Chapter 2
Eric
Current Time
“You’re late, motherfucker!” Theo’s voice comes bouncing around the corner as I barrel into the studio, slamming the door behind me as I jog into practice.
The rest of the band glares at me, but they lack any genuine heat.
They're used to me pushing the boundaries with our schedule. It’s become a running joke within our group that it’s the sole reason I’m the singer, because if I can’t even manage a simple watch, how could I possibly be trusted with an instrument?
Joke's on them, though, because they can’t perform without me.
“Sorry, sorry,” I pant as I collapse onto the couch next to Tai, our keyboardist and backup vocalist. I throw my hand up in a quick fist bump, which he returns with a grin. He’s got an amazing voice that's good enough to replace me if necessary, so I keep him on good terms.
The rest can fuck off.
Theo grins and shakes his head at me as I toss a cheeky wink at him. He chuckles quietly, his bass guitar hanging loosely around his narrow shoulders. He’s so small, it looks like a kid ran off with his dad’s guitar, but don’t let the size fool you—fucker can play.
“Can we get a move on now?” Dante shoots daggers at me.
“Sure thing, Chrome Dome,” I say with a cocky smirk as I gesture at his shiny, smooth head.
Tai tries unsuccessfully to cover his laugh with a cough.
“Don’t call me that, asswipe,” Dante snaps back. His annoyance is clear, but that’s just who he is. An integral part of his personality. He's our lead guitarist and self-appointed manager, and he’s a bit of a tight-ass.
And by that, I mean he schedules everything we do with a level of anal precision. Shows, tour bus rentals, equipment… hell, he’s so uptight that last time we were on the road, he created a shower schedule.
Never thought I’d be told it wasn’t my turn for the bathroom as a fucking adult, but under his iron thumb, it happened.
When we formed the band four years ago, none of us had any grand expectations.
We were nothing more than a bunch of friends pursuing a hobby and having a good time.
Then, eighteen months ago, a major influencer stumbled upon one of our concerts, and everything changed.
Our popularity exploded overnight, and what used to be a few shows a month has transformed into a whirlwind of requests for gigs and multi-state tours.
Hence the single bathroom on the tour bus.
We’re caught in that awkward middle ground where our dreams of making it big are taking shape, but our income isn’t high enough to be careless. Limited spending means we’re forced to make the best of it by cramming five guys onto a bus that’s meant to house three.
Speaking of five guys…
“Where’s Anthony?” I ask, scanning the room for our missing drummer.
Dante glances at me, chewing on his lip like he does when he’s nervous or on edge.
“That’s part of today’s discussion,” he finally says.
“You guys know Anthony’s second daughter was just born…
” Before he even finishes his sentence, I can sense where this is headed, and my stomach drops like a lead balloon.
“… and he doesn’t want to be on the road so much. He’s stepping out.”
A chorus of curses erupts from the group. “Dude, we have a tour rolling out in barely more than a month,” I argue as my foot twitches, thumping against the ground in my agitation. “He can’t fucking bail on us like that. It’s not like we have a backup drummer lying around.”
Any of the rest of us could be covered for pretty easily, seeing as there are two vocalists and two guitarists… three, if you include me. I rarely play for the band, but in a pinch, I could jump in. We could manage without the keyboard if we had to, but our drummer?
A rock band with no drums? That shit does not exist.
Might as well slap some denim suits on us and call us a boy band so we can N'STYNC it up.
From beside me, Tai looks as stressed as I feel. “How the fuck are we supposed to replace him in that amount of time?” he asks. “It would take a goddamned miracle.”
Everyone grunts in agreement, but I catch the small smirk on Dante’s face.
“What do you have up your sleeve?” I ask, and the others quiet as they notice his smug grin.
“Well, you know I like to be prepared,” he starts, which is the understatement of the fucking century.
“When Anthony told us about the baby, I had a feeling it might cause a problem. I know a guy who’s a genius on the drums, and I gave him copies of our music a few months back just in case.
He said he’d be ready if we ended up needing him. ”
A skeptical snort rolls out of me before I can help it. “Okay, but if he’s so talented, why isn’t he in a band?”
In my periphery, the others nod slowly.
This seems way too good to be true.
Annoyance flickers in Dante’s eyes as he gives me a pointed glance. “Look, we don’t have the time to be choosy beggars right now. I won’t insist on his place, because like everything else we do, it’s a team vote.”
