Even Lovers Drown

Saylor Jones slipped out of the driver's seat, phone attached to her ear. Humming an affirmative into the receiver, she glanced around the parking lot, green eyes searching. Tour buses, vans, and rental trucks were scattered around the black asphalt. A few people loaded instrument racks into the rental trucks, but, for the most part, the area was empty. She reached into the car and grabbed the duffle bag from the passenger seat, still partially listening to her mother's worried voice pump through the speakers of her phone.

"You'll be okay, right?" her mother asked.

"Of course, mom," Saylor said, shouldering the duffle bag. "Between merch work and traveling, I'll probably be too busy to get into trouble. Besides, Davy will be here."

Davy, her half-brother, her only brother, the man who got her the job as merch worker, the man she was supposed to be meeting. Her eyes darted around the parking lot, searching for him. She hadn't seen him in four years, but she figured he hadn't changed much, that she would be able to recognize him if he showed his face. From her spot next to the car, she couldn't see him, just caught glimpses of the few unrecognizable faces.

"I'm not worried about you getting into trouble," her mother said.

Sighing, she tucked her red hair behind her ear. "I know, but I'll be fine. You don't need to worry. I'm old enough to take care of myself."

The statement wasn't likely to calm her mother. Four years ago, she thought she was old enough to make her own decisions. Neither of her parents had fought against her choice to live with her girlfriend of the time. That had been a mistake.

"You should know I'll worry no matter how old you are."

"I don't think I'd have it any other way." Across the street, a familiar figure stepped out of the convenient store. Saylor waved, catching his attention. A smile broke over his features, and he jogged in her direction, not worrying about on coming cars as he crossed the street. "Mom, Davy's coming. I'll talk to you later. Don't forget to pick up your car."

"We'll head to the lot to pick it up in a bit. Tell Davy he needs to come by after tour ends."

"I will."

"I love you, sweetie. Have fun."

"Love you, too. Bye."

Saylor pressed the red "End Call" button on her phone and slipped the tiny object into the pocket of her sweats, watching her brother rush across the road. A car jerked to a stop inches from him. Davy didn't stop but yelled, what Saylor assumed were, apologies to the driver. Chuckling, she shook her head. She hadn't realized how much she missed him during her year back home.

By some stroke of luck or extremely cautious drivers, he made it to the other side of the street, ran to Saylor, and threw his arms around her body, pulling her into a tight hug. Saylor smiled, allowing him the freedom to hug her, arms squished to her sides by his muscular arms.

"Saylor Christopher Jones," he exclaimed, "I missed you."

"And I'm going to miss hearing if you don't stop yelling in my ear."

His hold slacked, and he looked down at her, smile forcing a dimple into his right cheek. The morning sun bounced off his sandy blond hair and illuminated his green eyes. Though twenty-five, he had the air of a child, ready to start trouble when given the chance. In four years, he hadn't changed at all.

"I hope your ears are ready for louder than necessary music and screaming fans because that's all they'll be hearing for the next few months."

Saylor groaned. "I'll need hearing aids by the end of this."

"Such are the perks of tour." He studied her face, eyes hooking on her right cheek, his smile falling. "It's not as noticeable as mom says it is."

The scar stretching horizontally across her cheek. It was one of the few she still had, one of the few that had been clumsily allowed to develop.

"Who knew scar remover actually worked," Saylor joked.

The corners of his lips tugged upward. "I'm glad you're here."

"Well, I'm glad to be here."

"After weeks without a shower, you'll be changing your mind pretty quick." Still embracing his sister, he glanced at the road. Two girls cautiously crossed, a complete contrast from his inane behavior. "Here come my other merch bitches."

She followed his gaze, eyes landing on the two young girls walking towards them. Average height, band tees and skinny jeans, and almost identical teased hair. They were young, and as they drew closer, she realized they looked to be barely out of high school at most.

