chair.

"So there's potential!" Lara's eyes gleamed.

Ryan berated herself for bringing the subject up during a rehearsal. Well, Lara had brought it up, she thought, but Ryan should have ended it as soon as possible. Luckily the guys were chatting amongst themselves as Nate changed a string on his bass.

"Come on, Ryan. I can tell there's more." Lara crossed her arms.

Ryan dropped her head. She needed to say something or there'd be no peace, not to mention no rehearsal.

"Look, I haven't seen him for a while. There's nothing to say." Lara gave her a skeptical look and Ryan tried to move things along. "I've talked to him a few times; he's been busy with road games, and I've been busy with, what was it? Oh, yeah, the band." She arched an eyebrow at Lara.

Lara was about to say something when Nate said he'd finished with the string. Lara sent her a look that said they'd talk later, and at least, Ryan thought, that gave her time to prepare. Not that preparation would necessarily help; Lara could be relentless.

"Great," said Ryan. "Let's run through the song." She nodded at Mitch, who counted them in and she hit the first notes. Ryan bit her lip as she kept half an eye on Jason; he had a tendency to improvise additions to maximize his parts, which annoyed the rest of them since they'd been playing some of the songs for over three years and had them down cold. This one was newer, but Ryan thought it could be one of their best.

Ryan told herself to relax as she played; to not get upset until and unless anything happened. That lasted about thirty seconds, as Jason started early and trampled on her keyboard intro by soloing over top of it. She stopped and counted to five before saying anything.

"Jason, what the hell are you doing?"

"What? It sounds better this way." He looked over at Nate, then Mitch, and at last Lara, but got bland, blank expressions in return.

Ryan glared at him but Lara spoke first. "Not this time, Jason. Just play it like we wrote it, please. Okay, let's take it from the top." She looked at Ryan, who nodded and let out a slow breath.

Mitch did the four-count again and Ryan began, watching Jason the whole time. He joined in on time, but then ran over Lara's vocals, and they stopped again. Ryan wondered if he'd done it out of spite that time.

"Jason!"

Jason glared at her. "What? I wasn’t finished the solo. You can't run through the progression once more while I finish?

"This song doesn't revolve around your damn solo. This is not the time to fuck around with the songs. You know it; play it." Ryan stared at Jason until he looked to Nate and Mitch for support. When he didn’t find any, he glared at the floor and sulked.

"All right." Lara looked over at Mitch. "One more time."

He nodded and they went again. Ryan made herself focus on her hands so that she wouldn't distract herself trying to make sure that Jason didn't pull any more tricks. He played it straight all the way through, and Ryan was relieved when it was over.

"Okay, pretty good." Lara looked at the others, then exchanged a nod with Ryan. "If we can do it that way, I think it'll be great." Her eyes settled on Jason at the end.

"Absolutely. We should put it in the list for the 9:30 Club," Mitch said. He tapped a stick on his leg.

"Speaking of which." Lara dug out her phone. "Can we take care of some business before the next song?" Everyone nodded and she tapped at the screen. "First off, I want to put up a new song on Facebook and MySpace. I was thinking 'Roam Around,' but if we can clean this one up, we could use that."

"Either's good with me," said Ryan, and Nate and Mitch seconded the idea.

"I think we should go with 'On the Far Road,'" said Jason.

Ryan all but bit her tongue in an effort to keep her temper. "On the Far Road" was not their best song, but it did have the guitar front and center. "Roam Around" was far better, and the song they'd just finished, "Skyline," could be a close second. Neither of those, however, spotlighted the guitar.

Nate spoke up. "'Far Road' isn't ready, Jason. We agreed on that last time."

"It's Facebook, it doesn’t have to be perfect. It's a good song." When no one spoke up to support him, he scowled and shrugged. "Whatever."

Lara took a deep breath. "Moving on. I don't think it's too early to start making flyers to put up about our gig at the 9:30 Club. Plus we have GW in two weeks and University of Maryland the week after. Those would be excellent places to hand out flyers."

"How about songs?" Nate asked. "Maybe we could put another one up before each of the college gigs."

"Sounds good to me." Mitch nodded. "I can help put some flyers up. We should put some up near Adams Morgan and areas like that. We don't usually hit those."

"Cool." Lara nodded and her thumbs flew over the tiny keypad. "Okay, I'm still working on our website, the one with our own domain name; Facebook is good, but MySpace is kind of worthless. I think we can have some fun with this. Maybe we can take turns blogging or something like that. Trout said he'll help."

