by Kacey Shea
I practically roll off the couch, I’m so excited. “Really?”
“Yeah, just don’t piss them off.”
This is it. It still hasn’t seemed real, but now that I’m meeting the guys, it’s actually happening. “I’ll go practice.”
He nods, a quick lift of his chin but I can tell he’s impressed. Being the best doesn’t happen of its own accord. I’ve worked damn hard to become the musician I am today, and I’m prepared to carry that same work ethic into this band.
I charm my way into an empty practice studio and keep busy practicing, but by a quarter till ten I’m overcome with restless anticipation. I’ve never been one to seek approval of others. Frankly, no one cares about your personality when you’re the best of the best or have pockets as deep as my family’s. But these guys won’t give a fuck about my classical music training or performances. They’ll only see a privileged white kid—which technically is true. I don’t fit the mold when it comes to famous rock stars, but I do have the talent. I’ll just have to convince them.
“Hey, Lizzy.” I tip my chin to the pretty receptionist and she giggles. “Know where my—” Shit. Almost said uncle. “Favorite manager is?”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen and she bites the inside of her cheek. “They didn’t come find you yet? Trent, Aust, and Sean showed up early. I think they’re in Studio Five. Just past the practice rooms.”
Shit. “Thanks, Lizzy.” Not wasting another second, I jog back down the hall until I find the correct room. I blow out one last nervous breath, knock, and push through the door. Sure enough, everyone’s already gathered inside around a long table.
“So glad you could finally join us.” My uncle tips his chin in greeting.
With a slow swagger I slide into the open chair at his left. All eyes meet mine for a brief second before turning back to Bedo.
He clears his throat. “So, a little change of plans.” My uncle taps the edge of the conference table and sets down his phone. “The guy I hired to play drums had a family emergency.”
“Fucking A.” Austin groans and rubs his hands over his face.
“What are we going to do?” Trent leans forward and rests his forearms against the table.
Sean clears his throat. “Maybe we should delay the tour?”
“We’ve already rescheduled the first week. We can’t cut any more.” My uncle narrows his glare on Sean. If I hadn’t been staring, I would have missed it, because my uncle’s face grows with a smug smile as he rocks back into the padded chair. “Besides, I’ve already hired someone better.”
“Dude.” Austin shakes his head. “Not cool. We need to be consulted on big shit like that.”
“I was under the impression you all needed time away. Not to be disturbed.” Bedo’s brows rise and he shrugs. “We had a problem. I took care of it.”
“So, when do we meet the guy?” Sean rubs his fingers over his eyelids and slides them over to his temples.
“He’s right here.” My uncle tips his chin my direction, and I swear to God, I can’t tell whether he’s trying to make them hate me or he’s an arrogant ass all the time. “Meet your new drummer.”
Austin stares and then bursts into laughter. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
“Nope.” My uncle’s smile grows.
“This a joke? Tell me you’re fucking with us.” Trent shakes his head, a mixture of anger and confusion riddles in his tone, and his eyes narrow on mine.
“I’m afraid not.” My uncle says the words as if he were sorry, but it doesn’t seem he is at all. In fact, he appears absolutely joyful at the shocking news he’s delivered. Fuck, he’s doing this so they’ll hate me off the bat. His gaze spins to meet mine and he lifts his brows. “He might not look like much, but the kid can play.”
I’m not sure whether I should smile or scowl at the backhanded compliment, but for the sake of keeping peace I force a smile and wave. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”
“Bedo? The fuck, man?” Sean lets loose a chuckle.
Trent lifts his chin, the angry lock of his jaw not completely gone, but at least it’s not directed at me. “Kid. How old are you?” He turns to Bedo. “Can he even stay out after curfew?”
“Really?” I raise my brow and work really hard not to roll my eyes. I don’t have a thousand tatts and a five o’clock shadow, but I’m almost nineteen years old. Thanks to my awesome family genetics—broad shoulders, strong jaw, and full, thick head of hair—I easily pass for twenty-one.
