Chapter 3
(Kit)
“Your phone’s ringing.”
I rolled my eyes at my best friend’s blatantly obvious statement, considering the heavy metal drumbeat my phone was currently broadcasting across the room.
“No bull, I’ve kind of got my hands full here.”
“Yeah, you might want to put that down.”
Grumbling, I stood there with a platter full of sizzling wings in my hands and absolutely no place to put them, since Brady had yet to dig out the cooling rack I’d asked him to find, like, ten minutes ago.
“Dude, either find the cooling rack or find some damned potholders so you can take these.”
“You’re wearing the only ones that aren’t in the wash,” he shot back as he knelt to rummage around in one of the lower cupboards. “Gotcha.”
He emerged waving it triumphantly, even while the phone kept on blaring out the drumbeat I’d set for Ozias Watson, drummer of the metal band Blissfully Immune, who also happened to be my mentor and the man who’d given me the opportunity to play in his stead for several shows, including a third of their set at Rocktoberfest. The longer we played this ridiculous game of where to put the fucking wings, the more my anxiety revved up over not being able to answer him.
“Great, wonderful, now put it on the table and celebrate about it later,” I snapped.
"Oops, yeah, sorry about that.”
I plonked the wings down on the cooling rack, damn near on his fingers in my haste to get to my phone.
“Hey, Ozzy, sorry for taking so long to answer,” I replied, rambling while my brain kicked into overdrive, running through the potential reasons he might be calling me.
It’s all good. We can chat later if you’re in the middle of something.
“Just some wings and a night of playing cards with Brady, neither of which we’ve dived into yet.”
Sounds like a good time.
“Hopefully.”
His sigh echoed through the phone with a kind of heaviness that led me to believe this wasn’t a social call.
I’m going to cut right to the chase, since there will be a lot of moving parts involved in this if you say yes, Ozzy began, but I need you on the road with us on a permanent basis if you’re still down to be my relief drummer.
“Hell yeah!” I yelped, startling Brady, who dropped the bottle of ranch dressing he’d been in the process of pulling from the fridge.
Fortunately, it was plastic, so it just bounced and spun a few feet. Excitement soon turned to cold realization, though, as the weight of Ozzy’s words hit.
“Wait, does that mean things didn’t go well with the specialist?” I asked.
When I’d replaced him last, it had been so he could have a series of tests done on his hands to try and pinpoint the source of the soreness, stiffness, cramping, weakness, and shooting pain he’d been experiencing on and off for over a year.
While he’d valiantly played through it, over time, he’d been forced to cut back on the number of online drum tutorials he produced to try and preserve his hands for shows and crafting new drumlines for Blissfully Immune’s upcoming releases.
It couldn’t have gone any worse. I expect to be fully handing over the sticks to you inside a year. Until then, we’ll split the shows, and I'll start getting you involved with collaborating with the rest of the band, so you’ll be ready to take over my duties in that regard too.
“Damn.”
Hey. We can hold a pity party in my honor when it’s time for me to step away.
Right now, I need you and your drum kit ready to load up tomorrow afternoon.
We’ll send a van for you. You’ll meet up with us in Philadelphia.
We’ve got a show Friday night. I’m going to play the first half, then hand the sticks over to you to play the second, just like we did last time.
We can discuss encores and shit when you get here.
“Sounds good. I’ll be ready.”
I know you will. We’ll wait until you’re with us to go live on social media about this new shift in the band format.
You’ll have a guard on you from here on out too, which will be another change you’ll need to get used to.
Draven has your contract drawn up; you’ll be able to sign it when you arrive. Do you have any questions for me?
"N-no, um, I’m good. I’m sure I’ll have some when it fully hits. I just, I can’t believe I’m about to be a part of Blissfully Immune.”
“Not about to be. Welcome to the band, Kit. I know you’ll do me proud.”
“I will, I swear I will.”
“Relax, you’ve already got the job. All you’ve got to do now is get here and play like I know you can. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow, Ozzy,” I replied before he ended the call.
Damn.
Holy shit.
I needed to sit, only I’d started shaking so hard I dropped my phone instead.
“Dude, sit down before you fall down,” Brady said, hand firm on my shoulder.
It was a good thing the chair was behind me, because my knees gave out as the breath whooshed from my lungs.
Light spots danced before my eyes, and I swore the room did this whole tilt, shift, and slide thing before finally spinning, forcing me to cover my face and breathe deeply while I waited for my thoughts to sort themselves out.
Welcome to the band.
The phrase echoed through my head, but even the repetition didn’t make the words feel real.
See you tomorrow.
Well shit, shit, shit, now those words were practically panic inducing.
If he was going to see me tomorrow, that meant I needed to pack my shit, and honestly, the task alone was daunting.
The washer and dryer in our building’s basement had been on the fritz until so many of us complained that the landlord finally just replaced them instead of sending the same tired, frazzled repair guy to come out and try and repair the decrepit old machines for the dozenth time.
The result was a frenzied rush of damn near everyone in the building flocking down there to get piles of laundry washed, Brady and I included, and man, we’d had a tower of filthy shit piled up.