Ryan murmured her agreement as the guys nodded. Trout may have had an odd name, but the man knew his way around websites.

"Great. Let's get back to work." Lara slid the phone in her purse and settled back on her stool.

For the next couple of hours, Jason didn’t make any more trouble, but neither did he hide his dissatisfaction. Ryan couldn't recall the last time rehearsal had seemed so much like work. When they were done, they ordered pizza and talked over the "big gig," as they had come to think of it.

"We should try mixing up the order." Mitch reached for his first slice. "I think we're all getting tired of that, and we know the songs inside out."

Ryan pulled a pizza box over to her and Lara; she knew from experience that otherwise they'd be lucky to get a slice each, the way the guys went at it.

"Good idea." Ryan debated pepperoni versus sausage and went with the former. "Let's figure it out and we'll have the GW and Maryland dates to experiment." She grinned. "We should be all set to rock the 9:30 Club. Good work, Lara."

"Absolutely. It's going to be so awesome," Nate chimed in. "I'm really psyched about it."

"Thanks." Lara beamed. It had taken weeks to get the date.

"Too bad you didn't get an earlier date." Jason took a swig of Coke.

Ryan saw Lara's expression darken a bit. Her friend didn't get angry often, but Jason was good at pushing buttons.

"It was the first open date I could get, and we should take advantage of the lead time to maximize the exposure," Lara said.

Jason grunted and went back to his pizza.

* * *

"Jason was a piece of work, wasn't he?" Lara shook her head as she drove them home.

"He was." Ryan paused, trying to get a sense of Lara's mood. "No worse than usual, I guess, but he does get under my skin. I think he does it on purpose."

"Yeah. God." Lara smacked the steering wheel. "'Too bad you didn't get an earlier date?' Next time he can plan the damn gigs. I don’t see him offering to help. He won't even put up any flyers!" She shook her head. "Nate did I don't know how many blocks last time, and Jason couldn't be bothered to put them up on his own street. Putz."

Ryan gave a short laugh. "True. You know, I was thinking, Lara. We agreed to six months, but I don't think it's going to work."

"We should keep our word, and we can't afford to lose him now. Let's see how the gigs go."

"I feel so stupid." Ryan shook her head. "Like I should have seen it, you know? But he was Nate's friend, and he seemed so enthusiastic when he auditioned."

"He's Nate's sister's boyfriend," Lara corrected, then made a face. "Try saying that five times fast. Anyway, we all thought he was serious, Ryan. It's no one's fault."

"I know. It's just been bugging me for a few weeks now and I haven't been sure whether to say anything." She huffed out a breath. "Nate and Mitch are on board, always have been, but Jason keeps wanting to rock the boat. It infuriates me." She paused to gather her thoughts. "I know what I'm doing, and I'm glad you guys trust me. If Jason doesn't start trusting, it'll be a problem."

Lara nodded. "It will. I have to say, I keep waiting for you guys to have an actual fight one day."

Ryan scoffed. "Please. I'd mop the floor with him. Hardly worth the effort."

"True. So, how are things with the family?" Lara switched lanes and subjects as their exit approached.

"The usual. I'm such a disappointment."

"No, you're not. They don’t say that."

"Not out loud, but it's definitely what they think." She considered. "Okay, not Evan. But the rest of them."

"I've never understood that." Lara turned onto Route 1. "I know they're into sports, and that takes talent and work. But you have talent and you work hard, it's just different talent. So I don't see how they can be like that."

"Are you kidding? With my dad, it was sports or nothing. Thank God the boys came along, or he would have died of a broken heart."

"Come on, Ry, you're exaggerating."

"Am I? For God's sake, Lara, they gave me a boy's name. How much more obvious could they have been that they wanted me to be a son? Geez, if they'd found out ahead of time, they probably would have given me up for adoption."

"Oh, come on. We've been over this."

"Okay, okay. I'll drop it before I start feeling sorry for myself."

"Good. I'm staying home tonight and I don’t have time for your pity party." Lara nudged her arm to take the sting out of her words.

"Wow, home? What have I done to warrant the honor of your company?" Ryan feigned shock as they got to their door and she unlocked it. "Did Trout find a mermaid?"

"Oh, knock it off." Lara smacked Ryan's shoulder. "He's off on a camping trip with some friends. I don't do beds outdoors."

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"At the Marriott."

Ryan laughed. "Well, they say couples should have their own individual interests, right? So this is good. Time apart. You can appreciate him more when you see him again."

"I'll appreciate him plenty once he showers."