“Do you even play? You look like a fucking model.”
I pucker my lips and blow Austin a kiss. “Aww, you think I’m pretty?”
“Leighton.” My uncle’s sharp tone cuts off my teasing. “Why don’t you shut up and play something?”
Dutifully, I cross the adjacent space littered with instruments, take a seat at the drums and pull the sticks from my back pocket. I lift my gaze as the guys pile into the room and find places against the wall. Their skepticism is apparent. Time to prove them wrong.
Adrenaline works through my veins. As I hear their murmured doubts, I quash the smile that threatens to spread across my face. This is the part I love. Everyone I’ve ever performed for takes one look and assumes I can’t play, but they have no clue how talented I am. How the notes practically flow from my mind, and the music comes as natural as breathing.
These guys are like everyone else. They don’t think I can do this. They expect me to fall short.
“Anything in particular? Or shall I start with the planned set list?” I take the sticks and spin them between my fingers.
Trent catches the motion, releases a whoosh of breath and narrows his stare at my uncle. “Dude. Bedo. Really?”
“Just listen to him play. Close your eyes if it’s too distracting.” He nods at some guy in the sound booth and glances back at me. “Leighton?” My uncle’s gaze is full of warning. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t make me look bad.
No problem-o.
Closing my eyes, I visualize screaming crowds, blazing stage lights, and a magnetic energy in the air. I’m a fucking rock god. It’s go time. Sticks above my head I count it off and play like my life depends on it. And unless I plan on sulking home with my tail between my legs, it kinda does.
The sound guy pipes the guitars and vocals into the room and I’m careful to play exactly as it’s recorded on the tapes I practiced with yesterday. Now’s not the time to get creative or take over. Nobody likes a showoff. These guys already don’t like me. Sure, I get that I’m younger. I don’t have piercings or tattoos. And yeah, I was raised with a sense of fashion beyond ripped jeans and band T-shirts. But hell, I’m stuck behind this set. It’s not as if it matters what I look like as long as I can play.
Oh boy, can I play.
The energy from the music paints a smile on my lips. I can’t fight showing how much fun this is, or how much I love playing this music. It’s loud. Fast. Hard hitting. And before I know it the song comes to an end with one last kick and beat of my sticks. I lift my chin, tossing my head back to clear the hair from where it falls on my forehead.
Their faces are priceless. Complete and utter shock. All of them, well, except Uncle Bedo who is trying, unsuccessfully, to mask his grin.
Told ya I wouldn’t let you down.
“Okay, I’ll give it to you.” Austin nods before turning to Bedo. “The kid can play, but he looks like a child. I’m not even sure his balls have dropped yet. The fans will eat him alive. No offense, man.”
“None taken,” I say but Austin doesn’t hear my reply.
Bedo strolls by the guys, staring at me more as if I’m a product than a person. “Nerds are in right now. We could slap a pair of glasses on him maybe? Wardrobe will work their magic. Besides, I’m over the bad boy rockers. After the drummers we’ve been through, we need clean. I’m only hiring someone who can pass a full background check and drug test.” Bedo closes the space between us and slaps my back. “Leighton meets those qualifications, and he plays.”
Right. Insult my appearance and my name. That’s cool, man.
“Austin, stop being a dick,” Trent says. “That was one song. Does he know the set list?”
“He’s ready. I wouldn’t hire him if he couldn’t handle it.”
“What’s his story? Where’d he learn to play like that?” Sean says from where he sits in the corner. He’s been quieter than the rest of the band and I wonder whether that’s the way he is, or if he’s doubtful about my ability to do the job.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Bedo lifts his brow, and then drops his gaze to his phone. “Shit. I’ve got to take this. Why don’t the four of you play? Test the waters.” He taps on the screen. “Hello?” In four long strides the door bangs shut behind him with a thud.
All eyes on me, I twirl the sticks between my fingers and meet their gazes. “Shall we?”
