Chapter 3
Being a girl drummer in a world of men had always been an uphill battle. Most rock bands were men, most managers and agents were men, and sadly, most music labels were run by men. Not to say things weren’t changing, but it was still extremely hard to be taken seriously in rock.
You had to be ten times better than a male counterpart to even be seen.
And I had double the challenge.
At 24, I was tiny, with a heart-shaped face, huge onyx-colored eyes, and long, naturally dark brown hair, which I streaked purple. I didn’t necessarily look like a rock drummer in one of the most popular bands, but one fact had driven a lot of attention and reservations to me.
I was deaf.
One of the few who, with unrelenting determination, pushed through the stereotype that a drummer couldn’t be deaf. Most assumed that because we couldn’t “hear”
music the same way as “normal”
people, we couldn’t play it. Especially not well.
Music, to some, was only sound, something you listened to on the radio to fill the silence.
Silence.
That word was different to me.
Music was something I felt. It was an entire-body experience, sweeping through me like I was the instrument of sound. The vibration of my drums would pulsate my body, throbbing into my skin, digging into my bones. I could see every note, feel every lyric, and disappear into another world where music was my entire existence, and I no longer felt the separation. I could get caught up in my world, feeling the beats, the sound floating into my bare feet, and vibrations thumping through my system, forgetting the real world existed sometimes.
Ames was impulsive and loved to chat with his audience or change the order of our playlist. So, picking up cues and shifts in a performance when the band’s backs were to me was difficult, especially if I was lost in a performance and didn’t know Ames went in another direction.
Even though I had worked hard to read lips, Ziggy became my “ears.”
He would sign to me of alterations in our song set and cues for when things were off script. He was placed close, where I could see his face, read his lips, and notice his signals.
We had become good friends since junior high when Ziggy and I met. Family. A mutual bond of being in the foster care system together, we protected each other. Or more, he protected me. We found our mutual love of music, playing and auditioning for every band we could.
He was asked to join most of them, his talent obvious. A deaf drummer girl…yeah…not so much. No matter how many times they heard me play, when I could out beat all the other men auditioning, they didn’t want me. Ziggy wouldn’t leave me behind. It was us as a package or nothing.
The rejection was brutal. One was from someone I thought I could trust. I was wrong, but it burned a fire in my belly. I wanted it more. And I wouldn’t stop until I was the best.
Until he regretted his choice.
A year after that dismissal, Ziggy and I met Ames, Tobias, and Geo. It was like finding family. The one I never had before. At the very center of the nucleus had been Ziggy.
That shattered when his demons won out, taking him from us, fracturing this group in a way we couldn’t seem to recover from.
Now, I felt the familiarity of the bass guitar vibrating through me again. The notes of Scotch Tape Hole throbbing against my chest, the deep chord tingling my skin gutted me. As if I looked up, Ziggy would be there.
It was not Ziggy who stood next to me, though. It felt wrong. Yet, I couldn’t stop the way my body responded. My gaze was captured by the man who stood in his place. His long hair flipped to one side, his huge physique, his hips curved into the guitar like it was his lover, while his fingers skillfully strummed at the strings. I could sense the passion in every note, the genius in his talent. He moved with certainty, a confidence and ownership of the instrument, a talent very few could challenge. And a promise that his proficiency would go way past playing music.
If rumors were true, his off-stage talent exceeded expectations, with multiple women at a time. At one time, I might have been just another one.
For a moment, I understood as his tune moved up my body, thrumming through my thighs, pulsing similar to a heartbeat. Drix Decker played with a primal passion. He didn’t show much emotion in everyday life, though he laid it all out on stage, giving insight to the raw power behind the man. The command he would have over you if he treated you anything like he did his guitar, just with his fingers alone.
There was no denying the man was sexy as hell. Carnal in a way that drew you to him no matter if you liked his music or if he was your type. He oozed visceral confidence and pure unadulterated sex. A true rock god. I hated to admit it, but Hendrix had the talent to back it up and the looks to drop you to your knees in reverence, which made me despise him more.
But what the fuck? He knew ASL…
I knew he didn’t when I first met him. When he found out I was deaf, his reaction was callous, cutting me deeply. Yet now, he signed to me so fluently that I would think he had signed all his life. When did he learn it? Why?
Drix finished his riff, eyes on me, my own beat syncing as if his gaze kept me in a trance. His boot tapped at the floor, and I picked up on the rhythm, counting the beats, the change in tempo. He strummed at his guitar. His chin lifted before it dipped to me, his finger raised from the strings pointing at me, telling me it was time for my solo.
It was similar to what Ziggy used to do for me. It took us months to reach a place where our signals and prompts were second nature. How did Drix pick it up so quickly?
A burning rage seized my chest as my arms pounded down, my bare feet hearing the music, crashing the ride, my right foot hitting the bass drum. We shouldn’t have this kind of rapport so soon. It felt like a slap in the face to how hard Ziggy and I worked to create the exchange between us.
He shouldn’t have known those signals. It felt intimate and way too comfortable, as if we had been doing this for years together when he was nothing but an outsider. One who none of us would let into the band, nor did I believe he truly wanted to be. Why was he here and not with Velvet Kings? Was this some trick?
Ames cupped the microphone as the song ended, crooning out the final heartbreaking lyrics. It was a song I had written right after Ziggy’s death. The song mirrored what I felt, the fake smile I had to put on, pretending my world wasn’t falling apart.
Emmit jumped back on stage, his hands clapping together in excitement. “Holy shit!”