Ryan made a face. "Thanks for the image."

"Hey, mental hands off my boyfriend."

"I don’t want my hands, of any sort, on your boyfriend. Have no fear."

"Okay." Lara grabbed some water. "Besides, you should want your hands on Brody Lang."

"Oh, please." Ryan reached in for a soda. "We're friends, ok? We talk. He's a nice guy."

"But?" Lara led the way into the living room and they each dropped onto the couch.

Ryan stretched her legs, reveling in being free of any casts. "But what?"

"There's a but in there, I can tell. He's a nice guy, apparently single. You're single, so what's the problem?"

"Maybe I'm not looking for a boyfriend, ever think of that?"

Lara scoffed.

"Okay, fine." Ryan took a long drink. "I like him, ok? But he's a hockey player. After all the sports crap I've put up with in my life already, I have no desire to date a professional athlete. And let me point out there's no evidence he wants to date me."

"So you're just friends?"

"Yes, friends." Ryan laughed and her friend's expression. "Look, Lara, I like him. He's funny, and he's been cool about the band, which goes a long way. But other than that, there's nothing going on."

"Hmph." Lara slumped back in her chair. "That's just not right."

Ryan snickered. "We can't all be lucky enough to meet a fish. I mean, a guy like Trout." She laughed louder when Lara threw a pillow at her. "Oh, and I forgot to tell you: Brody cooked me dinner a while ago."

Lara sat up, eyes wide. "Are you serious? He's cute, he's an athlete, and he cooks? Dear God, Ryan, if you don't go out with him I'm going to break up with Trout and take your place."

"Okay."

"I'm serious."

"Have at."

"Ryan." Lara threw up her hands. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Come with me tomorrow when I go to the party?" Ryan gave her friend a hopeful look. "Please?"

"Sorry. I love you like a sister, but that's beyond the call of duty." When Ryan pouted, Lara smiled. "Actually I can't. I'm meeting up with my own parents; my grandparents are visiting. Why are you going?"

"Oh, it's Evan's birthday. It'll be a family party with all our cousins and what not. I mean, that'll be nice and I've got his present but I just know how it's going to be."

Lara looked at her with sympathy. "Well, it's a birthday party, though, right? So people should be . . . distracted. They should be focused on Evan."

"My parents never miss a chance to remind me of my mistakes." Ryan shook her head. "Just grin and bear it, right?"

"I'll cover for you if you want to be sick," Lara offered.

"Tempting, but no." Ryan yawned and stretched. "I think I'll go shower and chill out for a while."

"Okay. I'm going to veg with a movie. Take it easy, Ry." Lara patted her hand as she walked by. "It's only a few hours out of one day. It won't be so bad."

* * *

After going over a new song with Lara in the morning and grabbing an early lunch at the mall, Ryan made her way over to Crystal City to pick up a Zipcar. Working with Lara had kept her from dwelling on the party, but riding out to Chantilly in the little compact, she couldn't avoid it.

It's really sad when you think about faking sick to miss your own brother's birthday party. She popped in a CD and tried not to think about it.

Other people would be there, she reminded herself. Other relatives, probably even some friends from the neighborhood. With luck, her parents would be too busy hosting the party and talking to people to give her any grief. The one thing she did not need was to be reminded, in front of people, of how her parents thought she was wasting her time, her life, "playing" with the band.

You're not even there yet. Don't get worked up over things that haven't happened, she chided herself. She took a deep breath and advanced the CD until she found a song by Muse and calmed down.

She found a spot in front of the neighbor's house and parked by the curb. Gathering her bag and gift for Evan—she'd found a graphic novel she knew he'd been looking for—she walked up to the house. It was a nice house, a two-story colonial. There was a basketball net in the driveway, and she remembered watching her brothers shoot hoops with their dad.

Ryan knew the air hockey and ping pong tables were still in the finished basement and assumed there'd be a pile of people lined up to play. Her dad never missed a chance to organize a game, tournament or competition if he could. She grimaced, remembering her fifteenth birthday and the way her father had insisted everyone gather outside for an obstacle course race. It might have gone over better had the party not been attended by a dozen teenage girls who were more interested in talking about boys, movies and music. She walked up the front steps and knocked before going in.

"Ryan! You're here!" Her mother was the first person to spy her.

"Of course I am. I wouldn't miss Evan's birthday." Ryan gave her mom a hug and pat on the back. "I even have a gift. Where should I put it?"

"Just over here." Judy Bancroft led her daughter over to a table in the corner of the living room. "Oh, it's so good to see you off your crutches." She squeezed Ryan's arm.