I scoff under my breath, because guaran-damn-teed that shower schedule was not a group vote.
Dante glares again. “You guys will get the chance to meet him, and then we’ll all jam for a while to see how he fits.
We can make a decision after that. The reason he isn’t in a band is because it broke up.
Their singer decided jail time sounded like a good idea when he beat the shit out of his wife’s boyfriends.
Yes, plural,” he adds, before any of us can ask the question.
Well, that was unexpected.
“The remaining members decided it was best to go separate ways,” Dante continues.
“He works for his father’s company full-time now as some sort of executive, so his career took all of his time.
But it also means he has the freedom to step away from his position without the worry of it being gone when the tour is done. ”
Although I grumble incoherent nonsense, I can’t deny that it does sound convenient, even though I’m skeptical. It’s like, my job to doubt people.
Lord knows I’ve had enough reasons in my life to question others’ actions.
Theo speaks up from his perch on the other sofa. “So, who is this guy, and when do we get to meet him?”
Dante pulls his trusty calendar out, glancing over it. “He can join us at our next practice, and he goes by Sticks.”
My snort is louder than intended, and all three heads whip in my direction. “Sorry,” I drawl, “it's just… a drummer that calls himself Sticks? Come on, that’s a little… fuck, what is that? Funny? Lame? I don’t even know.”
Dante’s brown eyes are stern as he turns to me. “Don’t be an asshole, Eric. He might be our only hope.”
“Okay, Princess Leia,” I retort.
“Don’t call me that,” he snaps at me for the second time today.
A grin spreads across my mouth. “If the buns fit…” His scowl deepens into his serious face, and I decide it’s time to pivot. “I’ll be nice to your precious Sticks as long as he knows his way around a drum set.”
“The guy is like a musical prodigy. I’m not worried about his ability. Now, if we’re done whining, I have a few more things to go over before we play.”
Three days later, I’m determined to prove I can show up on time.
Spoiler: I can’t.
Despite my plans, I’m weaving my SUV through traffic and stealing angry glances at the clock on the dash. I’m already five minutes late, but today it wasn’t my fault.
My work as an independent IT consultant means I handpick clients and create my own schedule, which sounds amazing in theory.
Unfortunately, computers don’t like to crash when it’s convenient.
Without fail, it’s when I’m running out the door, trying my hardest to juggle my insane lifestyle, that one of my key clients reports issues with her equipment.
Of course, when I asked her if she rebooted, she dutifully said yes. I spent the next twenty minutes hurrying back to my desk and remoting in to her network.
And what would you know? As soon as I restarted her fucking computer, everything magically started working again. These are the idiots who pay me hundreds of dollars an hour.
Now I’m late and pissy, even if my wallet is fatter. Dark clouds litter the sky, and I mutter under my breath as I drive, begging the rain to wait until I get inside.
For once, my luck looks like it’s going to hold out.
Once I'm parked, I jump out and slam the door, but when I take a lengthy stride toward the building, I’m slingshotted back against the car.
“Oh, what the fuck!?” I bellow, glancing down to find I’ve caught the hem of my t-shirt in the door.
I give the handle a furious yank, but it's already locked. A long, nasty string of obscenities growls out from between my teeth as the sky splits open, and Heaven itself pisses all over me in a torrential downpour.
By the time I jam my hand into my pocket and mash the unlock button, get myself unfucked, and sprint to the studio, it looks like I jumped into a swimming pool. Like fucking clockwork, Theo’s voice echoes down the hallway, same as it does every goddamned time. “You’re late, motherfucker!”
I’m convinced they have that shit recorded, ready to bust my balls the second I walk in the door.
I stomp into the room with rainwater slicking down my body, and the chilly studio makes me shiver.
Shaking my head and cursing my luck, I storm toward the small kitchen and tear my shirt off.
I wring it out over the sink and get an unusual amount of satisfaction from watching my knuckles bleach as they strain to squeeze harder.
I’m not even a violent person, but right now I just want to—
“Rough day, Eric?”
My head jerks up as my muscles freeze. Moving so slowly it might be slow motion, I twist my entire body to confront the source of the question.
Tall as I remember, dark hair still thick and unruly, and nearly black eyes as intense as ever. Tattoos cover his muscled forearms, and a heavy five o’clock shadow peppers his square jaw.
For a second, we both just stare, and then my stomach drops all the way to the floor as his face splits into a giant, beaming smile.
For the first time in six years, I’m standing too close to the sun.
Dmitri.