From the moment the curtain went up, Howl held the audience rapt. While frontman Jeff Pine, 30, has long received most of the credit for the band’s popularity, penning and voicing the majority of their hits, last night his bandmates displayed every bit as much passion, charisma, and talent. Bassist Joe Kinoshameg had the stadium on its feet during “Water for Oil.” Drummer Trix Neufeld led a hair-raising a cappella version of “Gemini.”
But it was rhythm guitarist Max Langdon who stole the stage. As a general rule, concerts should not involve silence. When he took center stage to debut “Last Call,” you could have heard a pin drop.
“Last Call” was the last number of the evening, an emotional, heartrending ballad utterly unlike Langdon’s other work. Taken on its own, it’s a beautiful song with a strong depth of feeling and an unforgettable hook.
Taken in context, though—Howl has yet to announce another album, despite the fact that this is the second song to debut onstage this concert cycle and their contract with current label Big Moose Records includes one likely due this summer—it sounds like goodbye.
Chapter Seventeen
BY THEtime the prop plane touched down in Willow Sound, Jeff was ready to get on his knees and kiss the dirt.
Not because the flight was long or bumpy or anything like that—but because for the first time in a long time, he felt like—how did the Eagles put it? Like he was already standing on the ground.
This was where he wanted to be.
Well, almost.
He had the vague idea that he didn’t have any food left at the cabin, so he swung by the grocery store on the way and picked up a few essentials. On a whim, he also picked up two six-packs of craft beer and a nice bottle of wine. Jeff liked it, even if Carter didn’t.
It was tempting to drive to the rangers’ station, but he knew Carter had been busy with work, so he went to the cabin instead. He put away the groceries, replaced the sheets on the bed with the ones he’d brought from his condo, and wiped down the thin layer of dust that had accumulated on the counters and kitchen table.
Carter was the first one he texted—all settled back in at the cabin. He attached a picture of the beers he’d put on ice in a half-size Igloo cooler.
But after that he went through the whole group. He checked in with Joe about Sarah, who’d had an ultrasound that morning, and got back a surprisingly detailed image of a fetus that was—awesome but also kind of creepy.Doctor says the baby’s healthy.
That’s great!!he texted back.
He texted Trix next. She was meeting up with a couple girlfriends for a spa weekend. She sent him a selfie that involved cucumbers, a face mask, and a glass of champagne.
Nice, Jeff sent back.Have fun. Remember to hydrate.
Max was supposed to have no contact with the outside world for the first week of rehab, so Jeff couldn’t text him anything. Instead he took a picture of the sun reflecting off the Sound and sent it to Max’s email address. Then he leaned back on the picnic table and closed his eyes.
The gentle lapping of the water. The sigh of the breeze through the trees.
The crunch of gravel under tires.
Jeff smiled, eyes still closed, and soaked up the sun for one more minute.
Then the truck door slammed and he turned around.
Carter stood next to the truck, holding the dreaded walking cast in his left hand. Apparently he’d traded it out for the stiff-bottomed Birkenstock the doctor had suggested if driving became unavoidable. Jeff was going to give him shit for that, absolutely, on both fashion and health and safety principles, but, like, not right now. He had other priorities.
“Nice boot,” he said pointedly, because Carter was still wearing half his usual ranger footgear. “Wanna—”
“Oh my God,” Carter laughed. “Come here and kiss me. I’m not limping all the way over there.”
Jeff didn’t have to be told twice. With long, hurried strides he crossed the space between them. Then Carter dropped the boot to the ground, wrapped both arms around him, and dragged him into a kiss.
Maybe he shouldn’t have—probably Jeff should encourage him to show a little restraint when he wasn’t even wearing his walking boot—but Jeff couldn’t do anything except enjoy it. Carter was warm and solid against him. He tasted a little like a three-thirty coffee break, and he kissed Jeff like he knew all his secrets and would take them to his grave.
The scent of him filled Jeff’s nose—vaguely piney bodywash and the lingering aroma of shaving cream, because apparently he’d cleaned up the edges of his beard just for Jeff. And it allfit—Carter’s hands at the small of his back, his lips on Jeff’s, his tongue in Jeff’s mouth, his chest under Jeff’s fingers. The warm sun on the side of his face, the breeze off the water, the ground under his feet.
It fit.
But he only allowed himself to indulge for a minute before he broke away, because Carter was not wearing the appropriate footwear for Jeff to swoon in his arms. “Come inside?” he offered. “I got stuff for dinner.”
The look Carter gave him, fond and a little wry, said he wasn’t fooled. “Dinner, eh?”