"Good to be off them. So where's the birthday boy?" A roar rose up from the basement and she gave her mother a wry grin. "Guess I'll go say hello."

Before she went to the basement, Ryan traded greetings with friends and family, then decided to maneuver into the kitchen for a drink. She tensed up when she saw her father.

"Hi, Dad."

"Ryan." He nodded. "How are you?"

"Good, thanks." Ryan tried to ignore the awkward feeling she had whenever she talked to her father. Most people got at least a clap on the shoulder from James Thomas Bancroft, Sr.; she got a nod. With a deep breath, she rummaged in a large cooler for a soda. "So, um . . . how's work?"

He shrugged and reached for a beer. "Not too bad."

"Great." The usual strained silence fell between them. "So . . . did Mom tell you about our gig at the 9:30 Club? We're pretty excited." Ryan didn't know why she even said it. Even if her mother had said something, she doubted her father would have listened. Or cared.

He grunted a noncommittal noise and popped open his beer. Before either could say anything else, someone yelled for James to come down to the basement.

"Looks like they can't start without me." He nodded again and left.

Ryan leaned against the counter. She'd never had the best relationship with her father, and it hadn't improved when she'd not only rejected sports but focused on music as her career choice. She hadn't been far off, she thought, when she'd told Lara that not having a son as his first child had almost broken her father's heart.

"Hey, sis!"

Ryan pulled out of her thoughts and managed to smile at her brother. "Hey, JT. How's it going? Surprised you made it home."

JT clapped her shoulder and she gave his hand an awkward pat. JT was three years younger than she was, but had been taller than she since he was twelve. He had taken after their father the way she'd taken after their mother in looks. He had their dad's brown hair, brown eyes and squared-off jaw.

JT had been a star football player in high school, as had their father, and he'd opted to go to UMD, their father's alma mater. He'd likewise been unimpressed with Ryan's musical aspirations, although too focused on his own life to give her much grief about it.

After working out and playing football for years, he looked older than he was; she thought he could easily pass for twenty-five. She wondered if he got carded when he went out.

"Come on, Ryan, I couldn't miss Evan's eighteenth birthday." JT rummaged through the cooler for a soda.

"Yeah, me neither."

"Besides, it's a lot easier now that I've got the car."

Ryan nodded and sipped at her soda, forcing herself to think on a reply. The car had been JT's twentieth birthday present the previous June; her twentieth birthday present had been a gift card. She shook her head. "Well, it's great you could come. I know Mom and Dad like having you around. God knows why." Ryan laughed as he narrowed his eyes at her. "How's school?"

"Excellent." JT took a swig of his drink. "We've got that new guy, Dunston, from Philly. He's supposed to be one of the best receivers out there, and so far it's all true. With Barski at quarterback, and Dunston to receive, we should run the conference. I'm still undecided about the draft, though. Dad thinks I should, and my agent says I should easy go in the first or second round, but you know. You have to look at all the options."

Sports, sports, and more sports, thought Ryan. "Well, good luck with all that."

"Thanks, Ry." Another roar sounded, this time from the den, and JT took off.

Ryan wandered back out to the crowd and looked for Evan. She didn't see him in the living room or den, and decided to brave the basement. She looked around and found Evan off to the side, shouting encouragement to their father, who was facing off for some ping pong against a man she didn't recognize.

She poked him in the side. "Hi, Evan."

"Ryan!" He looked down—Ryan thought wryly how her brothers made her feel about three feet tall—and grinned. Like Ryan, he had their mother's auburn hair and green eyes. He was taller than JT by a couple of inches, and when he'd gotten into sports, no one had been surprised when he had been drawn to basketball.

"Happy birthday, squirt." She put one arm around him and squeezed.

Evan scoffed but returned the hug. "I've been taller than you since I was, like, ten or eleven."

"I know, but I'm still the big sister. So there."

"All right, all right." Evan shook his head in mock resignation, then smiled. "Thanks, Ryan. I'm glad you could make it. I thought you might have rehearsal or something. I ran into Trout the other day; he told me about the 9:30 Club. That's great! Congratulations."

"Thanks, Evan." Ryan was pleased. She and her youngest brother had always gotten along. Evan was the only one in the family who took her music anywhere near seriously. Any teasing was always good natured, and he usually asked to hear any new songs. It was a nice contrast to the way everyone else reacted.

"I'm aiming to be at your gig at Maryland, and I'll bring some friends, too."

