Chapter Six
KNOX
BITTER COFFEE. That’s how that chord tastes.
I move my fingers along the fretboard of the guitar, shifting from B major to F minor.
Worse. That tastes like a face-full of burnt milk.
I strum out the first few chords of one of our more popular songs, No Saints, All Sinners.
Every note is correct, and yet it tastes off to me.
My family and bandmates used to call me synesthesia, my superpower, and I agree with them.
My brain’s ability to link musical notes and chords to tastes and sometimes smells has helped guide me while creating some of our greatest hits across three albums and several EPs.
But these last years have been different.
Ever since my year from hell, the synesthesia has weakened and shifted.
These days, music tastes more bitter and sour, when before it was everything: salty, sweet, bitter, sour, spicy, even umami.
Forcing my stiff fingers through several songs for practice isn’t pleasant, but it needs to be done. I haven’t played live, let alone practiced in too long. My mind starts to wander to the other night.
To that woman.
Raven.
She was like fire, taking control of everything in sight and molding it to her will.
Watching her take command of a room stuffed full of NHL hockey players that towered over her without missing a beat was…
sexy. When she caught me after our set, I was immediately drawn to her once more, all the distractions from inside gone.
She smelled like rosewater and lilacs, the smells clinging to her hair and skin.
This weird sensation of rejection hangs over the memories. She went from jumping me in the alleyway to running away less than ten minutes later. I swear I can still smell her sweet pussy on my fingers days later, and it’s driving me a little crazy.
The chord pattern I am repeating absentmindedly with my fingers shifts in my ear and on my taste buds. By mistake, I create a G-flat major chord. Ginger, lemon, and honey. Spicy, sour, and sweet all at once.
I hear movement on the steps, and a few seconds later, Cash appears in the door frame.
“Hey, cousin,” I say, my smile wide and genuine.
I stand quickly to greet him, the guitar left forgotten on the window seat.
He’s lost several pounds since I last saw him, his usually clean chin fully scruff after nearly a week and a half without shaving. His frame seems fragile, like a strong enough gust might just turn him into a human kite. Still, his big goofy grin is the same no matter what.
“Hey, Knox. How you feeling today?”
“Fuck that, how are you feeling?”
“Better in general.” He pauses in thought. “A little winded after the walk into the house and up the stairs.”
“Here.”
I quickly shift everything from the lone chair in the room and gesture for him to take it. Cash’s expression is grateful, and he sits. After a few deep breaths, he meets my gaze again.
“Okay, much better now. And happy to see you, man. How are you?”
Thinking on that, I say, “Dry as hell.”
“Yeah, drinking lots of water is a must around here.”
“I’ll get some in a bit.”
Cash points to the instrument that lies abandoned.
“You practicing?”
I nod. I take up my position once more on the window seat, pressing my fingers across the strings.
“Trying to get my fingers to finger.”
Cash smiles and nods too.
“Thanks for coming out to do that gig. Via, Zeke, and I…we’re all pretty serious about fulfilling contracts. So when we suddenly went from a trio to a duo…”
“Say no more, Cash. I’m happy I was able to help. It’s actually been good for me. A few days to clear my head were nice.”
“Yeah? It’s been what… nine months since you took anything resembling a break?”
“More like nineteen months,” I admit.
Between helping my mom and my Uncle Garth with their businesses, I haven’t had a lot of time to rest. There’s been even less time for anything creative like music writing or practicing. We both turn when we hear more footsteps approaching. A moment later, Zeke appears in the door frame.
“And Via was worried you would need help to get upstairs.”
“I’m not that hard up for lung capacity. Although,” Cash adds thoughtfully, “I did have to sit down as soon as I got up here.”
The three of us laugh, Zeke coming in and sitting down on the window seat with me.
Zeke’s pale complexion has a noticeable tan in this bright morning light, the last few weeks of outdoor shows and gigs already visible on his skin.
