by Kole, Lana
Letting her words sink in for a moment, she tried not to wince at the disappointment on their faces. Some were dotted with annoyance, and she refused to take it personally.
“You can check out with the security guards at the door.”
Oh yeah, the guards. The beating on the door had eventually stopped, but as the first bassist unlocked and opened the door, they almost ran him over as they rushed into the room.
Andi tapped her shoulder as she walked forward to let them know everything was alright.
Adra and Emerson joined the two other remaining candidates. Once the door shut behind the guards, she faced each of them.
Turning to Emerson first, she tried not to scowl. “I need a bassist,” she stated, and ignored the huff of annoyance from Andi. “And despite your attitude… you’re very talented. So…”
She took a deep breath. “If you can be nice,” she said with a twitch of her lips, “I’d love for you to join us on tour.”
His shoulders noticeably relaxed, and the smile that crossed his lips was halfway sincere. “I would like that. Truly. And thank you for not dismissing Odd.”
“Odd, huh?” she asked, and faced her soon to be keyboardist.
“Adra, but yes. It’s a nickname,” he said, cheeks flushing.
“I’ll stick with Adra,” she replied with a smile. “And that’s how I’ll introduce you on stage, if that’s okay.”
His lips parted in a wide smile, his teeth gleaming. “Yes. Absolutely,” he agreed, nodding eagerly.
Nohen was staring at her, excitement barely concealed in the fingers tapping against his guitar, and Desi was glaring daggers at Emerson, her hands twisting the sticks together.
“That means I’ll need a lead guitarist,” she said with a soft smile at Nohen. He beamed, clutching the neck of the guitar so tightly she wondered if he’d break it.
“Seriously? I promise never to be late again. Holy shit,” he breathed, and wiggled a finger under the neck of his collar.
Lyric chuckled and turned to Desi. “And a drummer,” she finished without hesitating. She knew in her heart who she wanted on the raised stage, carrying the band one beat at a time.
Desi took a short, deep breath before nodding once. “I’d love that.”
The smile that curled Lyric’s lips was genuine, uncontrollable. Excitement bubbled in her veins and spilled over like a popped champagne bottle.
“Then we have a band,” she said simply, trying to contain it.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Desi inquired, a matching smile on her face.
“Of course,” Lyric agreed.
Desi’s smile didn’t fade as she turned and walked all the way across the room, shoulders back, head high. She unlocked the door, and it closed behind her with a loud clang.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Desi shouted outside the doors. “Take that, motherfucker!”
Lyric couldn’t contain her chuckle, and finally, the excitement burst. Her laugh exploded as pure happiness filled her chest. The weight fell from her shoulders, and in that moment, she felt like she could float.
Oh, it was less than perfect. She had an asshole alpha for a bassist, and a security risk of a keyboardist, even if his heart was in the right place. On the bright side, she also had an enthusiastic lead guitarist—even though his time management could use some work—and a very excited drummer.
As Desi returned, no hint of her outburst except the beaming smile, and rejoined the group, Lyric beamed.
The band’s all together, she thought warily.
Two weeks. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Twenty thousand minutes. One-point-two million seconds.
It sounded like a lot. But as each minute passed and the kickoff of the tour drew nearer, Lyric’s anxiety swelled higher.
But she wasn’t only nervous. She was excited. Thrilled. More on the edge of her seat than when she’d released her first album.
Time passed quickly, chaotically. Her hours were filled with rehearsals and approving everything from the final stage designs to the outfits they’d wear each night. The design team ultimately made the final calls, but thankfully they took her desires to heart.
There was still so much to do. As she drove across town to the rehearsal space, she was adding more ideas to her mental list, trying to remember to add them to the physical list later.
Andi would probably scold her for focusing on her wardrobe instead of anything else, but that was why she was the tour manager, not Lyric. Their situation was an odd one—it wasn’t usual for an agent to manage a tour, but Lyric hadn’t wanted anyone else in charge of her life for six weeks.
The vise around her chest eased a bit at the reminder that her best friend would be right beside her the entire time. As the tour manager, she’d arrange their travel plans, coordinate with the venues, manage their money, organize the media and security, and a slew of other things that were over Lyric’s head.
All to keep Lyric safe.
Weaving through traffic, she let herself release some of the stress. But more worries replaced it.
She had two weeks until tour. Two weeks to nail the set from beginning to end and master her stage presence. Only a handful of days to teach four complete strangers all about her music.
Blinking tiredness from her eyes, she grabbed her travel coffee mug from the holder and lifted it to her lips as she rolled to a stop in front of a red light.
The night before, she’d spent hours watching her favorite inspirations live performances. Some of them were somber and stood entirely still while they belted their heart and soul into the mic and through arenas. Others bounced and hopped and danced around until she wondered how they had enough lung capacity and voice control to still sing at the same time. As many hours as she’d spent dreaming of this very opportunity, Lyric had no idea how she wanted to appear.
That’s what practice is for.