"Thanks, Evan. I'd appreciate that." She gave his arm a squeeze.

"No problem. I'm not sure I can make it to the 9:30 Club, but I'll let you know. And tell me if the date changes or anything."

"Sure." They were quiet for a minute, watching the ping pong. "So," Ryan asked, "who's winning?"

"Dad." Evan raised an eyebrow. "Do you think he'd be this quiet otherwise?"

"Ah. Right." Ryan nodded. When their father was winning, he was focused; when he was losing, he would chatter to put his opponent off his game. She watched for a few minutes, then told Evan she was heading back upstairs.

"Don’t leave before the cake," he advised. "Mom got chocolate with raspberry filling. There'll be a stampede."

Ryan laughed and went back up. She found a couple of her cousins who were still in high school and caught up on what was happening with them, then her dad came up to start the grill. It was October, and the weather was cooling, but it took more than that to keep her father from grill duty.

The men gathered around the grill on the back patio and their conversation turned to the football season, real and fantasy; the just-begun hockey and basketball seasons; the end of yet another disappointing season for the Nationals; and the future of the Redskins, a year-round soap opera that provided plenty of material. The women went between the porch and the kitchen, helping Ryan's mom set things out, and their conversation was either about kids, or the effect of their husbands' sports hobbies.

Ryan debated where to go. She didn't care to step out and discuss sports with the men, and she didn't have kids, nor a boyfriend, so chatting with the women was tough as well. Her younger cousins said hi when she greeted them, but they were more interested in discussing high school problems with each other and playing their handheld video games. The ones that weren't Facebooking or tweeting.

At least the burgers will be good, she thought. She had to admit her dad was a grill master par excellence. He had honed his skills for tailgating parties.

Settling into a seat on the patio for the gresh air, she tried to relax. Pieces of conversation floated to her, and it wasn’t long before she felt herself tensing up.

"Yeah," said her father, "I think JT'll go for the draft next summer. I mean, why the hell should he wait? He's on pace to set the school record for tackles in a season. It'd be crazy for him not to enter."

"How about Evan?" someone asked.

"He'll be a starter, you watch." Her father's pride was undisguised. "Even as a freshman. They're nuts if they don't start him."

"Hi, Ryan."

She looked up and smiled. "Hi, Uncle Pete. How are you?"

"Great. How's everything going?"

"Oh, pretty good, thanks."

"Keeping yourself busy?" Her uncle asked.

Before Ryan could answer, her father did.

"Ryan still thinks she's going to be a rock star." He flipped the burgers.

Ryan ground her teeth and felt herself flush. The derisive tone rivaled the pride with which he'd spoken of Evan and JT. She kept telling herself she was used to it, and someday, she would be.

Her father continued, "Her mother and I keep hoping she'll grow out of it and get a real job. She could do more than the drone work she's doing now." He shot a wry glance at Ryan. "Don't think JT or Evan is going to support you once they've been drafted."

Ryan struggled for something to say. "It's not like that," she managed. "We work hard."

Her father shot her a sidewise glance, his disdain evident. "If you think that's work, little girl, then your mother and I did something wrong."

Ryan excused herself through gritted teeth and went back in the house. She had to leave; her dad had pushed too far this time and she couldn't pretend in front of all these people. She made a beeline for the guest room that held the coats.

"Ryan. Hey, Ry!" Evan found her as she was grabbing her jacket. "What's up? We haven't even had the cake yet."

"I'm sorry, Ev. I was going to find you and say goodbye. Dad pissed me off. Again." She shoved her arms into the sleeves. "I know I should be used to it, just let it roll off me or whatever, but it was too much. Too far. I am fucking sick of him making me feel like a failure because I don’t chase a goddamned ball around a field." She stopped and took a breath. "Sorry, I don't mean to take it out on you."

"It's okay." He jammed his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry he makes you feel that way."

"Not your fault." She took another deep breath and tried to relax her shoulders. "Look, I'll just tell Mom I don’t feel well. I don't want to cause a scene and ruin your party."

"Why would you ruin the party?" JT poked his head in and Ryan groaned to herself.

"I wouldn't. That's why I'm going." Ryan grabbed her bag.

"Oh, come on. Is this about what Dad said on the porch?" JT rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Ryan, he's only being honest."

"Gee, thanks, JT." She glared at him. "When Dad insults your life choices, I'll remind you that you said that."

"Maybe if you made better choices he wouldn’t say anything. Christ, Ryan, listen to yourself. You want to be in a band? Every kid in fucking high school wants to be in a band at some point." JT made a face. "Dad knows you won't make it, so why should he pretend?"