All of which was now heaped in haphazardly folded piles all over the couch, waiting for us to find the time to get everything put away properly.
At least it was clean.
I just…didn’t even know where to start choosing what to take with me.
Space on tour buses was limited even with Draven adding a third bus following the Rocktoberfest show.
That one had been designated for Robbie, Kayden, Jagger, the St. Bernards that traveled with them, and the guard that rode along to keep everyone safe.
Mickey, Draven, and Johnny shared the second bus, which also served as Draven’s mobile command center, with Sully, the head of Damage Inc., the band’s security team, riding in that one as well, as well as whichever bodyguard who’d been assigned to ride along that day.
That would leave me on the bus with Rebel, Ozzy, Dash, and the guard who would travel on the bus with us. It was honestly a nice setup that allowed for plenty of creative interaction as well as enough space that we wouldn’t be riding in each other’s laps on the way to the next show.
Well, most of us wouldn’t be. With Johnny and Draven dating and Kayden, Jagger, and Robbie in a committed relationship, I was certain someone was riding in someone’s lap for a whole different reason, but that was their business.
"Are you good now?” Brady asked.
Blinking, I raised my head to see the platter of wings resting on the table in front of me, honey glazed and looking delicious as fuck, though I wasn’t sure I could focus on food at the moment. “Huh?”
“Judging from your end of the conversation, I’m about to have the apartment to myself for a while,” Brady said.
“Yeah, I, um, there’s a van coming for me tomorrow. Shit, my room looks like it got hit by a nor'easter, and I have no fucking clue where my backpacks are at.”
“Stacked on the second shelf of the hall closet beside the tote of travel supplies you tucked away after the last time you had to rush out of here last minute. Did you forget about almost giving us both our first gray hairs after the batshit crazy frenzy to find everything you needed?”
“Uhhh maybe?.”
“It’s a good thing I didn’t,” he replied as he set a paper plate and a can of root beer down on the table in front of me.
“I don’t have time to eat,” I muttered as he started scooping wings onto my plate.
“Wrong,” he said as he added a couple more. “You pass out on the floor, and you’ll wind up with four backpacks full of whatever the hell I manage to stuff in them. Somehow, I doubt that would make for a good look.”
“No shit, you colorblind bastard. You’ll have me up there in a Tweety Bird shirt and purple spandex.”
“Hey now, you don’t even own purple spandex.”
“Okay, fair, but you know what I mean,” I replied, grinning up at him.
It felt good to finally be able to draw a full breath without the world spinning, which I knew wasn’t just a result of the news I’d received.
Like idiots, we’d tortured ourselves by shopping hangry instead of stopping at the corner diner for a proper brunch.
Instead, we’d charged into the insanity of Friday payday shoppers with our stomachs growling as we tried to grab everything we needed before the next storm rolled in.
And now I’d get to miss however many inches it dumped on us.
Really, it was dumb. Every store had been too hot, too bright, overcrowded, and loud.
Empty shelves had led us to make four stops before we’d checked off the last thing on our list, and of course, we’d decided to torment ourselves further by insisting on making the wings for supper instead of grabbing something we could throw in the microwave.
As Brady poured buttermilk ranch in dipping containers for us to dunk our wings in, my stomach gave an aggressive rumble, reminding me that Brady was right.
If I didn’t stick something in it, I was going to wind up passing out or packing like a chaos gremlin, neither of which would help my cause.
“Let me know if the tour brings you guys this way; I might not be front and center, but I’ll be somewhere in the crowd, rocking out like I’ve lost my mind.”
“If I can get you tickets to be up front, you’ll sure as hell have them,” I replied. “It would be nice to stare out into the crowd and know that at least one person will be happy that I’m up there and not pissed that I’m playing half the set for Ozzy.”
“Not going to blow smoke up your ass, we both know it’s going to be rough at first. But you are a beast on those drums, and he’s been mentoring you for years,” Brady said. “They’ll warm up to you and come to realize that you were the best fit for the band, just like when you filled in for him.”
“I hope so. Running into Claude at Rocktoberfest was kind of sobering, since I knew I’d be heading home while he and his new band were going to be out on the road being pelted with panties and the goddess knows what else.”
“Dude, you’ve never wanted to be pelted with panties.”
“Still don't, but you know where I was headed with that,” I explained. “It’s just surreal that it’s finally happening and not just on a temporary basis. At least my drum kit is packed and ready to go.”
“Don’t be shocked if you come home to find that I’ve turned the drum storage room into a hookah and gaming space.”
“As long as there's room for me to stash them somewhere when I get home.”
“Dude…this isn’t home; this is just where we landed ‘cause the rent was cheap,” he replied, biting into a wing with a grin on his face.
“You made the big time. By the time you come off tour, you’ll be able to afford a real home in a neighborhood where you don’t have to dodge broken glass and junkies on your way to get the mail. ”
As his words washed over me, I felt the first stirring of something that wasn’t anxious, desperate panic. Hope. The future I’d always dreamed of was finally in my grasp, and I wasn’t about to let it slip through my fingers.
“Just make sure you set a guest room aside for me, fucker,” Brady remarked, a smear of sauce clinging to the corner of his lips.
“Bet.”