She reminded herself of that once again as she flicked her blinker on and made a right turn. Parking beside a blue sedan, she steeled her nerves, grabbed her travel cup and a bottle of water, and got out of the car.
Gravel crunched under her feet as she strode across the parking lot. With the key provided to her from Andi, she let herself into the rehearsal building, following the signs to their assigned soundproof area. The butterflies in her stomach switched to a faster tempo, and she swallowed down nerves as she let herself into the room.
“Oh, hi,” she greeted. Surprise filled her as Nohen glanced up. “You’re early,” she said dumbly.
His mauve colored lips curled up slightly, and he relaxed his fingers on the strings of the acoustic guitar he’d been strumming, the last of the music fading from the air.
“I figured I’d try to make up for my late appearances before. Good morning,” he greeted her.
“This is a nice space,” Lyric murmured, glancing around the room that would be their second home for the next two weeks. Dark wood floors stretched out in every direction, covered by cushy multicolored rugs. Black tape peeked out from beneath the edges, marring the floor’s shiny perfection as someone had attempted to organize the many cords stretching from outlets to the setup.
Sound proofing board covered every spare inch of three walls, but the fourth was all window. It provided a view of trees, mostly their trunks. Lyric crossed the room to glance up out of them, but she could just barely see the tops of the trees.
“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about the sun setting over here and making the room too hot,” she murmured.
“Hey, any view is a great view, in my opinion,” Nohen commented. When she turned to face him, his gaze wasn’t locked on the windows like she’d thought. Instead, he was staring at her.
“How long have you been here?” she asked, changing the subject and trying to hide her flushing cheeks. She walked up to the keyboard and drifted her fingers softly over the keys. Her fingers automatically formed to the keys and she pressed down, a chord drifting softly through the room.
“Only about
twenty minutes or so.”
She arched a brow at him, dropping her hand from the keys as he shrugged. “I woke up early. Couldn’t go back to sleep.”
Her first instinct was to change the subject, to avoid admitting her own sleeping troubles. But then she remembered that she’d have to spend a month and a half on the road with this beta, and building a wall between them in the ten minutes of their first one-on-one interaction wasn’t the smartest move.
“I had trouble sleeping too,” she admitted. “I was up all night watching live performances.”
“Why?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side.
She shrugged and walked over to him, pulling a chair near his. “I think I’m nervous about being on stage. I’m still trying to figure out what kind of stage presence I want to have.”
“Ah,” he said with a single, slow nod. “Can you design something like that?”
“I can try,” Lyric replied, a challenge in her tone.
A smile twitched his lips. “In school, I had a public speaking instructor who told me there are three versions of the same speech. The one you rehearse, the one you give, and the one you wish you’d given. I feel like performing is the same way. There’s rehearsal, where you can mess up and fix what’s wrong. Then there’s the stage performance, where you have to roll with the punches or the technical difficulties and let them brush off your shoulders. Then there’s the moment you walk off stage, where you remember every little note you were off or beat you were late coming in on. But at the end of the night, the only thing you can do is try again each time you walk out on stage.”
She sipped her coffee as he spoke, letting each word soak in. “That’s really nice and inspiring,” she said. “But I can’t help but be afraid I’ll spend the whole tour thinking about the performance I ‘should have given,’ and before I know it, it’ll be over.”
Her cheeks flushed at the admission, and she wished she’d never opened her mouth.
“You’re a perfectionist, aren’t you?” he asked with narrowed eyes.
She nodded.
“You’re going to hate tour,” he said.
Lyric could feel the blood leave her face. “Uh…”
He burst out into chuckles and strummed an awkward chord. “Nothing on tour is perfect. It’s messy and scattered and the whole thing is like an extended adrenaline rush. So don’t stress about having a perfect performance. Just have fun.”
Having fun is having everything go to plan.
But she didn’t say that out loud. What she settled on was, “Well, we can do our damned best to get it right in here at least, right?”
This time the chord he strummed was on key. “That we can.”
“Had enough coffee?” she inquired, nodding to his empty mug. “We can get started.”
Nohen’s brows knotted together as he glanced around the empty room. “No one’s here yet.”
“Not true. We’re here,” she countered. “The others will get here when they get here. Why don’t we get a head start?”
“Oh! Why didn’t you say something? I’m sitting there blabbing about perfection when we could have been practicing!” he said, sitting up straight and lifting the strap of the acoustic over his head.
She couldn’t help but chuckle. “What’s the rush? You’re the one that said not to worry about perfection.”
“I know what I said,” he grumbled as he walked over to the guitars and their many stands. Out reached one hand before it hovered in the air. Nohen drifted his palm back and forth between a mint green and a rose pink fender, apparently unable to decide which one he wanted to play. Finally, he wrapped slim fingers around the neck of the pink one.
Dressed in skinny pants, a pair of ankle boots, and a casual gray button-up that was only buttoned two-thirds the way up his chest, the rose pink guitar looked like a weapon in his hands.
This one’s dangerous, she decided.
He caressed the body of it lovingly, careful not to leave fingerprints over the shiny surface. But it wouldn’t stay pristine for very long.