"JT, back off." Evan's eyes darted between his siblings. "All kinds of people make it in music. Who's to say Ryan won't?"

JT scoffed and shook his head.

"Well, I guess that settles it." Ryan's voice was rough. "Happy Birthday, Evan. I'll talk to you later." She gave Evan a quick hug but said nothing to JT as she pushed past him and down the hall.

Her mother was surprised but distracted when Ryan said she was leaving and only made a token effort to convince her to stay. As she got in the car, Ryan thought that would have hurt, had she not already been so upset by her father's and brother's statements. She calmed herself down as she drove out of the development, not wanting to be distracted on the highway.

Lara was still out when she got home. Ryan was a little disappointed—she'd been looking forward to venting over ice cream—but decided that some quiet time alone to read or work on a song would do more good. Not to mention, they were out of ice cream.

Knowing she couldn't work as tense as she was, she first set iTunes going and then grabbed a drink and sat on the couch. Arcade Fire segued into Radiohead and she started to relax as she let the songs play, not thinking, just listening. When her cell phone rang, she jerked in surprise and had to orient herself.

She looked at the display, surprised to see Brody's name.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ryan. It's Brody. What's up?"

"Not much." She sat up on the couch. "Where are you?"

"I'm hurt. I thought you knew the schedule inside and out." He sounded so aggrieved she had to laugh.

"Sorry, Brody. Family stuff today. Did you play already? I'm sorry if I missed it."

"Nah. You've got some time. Starts at seven."

"Okay, but where are you?" Ryan looked at her watch; it was just after five.

"Toronto."

"Lucky you."

"Yeah, well. What can I say? I'm a lucky guy. So, how was the family stuff?"

"It sucked." Ryan didn't try to downplay it.

"Ouch. Sounds like someone needs some sushi."

She had to give a small laugh at that. "Maybe. Or there's always macaroni and cheese." It occurred to her that she hadn't eaten much of anything since breakfast and had only snacked at the party.

"Ryan, don't say that. I can't be distracted worrying about you like that."

"You worry about me?" She was surprised.

"I worry about anyone who treats mac'n'cheese like it's its own food group."

"I'll have a hot dog with it," she offered.

"No."

"Spam?"

He made a strangled noise.

"Sorry." She giggled. "I don't know. I was so mad that I ended up not eating, and I'm not hungry yet, but I'm sure I'll be hungry soon. How about I promise to eat something that doesn't come in a box?"

"I'd feel much better."

"Okay then, I'll do that. You'd better go. Don't you have warmups or something?"

"Yeah, pretty soon. I just wanted to say hi to my favorite musician."

"Thanks, Brody." Ryan smiled at the warm feeling the comment elicited. "After the day I had, that's a really nice thing to hear. If you were here, I might even let you kiss me."

Brody was silent for a moment. "You shouldn't tease me like that, Ryan."

She bit her lip as a nervous excitement shot through her, then grinned. "Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?"

"You'll just have to wait to find out."

She wondered if she imagined his voice was a little deeper than usual. "Vague threats don't scare me, Brody."

"Who said anything about vague?" He paused and Ryan felt that same combination of nerves and anticipation. "Fine, be that way. See if I cook for you again." He paused again, then relented. "Get some healthy food and then watch the game, okay?"

"Yes, sir." She laughed. "Good luck."

"Thanks. Talk to you later."

Ryan smiled again as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. She was still tense, but the phone call had gone a long way towards helping her shake off what had happened at the party. Favorite musician, he'd said, and she shook her head as she got up and wandered to the kitchen. He'd said it for fun, but it had been nice to hear anyway.

In fact, she realized, she felt like working on some music. She glanced at her phone and saw that she still had an hour and a half before the game. She could work on something, then grab some dinner, then watch the game.

She went over to her computer to sort through her works in progress and see what grabbed her attention. The second song did. She listened to what she had so far and then moved over to the keyboard. In the middle of fiddling with that song, another melody came into her head and she decided to work on that and switched to her guitar. She paid no attention to anything else until a thud from upstairs made her look up and blink, then she checked the time.

"Oh, man. They're probably halfway through the first period." She got up, stretched, and turned on the television.

With the game in the background, she started searching through the kitchen for something to eat. Hunger came at her with a vengeance and she bought time with some juice. Nothing looked appealing and so she grabbed a take-out menu. Chinese food didn't come in boxes, exactly, she thought. Boxes were squares or rectangles; those cartons were more like trapezoids.