This must have been a dream come true for them. Touring with a popular band, possibly their favorite band judging by the words "Say Goodbye" stretched across both of their shirts. Being close enough to converse with the band members, partying like rock stars at night despite early mornings for setup, this was any music-obsessed teenager's dream, aside from being part of the band.

These girls, with their nearly identical hair and attire, were like her brother, taking the same route he did. They were traveling with a band, not handling the stress of college or worrying about moving in with a significant other as soon as possible. They were young, and they weren't going to let that slip from them. Saylor wished she had taken the same route as them, hadn't let her youth go for one woman. It had only been a few years and she felt like she had aged thirty years in the time span.

"Hey, Davy," one said, small smile on her face. "Who's this?"

One arm fell from Saylor's body, the other resting casually around her shoulder and allowing them to turn to the two girls fully. The girl's looked at Saylor, taking in her appearance drawing their own conclusions. She wondered for a moment what they saw when they looked at her.

"Ladies, this is my fabulous sister Saylor." His voice boomed with his excitement. His sister, the one who had been gone for so long, was finally coming into his world and meeting the people in it. "Saylor, this is Sarah and Jenny, the two merch girls I currently work with." He motioned to them. They had their obvious differences. Not twins, not sisters. This was clear up close. But Saylor was sure she wouldn't be able to differentiate between them regardless.

"Nice to meet you," Saylor said.

"You, too," one, Jenny, said.

"You two are related?" the other, Sarah said, "You don't look alike."

"They have the same eyes," Jenny said before Davy could respond, her eyes darting between the siblings, examining, "And nose, with freckles and everything."

Saylor was slightly uncomfortable under the appraising gaze, but she didn't fidget. She kept her shoulders back, head level, smile firm. Reuniting with part of her family after three years away had resulted in a similar gaze. Everything had been different then. She had crawled into herself under the stares, let her back hunch, kept her eyes downcast, as if she didn't want to exist. This wasn't then, this was now, and she wouldn't let something as silly as someone looking at her beat her down.

"We're half-siblings," Davy said, "Same mom, same last name, different dads."

That was hardly their business. They were siblings and that was that. But in such tight quarters constantly, they would have found out at some point. Secrets, though his relationship with Saylor wasn't one, were impossible to keep on tour.

"Same last name?" Sarah asked.

"I have my stepfather's last name," Davy replied.

She nodded, pleased with the small chunk of information. No jokes were made regarding Davy's name. Lockers weren't brought up, The Monkees weren't mentioned. But Saylor figured they were already passed that. Either that or the girl's were too young to make either reference.

"Where do I put my stuff?" Saylor asked, fixing the strap of the duffle bag on her shoulder.

"We'll get it in the van when it gets back. Andy took it to pick up the band. Couldn't get them to get off their lazy asses and meet us here on their own apparently," he glanced at the bag. It was small, the outline of a laptop protruding from the top, what could be books creating an outline in other areas. "That's not all you brought, is it?"

"No, I have another bag in the trunk. Who's Andy?"

"The manager," Sarah said, the excited chirp of her tone cutting into the conversation, "He's really cool."

"He's a little bitch," Davy grumbled, "Taking my van. I could have left to get food."

"You know you think Andy's awesome," Jenny said.

"You only like him because he's bringing Blake here."

"She is so hot," Sarah sighed.

"Agreed," Jenny said.

"Who's Blake?" Saylor asked.

The pair stared at her, eyes wide. Questions flew from their lips in unison. "You don't know who Blake Andrews is?" and "Where have you been, under a rock?" So quick, in the same high pitched voice, Saylor couldn't figure out which girl said what. She opened her mouth to respond but no words formed. This topic was off-limits, beyond her personal boundaries. She didn't know how to respond.

"You two, shut up. Not everyone knows who Say Goodbye is," Davy said. He looked down Saylor, and she looked up at him, silent thanks flourishing in her eyes. But she didn't need to thank him. He was her brother, half or not. His job was to protect her. Even as adults, the job was important to him. More so now than it used to be. "Don't worry about it. You'll meet the band soon."