His blond beard sometimes grows in patchy, so when he’s playing regularly in front of audiences, he keeps himself clean-shaven. His chin is smooth from a recent shave.
“I never did say thanks for covering those final few songs for me the other night.”
Stiff from hours of playing with no prep work, my hands began cramping in the last thirty minutes. Zeke took over lead, allowing me to rest. I was reminded that even though the sound was thinner, Zeke and Via make a solid duo.
Zeke shrugs. “Whatever it takes to get a good show out there.”
“You got them that. The bride and groom seemed happy.”
“We would have had to really fuck up for the bride and groom to notice. They were both absolutely smashed from start to finish.”
I smile, thinking of the young couple with their bright faces, greeting their guests with boundless energy. Even as I think about them, my mind’s eye slips past them to the sister. The dark figure over their shoulders ensuring everything goes off without any issues.
“Regardless, thank you for covering those last few songs.”
“How are the hands?” Zeke asks.
Turning my focus to my hands, I stretch out my fingers.
I feel each tendon, muscle, and bone and self-diagnose.
A slight burn in my left hand across the palm.
A little twinge in the middle and pointer fingers of my right hand.
Nothing a little rest and water can’t fix. I place the guitar back in its stand.
“All right.”
“Yeah? Maybe…up for another gig?”
I lift an eyebrow, looking between Zeke and Cash.
“You have another gig lined up already?”
“Via,” Zeke explains.
Of course. She and Zeke have always taken on booking shows, but she’s always been more proactive.
“She booked it the same day as that wedding.”
“Reception,” I correct unnecessarily.
“Right. Anyways, she booked it with your name, not just the Nightshades.”
I sit forward slightly.
“Why did she do that?”
Zeke shrugs, meeting my eyes expectantly. “Hoping against hope, maybe.”
“I only agreed to Saturday’s show because Cash was out sick. You’re back now.”
“I’m out of the worst of it, but playing the drums on stage for hours is something I’m going to have to work back up to doing.”
“Guys, I’m way out of practice. I won’t be any good to y’all.”
“The job’s not till tomorrow night, and it’s a low-stakes pub gig. That gives us a chance to actually run everything together. As a band,” Zeke adds hopefully.
I sigh, glancing out the window past him.
I haven’t played with the Nightshades regularly in years.
The last few years left me a wreck both physically and emotionally.
Music didn’t have the same deep allure it had always held for me after everything that happened.
I quit the band but encouraged Zeke, Octavia, and Cash to keep touring with the music we had created together.
They’ve been able to sustain themselves during that time as a trio, but none of them has ever really stopped trying to get me back. The Nightshades have even put out another five-song EP without me, but that failed to really go the distance with both critics and many of our fans.
Lacks excitement. Boring. Missing something essential.
And those were some of the nicer criticisms.
Cash has been down for almost two weeks now.
For a live band during the summer months, that’s easily three or more gigs missed per week.
And I know they’ve already canceled six gigs after Cash fell ill.
That’s thousands of dollars gone for the three of them.
Which means if I’m going to do this, I’m going to have to practice for at least a few more hours today and tomorrow.
I was off the other night at that reception, but I don’t want to do that again.
Not to myself and not to my band. I know they deserve better than what I gave them.
The smell of cooking food begins to creep up the steps and filter into my room. Bacon, coffee, something sweet. I breathe in deeply, and my stomach reminds me that it is currently empty. I stand and gesture towards the door.
“Shall we tell Via the good news?”
Zeke and Cash look at each other before they look back at me.
“So you’ll do it?” Cash asks.
“For y’all? I’d do anything.”
There’s an almost imperceptible release of tension in the air between them, but I still pick up on it. It actually makes me feel a little bit guilty. Did they really think I would say no to supporting them when Cash is still clearly in need of more recuperation time?
Well, yes. You’ve been saying no to them for almost five years.
“Okay, good,” Zeke says, “Because there’s more.”