“Fuck,” Trent says under his breath, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m too young to babysit.”
“Okay, pretty boy. Let’s see those chops.” Sean walks over to the bass and straps it on. “But cut the fancy talk, yeah?”
I almost respond with “Pardon?” but catch myself before the word flies out. I have more to learn than music for this role. Eighteen years of pedigree aren’t easy to shed overnight. Clearing my throat, I meet Sean’s gaze. “Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want.” Sean’s gaze dances with humor as he turns to Trent and Austin. “I already like this one.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a suck-up.” Austin groans, straps on his guitar, and struts in front of the drum set. “If you are, it’s my ass you should be kissing.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Trent rolls his eyes. “Enough chit chat, ladies. Let’s play. Demon’s Edge. From the top.”
I hold the sticks out, counting off and then beating down on the toms. Fuck, I love this. The melding of instruments makes a perfect sound. I keep my focus on the music, not willing to chance a look at any of the guys. I’m a trained musician. I’ve got this. Even if they don’t approve of my age or ink-free skin, they can’t say shit about how I play. The song is fucking rock perfection. As I beat out the final rolls, crashing against the cymbal, then stilling the sound with my hand, I finally lift my gaze.
They all stare as if I’m a freak of nature. With my IQ and musical training, that’s not exactly wrong.
“Another?” Sean slaps at the strings of his bass, the sick riff enough to bring a smile to everyone’s face. “Sapphire Nights, then transition right into Cut.”
“You can handle that, kid?” Austin lifts an eyebrow.
“I’ll manage.” I’m proud of myself for not rolling my eyes. With the tap of a bass beat, I break into the song and everyone joins along. This time I’m not so concerned about perfection, the rhythm’s simple enough a much less talented drummer could play without trouble. I allow myself to get lost in the music and I feel on fire, my body and mind sucked into the jam. It feels fantastic, and as I imagine playing this for thousands of screaming fans, touring the country, fuck, I can’t rein in the smile that spreads across my lips. This right here, it’s what I’ve always wanted, and for the first time in my life I get to steer the ship. I’m traveling my own map.
We jam out for a good hour and my uncle never returns, but it’s not a problem. It’s actually better he’s not here. We’re building trust as musicians—as a band—and it’s not something he can help with. I have to earn this.
“Hell, yeah!” Trent’s smile holds the same joy I feel in my bones. We rocked that last song as if we’d been playing together for years. I could hear it, and so could he. He nods to the door. “I guess Bedo’s not coming back.”
“You’ve really practiced.” Sean nods, walking over to pound his knuckles against mine.
I shrug, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years it’s that no one loves an egotistical ass. “Yesterday Bedo set me up in here with your practice tracks.”
“You learned all that in one day?” Sean asks, but there’s a hint of disbelief in his words.
I hold up my hands so he can see the blisters and calluses.
He lets loose a long whistle. “Savage as fuck.”
I think I’ve earned his measure of respect.
“Dude, what are you, some kind of genius?” Austin shakes his head. He doesn’t know the half of it.
“Something like that.”
Trent checks the screen of his phone and glances at the door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah, man. I’m starved. And I’m gonna win.” Austin heads for the door with Trent.
“You wish.” Sean laughs at Austin and sets his bass back into the stand. “You coming, kid?”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Bedo?” My fingers tap at my sides, a habit from when I was younger, and the second I realize I’m doing it I shove my hands in my pockets. “At least tell him we’re leaving?”
Austin bursts with laughter. “If he wanted to keep tabs, he should have stuck around.”
I glance at the door, propped open by the heel of Trent’s boot, and debate my options as three sets of eyes stare expectantly. Should I go with the guys, or will Bedo get pissed and fire me before we leave for the tour? “I’m not really sure—”
Trent snaps his thumb and index finger together before pointing my way. “Do you give a fuck where you sleep on the tour bus?”
The fact he’s acknowledging my place on this tour brings a smile to my lips. “I’m just honored to play with you guys.”
