15. James
Chapter 15
James
W e’re so close— so damn close to getting this set just right. Tonight, we’re playing a gig at the Mayfair Lounge, one of my favourite bars in Central London. The atmosphere there is incredible, and they’ve always been good to us, hiring us regularly and giving us a chance when other places wouldn’t.
This venue has become our home base, where we’ve built a solid following from the ground up. Any chance to play here is a no-brainer—we take every gig we’re offered, and we treat every performance as another step closer to perfecting our songs for the big audition.
Tonight, we’re playing a mix of covers and originals. We figure it’s best to keep things balanced—if we only play our own stuff, the crowd might not connect as easily. Mixing in some well-loved covers keeps the energy up and the audience engaged. Plus, it gives us the perfect opportunity to showcase our versatility and let people see what we’re really about as a band. Seeing the crowd react to our music will never get old.
My arms ache from a long day of setting up scaffolding and wrestling with wet concrete, but the exhaustion doesn’t keep me from picking up my guitar and playing. I’m completely lost in the rhythm, plucking away at the strings of my bass when the intercom buzzes, cutting through my focus. I lift the strap over my head and carefully place the bass in its stand before heading over to buzz the guys in.
Swinging the door open, I’m greeted with claps on the shoulder and nods from Will, Tom, and Oliver as they step inside.
“You lads want a drink?” I offer.
“Yeah, mate. Just a lager,” Tom replies.
I glance at Will and Oliver, and they both nod. Heading into the kitchen, I open the fridge and grab a few beers before returning to the lounge, offering one to each of them.
We clink our bottles together in cheers, then lift them to our lips, taking long pulls of the cold beer.
“So, how are you guys feeling?” Tom asks as I drop onto the sofa, leaning back into the cushions and spreading my legs to get comfortable.
Will wanders over to the bookshelf along the far wall opposite the sofa and TV.
“Feeling great,” he replies over his shoulder as he begins thumbing through the rows of books. “James, do you actually read all this shit?”
“That shit ,” I say with a smirk, “is called philosophy. And yes, I’ve read every one of them.”
Oliver strolls over, pointing his bottle at Will. “You ever read a book, mate?”
“Of course I have,” Will says, sounding defensive.
“ Spot Goes to the Zoo doesn’t count,” I deadpan.
Oliver snorts, spitting out a mouthful of beer as he and Tom burst into laughter.
“Fuck you guys,” Will mutters, raising his drink to his lips, draining what’s left.
“Calm down,” Oliver says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve got a guitar to play, mate.”
“I’ll be fine,” Will says sharply.
“Don’t get sloshed, Will. This is a paid gig—don’t fuck it up,” I say, pointing at him in warning.
“Alright, alright,” he grumbles, making his way over to the coffee table to drop the empty bottle onto it.
My phone buzzes on the sofa next to me, and Tom and Will lean in to see who the notification is from.
“ Blond from Pret , ” Tom says, scoffing.
I roll my eyes. Yesterday morning, I met her at the local Pret while grabbing a coffee and a slice of banana bread. She was hot and struck up some small talk. One thing led to another, and she talked me into meeting her for a glass of wine last night—which quickly turned into three. Before I knew it, I had her bent over my sofa, fucking her from behind. Now, she’s been double-texting and blowing up my phone all day.
I don’t have time for dating or the drama that comes with it—not with the big audition coming up. I just needed to blow off a little steam before tonight’s gig. We had a good time. She was fun, and I enjoyed her company for what it was. But there’s only ever been one woman I’d actually consider making an effort for.
Fuck, that’s the first time I’ve admitted it.
I push the thought away before it takes root. I don’t need the distraction. Not now. Focusing on our music is too important. I can’t keep working as a labourer forever—it’ll never give Mum the life she truly deserves. Music runs in my veins, and that’s where I belong.
“Just ignore it,” I say, waving it off. I look over at Oliver, who returns a smirk, but doesn’t say anything.
We finish our beers, and I gather my bass and gear. The guys help me haul everything out to the van, loading it up like clockwork, like we’ve done a thousand times before. As Oliver turns the key and the engine rumbles to life, music blasts through the speakers, rattling the windows. Butterflies stir in my stomach, restless wings beating faster with every passing second. Tom taps my knee, sensing my nerves, and I shoot him a grateful nod.
I’ll never get used to the feeling that hits me right before we play. It doesn’t matter if we’re at home rehearsing or standing in front of an audience. Whether there are five people watching or a packed room, it always hits the same way—settling deep in my bones, thrumming in my veins like a second heartbeat. It’s a fire under my skin that I burn for.
This is what I was meant to do. The nerves, the rush, the music. And no matter how many gigs we play, I know I’ll never stop chasing this feeling.
We pull into the alley behind the venue, loading through the back entrance. The place is quiet as we haul our gear onto the stage, getting everything set up before the patrons arrive. It’s only 8:00 p.m., and we know the crowd won’t start filtering in until closer to 9:00.
The quiet, early evening chatter from lingering afternoon patrons is welcome—it gives us a chance to focus, adjust, and fine-tune without distraction. And once everything’s in place, it leaves us with just enough time to kick back with a drink. It’s a ritual we all love—the calm before the storm.
Once everything’s set up, the bar manager, Victoria, hands each of us a cold beer. Lugging in speakers, running cables, tuning our gear, and testing the sound takes time—and a lot of energy. We often work up a sweat by the time everything’s ready.
As the bubbles pop on my tongue and the cold liquid slides down my throat, I feel my shoulders loosen as the chill eases the tension from my muscles.
“Good luck tonight, guys. You’ll smash it—you always do,” Victoria says, turning to Tom and flashing him a wink before slinking down the hall, her hips swaying with deliberate force.
“Well, well,” Will says, grinning mischievously as he nudges Tom. “Looks like someone’s getting lucky tonight.”
“As long as she keeps hiring us, I’ll keep shagging her,” Tom says with a wicked grin.
“That’s so wrong,” Oliver mutters, shaking his head.
We hover backstage as people trickle in, the room gradually filling with the hum of chatter and the buzz of bodies swaying to the DJ’s music. The energy builds with each passing moment, and I feel the excitement radiating from the guys—it’s infectious. I pull my pick from my pocket and nibble on it, waiting.
Will peeks his head around the curtain separating us from the main bar, his eyes widening before he ducks back with a grin. “James, mate, you’re not gonna believe who’s here.”
“Who?” I ask.
“April. And she looks incredible.”
Fuck.