He purposely faced me so I could see him. “That was the fucking best I’ve ever heard you guys play!”
The insinuation cut went deep: we never played this well with Ziggy.
A scowl puckered my mouth, my aggravation shooting over at the man a few feet from me, then to the men I considered brothers.
Tobias and Geo had smiles on their faces, their heads bobbing in agreement. I could tell Ames was fighting a smile, his mouth thinning. “It was pretty good.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “But can you keep up with The Devil Takes Me?”
Another hit we had with complex cadences and one of the toughest bass riffs.
Drix’s fingers strummed the first cords, a smugness twitching his lips before he let loose.
The melody of The Devil Takes Me struck from the soles of my feet to my scalp. I could feel every cord, taking me with him through the highs, touching the sky, to the lows, where the devil awaited. Air caught in my chest, my eyelids wanting to close, wanting to fall into his resonance.
Drix did what very few musicians could—took you to another world. Another dimension.
Music was just another way to tell a story. To capture people and take them on a journey. It was heartbreaking, healing, joyful, and angry. It captured human emotion, no matter what creed, race, or sex you were. Music could unite with a note or rally with a war cry.
Music didn’t discriminate. It just found another way to seduce and take hold of your soul.
It was why even those of us who couldn’t hear the lyrics still found a home within the beats and rhythms. We heard it differently than others, but because other senses were more developed, I think we felt it even deeper.
Drix’s fingers skillfully thrummed the song's bridge, running a shiver up my spine. His notes hit deeper, more soulful than anyone I’d ever heard before. Even more than Ziggy, as if Drix bargained with the devil to take his soul in exchange for otherworldly talent.
His amber irises lifted to me, his chin dipping twice, already knowing how to cue me in to start playing with him. Twirling my sticks, my arms moved automatically while my brain told me to flip him off. The pull to play always overpowered my logic. I jumped in on the bridge, our beats syncing instantly. His gaze stayed on me as we finished the last crescendo, making me feel like we were the only ones on earth, a connection only music could build.
The song came to an end, but his focus stayed completely on me, a smile hinting at his mouth, our gazes locked, the air hitching in my lungs, fluttering in my stomach.
“Fuck man, you guys were insane!”
Tobias peered between us in awe. “Never heard that take on that song, and never heard Echo play that way either.”
He stepped toward him, breaking our connection and forcing the air back into my lungs, jolting me back to reality.
Did I just get butterflies? What the hell was wrong with me? I hated him.
But when he looked at me, it felt magical. Like no one else could touch our level.
Grow up, Echo, you’re not seventeen anymore.
I had learned long ago that it was just a party trick, an act to make those around him feel special and seen. I stupidly fell for it once until I learned what he was really like.
“Yeah, fuck. I say bygones be bygones.”
Geo laughed. “That made me fuckin’ hard.”
“Which is not difficult for you.”
Tobias chuffed.
Ames was the stereotypical lead singer manwhore, though he was particular in wanting models, actresses, and Playboy Bunny types. Tobias took all the ones Ames didn’t, but Geo subtly outdid them both because he had no preference. He was open to anyone who was hot and flattered his ego. Though they might all have to bow down to Drix if rumors of his endless stream of women running through his bed were even partially true.
“Whatever bullshit you guys had.”
Emmit stepped in. “Forget it. You want to be the best out there?”
He gestured to Drix. “This is the key.”
“I’m in.”
Tobias and Geo both agreed.
I was not.
All eyes went to Ames. Though it was a mutual band decision, Ames always seemed to have a little more weight in his vote.
Ames rubbed at his blonde scruff, a debate raging across his brows. Then his head started to bob, his shoulders easing down. “Yea?—”
“No!”
My revolt danced through my vocals, producing enough vibration to turn their heads my way. “No!”
I shook my head, dropping my sticks, my hands reconfirmed my vote.
Drix’s gaze burrowed into me, peeling at my skin, but I kept my attention on my band. “He will not take Ziggy’s spot.”
Ziggy fucking hated him. Probably because of me, but I still couldn’t stomach the thought of Hendrix Decker standing in his spot, creating a bond with me only Ziggy and I should have.
“Echo…”
Emmit signed my name.
“NO!”
My throat cut over the word, and I knew it was extra loud. Ziggy was the one to help me with speaking, from how to measure the vibration in my throat to how clear and loud it came out. While we were kids in foster care he became my everything. Yet, somehow, I missed all the signs he was struggling. That he didn’t come out of what happened to us unscathed. He was good at hiding his demons, keeping the focus on me, being my big brother and best friend.
Geo started to open his mouth, his countenance speaking before his mouth did, and I could see the empathy to my struggle, but they did not feel the same. Ziggy had been a friend, but clearly, his memory would go to the wayside.
Even Ames looked at me with the same expression. They were all on board with Drix joining us. How easily they all flipped. Their principles yesterday no longer mattered in the face of fame and fortune today.
My head shook harder, my glare sweeping over the brothers I thought would feel the same about Drix.
“It’s three against one.”
Ames shrugged. “I’m sorry, but he’s in.”
Disgust and hurt wrapped around my gut, burning the back of my throat.
My fingers spoke what my mouth could not.
“So much for honor and integrity. I guess Ziggy’s memory can’t hold up to your need for fame.”
I whirled around, stomping out.
I couldn’t hear but could feel someone call out my name. Being deaf meant we listened with our whole bodies, intuition guiding us when other senses failed.
And mine took me to the only person who had ever really heard me.