“Then stay here if you want. We’ve got a wing challenge to battle.” Trent shrugs and he and Austin leave.
Sean strides to the door, catching it before it shuts. He meets my gaze over his shoulder. “And if Bedo ever shows, tell him we’ll be at the house. He can come to us.” I don’t miss the animosity in Sean’s words, but I do wonder what my uncle did to place it there. Before I can ask, Sean is out the door and I’m left, for the second day in a row, alone in an empty studio.
7
Opal
When I was thirteen, my church provided a scholarship so I could go to camp in Galveston. It was the first time I went anywhere without my grandparents, and the first time I ever saw the ocean. As scared as I was to travel alone, there was an underlying current of excitement that came with experiencing adventure. I could hardly contain my joy on that Greyhound bus.
But when the camp started, I was matched in a small group of girls who were already friends. They’d gone to camp together the previous summer and as kind as they were, I was an outsider. I tried to smile and laugh along, but they shared inside jokes and a comradery that seemed impassable.
That’s very much how I feel here. Trent and the guys have been nothing short of friendly, as are Trent’s mom Deb and Sean’s friend Jess, but I feel like a misplaced girl. Lexi flew back yesterday to finish her tour, and it’s less than forty-eight hours until I head on tour with the guys.
I’m extremely nervous. It’s not that they aren’t kind and welcoming, they’ve been nothing but. Even Austin, who’s more than nice and takes delight in making me blush at his dirty innuendos. It’s more the way I don’t really belong here. I certainly don’t fit in, and more than anything, I don’t want to be a burden. Which is why I’ve made a special effort to stay out of the way these past few days. To give everyone space to hurt. To grieve the loss of their friend.
I can only relate with my experience losing Grams. The first few weeks were the worst. Everyone and their cousin stopped by, bringing food, warm memories, and offering to help. But how could they? She was gone. Everything our community did, though well meaning, seemed overwhelming.
Except for the food. That was practical. That was helpful. And it was really nice not to worry about meals when cooking seemed so trivial.
Those are the thoughts that lead me outside my room and downstairs to the kitchen. If there’s one thing I kno
w, it’s that my Grams’s sticky buns have magical powers. Okay, maybe it’s just the sweet icing and cinnamon baked combo, but food is the only way I know how to help.
The guys aren’t here today and I haven’t seen Trent’s mom or Jess yet. They’re usually around, or out in the garden, but today it’s just me in the mansion. The silence is comfortable, and I don’t have to explain myself as I rummage through the kitchen retrieving the ingredients I need. This pantry is fully stocked, and I hope it’s not a problem I make myself at home. I shake the doubt from my head. The guys have been insisting I do just that all week.
Plugging my new cell phone into the portable speaker on the counter, I find my favorite country music mix and crank it loud, shaking my hips as I sing along and measure, pour, and mix. The oven heats while I roll out the dough. It’s relaxing to work in the kitchen, and I find a rhythm, the way I’ve done with Grams a thousand times before. More scandalous though, since she made us listen to hymns and there was definitely no dancing involved. The thought brings forth a chuckle as I line up the rolls in the pan.
“Holy fuck.” Austin’s voice at my back causes me to jump and nearly knock over the open bag of flour. “Are you making apple pie? Please tell me you’re making pie.”
I reposition the flour further back on the counter and wipe my hands with a dish towel before lifting my gaze. “Gosh, sorry. No, I’m making sticky buns, but I can make you a pie next.”
“Don’t start giving in to his demands.” Trent strides into the kitchen, shoving Austin away from me and toward the barstools at the end of the island. “He’s a greedy bastard.”
“That I am.” The heated stare Austin directs across the counter is enough that I have to look away. Even still, I’m certain my skin blotches with the warmth of my blush. I don’t expect them to change how they talk, but it’s a harsh difference from the way I was raised that catches me by surprise.
“What is this shit?” Austin laughs, turning my music so low it’s not even audible.