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t ease some of your fear,” he continued. Lyric had to focus to remember what the hell he was referring to, but finally, she nodded. “You’re gonna do great,” he said.
He turned a soft smile her way before bending to grab the cable and plugging it into the guitar with a clink of metal and a hiss of electricity. It wasn’t until he strummed his fingers over the strings, sending a screech of notes through the amps, that Lyric realized she’d been doing nothing but staring at him for a long moment.
“Right,” she said, and opened her bottle of water. She took a swig before walking over to the sound system. Once her playlist was uploaded, she took her phone and walked over to the mic stand, flicking it on with her nail.
Before they really began, she did a few voice warm-ups and purposely avoided Nohen’s gaze as she exercised her vocal cords.
One she was a little more awake, she glanced over her shoulder at Nohen. He was smiling, staring right at her, and she met his bright gold gaze with a shy smile. Once he offered a nod, she hit play on one of the many versions of the opening song.
This version included drums, synth, and bass, but the guitar was turned down. None of the multiple versions included vocals.
She counted in with her fingers on her side, tapping them into her right thigh.
Nohen chimed in four beats before she did, and she could tell right away she wasn’t the only perfectionist. He’d clearly been studying the music Andi had sent him.
Since it was still early in the morning, her voice was still a little rusty, even after warm-ups. But as she sang and Nohen played, adding that electric current into the music, she wanted to see his face.
She wrapped one hand around the mic stand and one around the mic itself before spinning in place. Coming face-to-face with Nohen, she smiled at the concentration pinching his features. His eyes were closed as he played, his lips thinned into a single line as his fingers danced over the strings.
It took him a moment to open his eyes, and once he found her facing him, a smile curled his lips.
The song reached the end, and as the rest of the instruments in the music trailed off, her voice was the last thing to keep ringing. Nohen’s eyes flicked over her shoulder before returning, and his smile grew.
Nerves tightened her stomach again as the note rang out, and she finally let the last note trail off.
Clapping sounded behind her, and Lyric figured one of the others had arrived, but her cheeks flushed when she turned and found both Desi and Adra waiting inside the door. They were both beaming, standing silently as they’d watched them play.
“This is gonna be a kick ass show if you guys can sound like that,” Desi gushed.
“Hey, guys, good morning,” Lyric greeted them, excitement brewing in her chest. “Thanks, uhm, you guys can warm up and then we’ll get right into it?”
Desi slapped her hands together before pulling a pair of sticks out of her back pocket. “Sounds great! Oh, look at it. It’s beautiful.” She sighed dreamily before rushing past Lyric to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over the drum set, inspecting every inch of it.
Lyric chuckled at her before turning to Adra and leading him to the right near the piano and the synth. “Is this okay? I know it’s different from your setup, but you can play with it and make it work, or we can take your equipment. Whatever you prefer.”
His fingers drifted gently over the keys, the contrast between the pearl keys and his ebony skin striking in the prettiest way.
“This is perfect. I’ll learn it,” he said, determination in his voice but awe painted on his face.
“Okay… if you’re sure. I want you to feel comfortable. You’re the one playing, after all.”
“Trust me,” he murmured, and she swallowed a gasp as his dark stare leapt to hers. “This is perfect.”
“Okay,” she almost whispered. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Escaping the intensity of his gaze,
she slid to the left and read the excitement on Desi’s face. She would’ve asked if she was happy with the setup, but she pulled out her sticks and began testing each drum—loudly—before arching one brow at Lyric.
Lifting her hands, she grinned and stepped away, taking her place at the mic. The enthusiasm Desi sprouted was contagious, and Lyric found herself almost wishing Emerson would hurry the hell up and get there.
As Adra towered over the keyboard, he began playing different notes, warming up, and testing the synth functions.
“Starting without me, roomie?” a deep, gravelly voice said from the front of the room.
And just like that, her wish was granted. The excitement in her stomach went flat as she faced forward and Emerson’s tall, broad frame filled the doorway. It shut with a soft snick behind him, and Lyric swallowed roughly before swigging from her bottle of water.
“Morning,” she said politely. When his gaze locked on her, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
He offered an equally polite, fake smile and a nod. “Morning. Quite the setup we have here,” he murmured, glancing around the room slowly growing brighter as the morning dragged on.
“Let’s put it to use,” Lyric suggested.
But it was no use, because the best rehearsal of the entire day was the one she’d had with Nohen in the quiet hours of the morning.
By the time they broke apart at the end of the day, she could tell they were all frustrated.
They played the notes, they knew the songs, but something just wasn’t… meshing.
Lyric glanced at their reflections in the glass, growing clearer as darkness descended outside.
Or someone.
By the end of the third day, Lyric walked out of the practice room with the rest of them, grabbed some food from town, and turned right back around.
She shoveled her face with a drive through taco—with extra hot sauce—while sitting in her car, and then she steeled herself.
Grumbling to herself about the three versions of performances Nohen had told her about, she was completely oblivious to the other car in the parking lot.
