Chapter Sixteen
KNOX
THE BLAST of cold air that hits my face as I step into the building is welcome, and the sun’s heat is intense before it’s truly midday. I wave to Hendrix as we pass each other in the hallway on my way to the stage.
Via and Cash are chatting in low voices, and Zeke gives me a quick head nod when he sees me.
“Knox, can we talk for a minute?”
I look over my shoulder and see Raven standing in the doorway of the office. I glance over at Cash, Zeke, and Via, but they are all suddenly very busy.
“Sure, boss. What’s up?”
She gestures with her head to come into the office before disappearing herself.
I glance down at my watch, and it reads 11:01.
Seeing that confirms I’m late, but only technically.
Still, my heart rate spikes a little, reminding me that I’ve never grown out of the unsettled feeling of being called to the principal’s office, even into adulthood.
I jump off the stage and cross the floor, joining her in the room.
The space is small, the lights low. I see a desktop with two screens and a laptop.
All three have a different contract or spreadsheet pulled up.
Raven clicks around for a moment before the three screens all change to her screen saver.
I study the first image for a moment. It’s a candid photo of Raven with a man.
They are both dressed in Halloween costumes, and it only takes me a moment to realize it’s a coordinated couple’s costume.
Something unhappy moves around in my gut, the pinprick of jealousy.
That jealousy almost immediately morphs into images of me ripping off the head of whoever is in that mask next to her.
Okay, that’s new. And not exactly a healthy reaction.
The lights from the computer screen flash across her glasses for a moment, making her eyes impossible to see until she looks directly at me.
“We’ve got rehearsal starting right now, and the rest of the band’s already been here warming up for the last fifteen minutes. You’re just walking in. Again.”
I hold up my hands.
“I know, I know. Traffic was crazy, and I had to grab strings, and—”
“Knox.”
The way she says my name stops my next excuse before I can even begin forming it.
“Every day can’t be an emergency. If it’s not traffic or instrument problems, it’s oversleeping or forgetting your music or the coffee maker attacking you. I need you here on time. Our first show is right around the corner, and we’re behind because we keep waiting on you.”
That pinprick of jealousy I felt shifts into a low tide of irritation. Even though I’m the one in the wrong here, I nevertheless feel defensive.
“Ven, I play everything well, I memorize faster than anyone, and I kill on stage. You know that. One late arrival isn’t going to blow it.”
“It’s not one late arrival. It’s a pattern.
I’ve known you for how many weeks, and you have yet to be consistently on time for your own band’s rehearsal.
Being talented doesn’t excuse unreliability, Knox.
Being good isn’t enough if the rest of the band has to compensate for you or stand in for part of a gig,” she adds pointedly.
Damn, she is never going to let that go, is she? I’m not proud that Zeke had to play the last twenty minutes at her sister’s reception, and I know Ray’s right. But I still feel under attack.
“So I’m the problem now?” I huff.
She shrugs, looking thoughtful.
“When it comes to consistency—yes. You are. I’m saying this because I actually believe in you. If you didn’t bring something important to this group, this conversation would be a lot shorter. After all, I’ve heard the Nightshades as a trio, and they are solid.”
I sigh, crossing my arms defensively.
“I feel like you’re always on me. You never say anything when I nail a solo or rearrange a harmony when you give us a new standard to practice.”
Raven’s expression, unreadable at first, begins to soften.
“I do notice those things. You’re extremely gifted, Knox. And the band undoubtedly sounds better because of you. But showing up late, missing a run-through—that overshadows what you bring musically.”
“My process just isn’t as rigid as yours, Ven. You’re…” I search for the right word. “You’re intense. Everything’s schedules and spreadsheets with you. Music isn’t like that for me. I need to feel it in my body or hear it in my ear.”
“Music on stage during a performance can be spontaneous. But music in rehearsal cannot. Not when it’s people’s income. My intensity is what keeps this venue booked, and all my artists, yourself included, paid.”
I nod, trying to take a mental step back. I get that. I do.
“You’re right,” I finally say, “I just… burn out fast when it feels like the pressure is too much. I love music and performing. I just haven’t been asked to do it at this level, not in years, honestly. ”
“Then tell me that instead of disappearing or sliding in late. I’m not asking for military-level discipline here.
I’m asking for communication and respect for everyone else’s time.
If this is going to work for the rest of this season, I need you to show up on time and be accountable.
If something’s off, bring it up early, not at the last minute.
If you’re running late, send a message. We cannot run on Knox Standard Time anymore if we are going to be a successful team. ”
I grin a little at that.
“A team, including you?”
“Yes.”
Nodding along, I say, “I think I like that idea, but what do I get in return?”
“Other than keeping your job?” Raven answers immediately, her timing reminding me of a comedian. I think I see a little smile at the corner of her mouth, but it disappears.
“Yes, other than keeping my job and my bandmates from killing me for losing this job.”
Now she does smile. It’s not wide, just the corners of her lips turning up slightly. Still, seeing that makes me determined to get her to do it again.
“A boss who will stop riding you because she knows she can count on you.”
Her words send my mind directly into the gutter, but I work to keep listening as she continues.
“And more creative room. Demonstrate your reliability, and I’ll loosen the reins. Let you arrange more. Maybe have you feature more of your original songs during the opener’s set.”
That breaks through the filthy thoughts I was having about her riding me.
“Wait—seriously?”
So far we’ve only been playing our most popular songs interspersed between cover songs.
Ven nods.
“Seriously. The Nightshades have real potential. I don’t hold you back because I don’t trust your music. I hold back because I don’t trust your follow-through. Fix that, and I’ll give you all the space you want.”
“All right, I can work on that. I’m not promising perfection, but I will make a true effort to be more consistent and reliable for you.”
“That’s all I’m asking. Actually—no, that’s not all. You’re staying ten minutes after rehearsal today to run the bridge you missed yesterday.”
I sigh, but I still smile. “Fair.”
“Good. Now let’s get to work. The team’s waiting.”
Her choice of that word feels significant to me in that moment.
I’ve always thought of Cash, Via, and Zeke as a family first and a band second.
We’ve held each other up through so many moments in each other’s lives that the lack of blood relation between the four of us is meaningless at this point.
We are like cousins, a bond forged by time, care, and music.
But I’m realizing in the moment that I’ve been pretty careless with them in these last few weeks. I agreed to come out here to cover for Cash. I agreed to stay longer and audition for this contract. I agreed to all of this, yet I’ve been too casual about what that all actually meant.
Without another word, I leave her office and head to the stage.
The next two hours pass with the frenzied intensity I used to have nearly every day when I was in my twenties.
As we near the end of the set list for opening night, I cross the last song on our ever-growing set list with any real imperfections.
After the first run of it, I request that we run it again.
“Yeah,” Cash asks, sounding surprised.
“Last chance to do it in here.”
A second run of the song is cleaner, but I know I can do better. When it finally all aligns on the third run, when we hit the final chorus that last time, I start feeling buzzed. The sensation doesn’t make it all the way to my tongue, yet I feel more confident about the relaunch.
This last month has felt like a pressure cooker towards perfection. I’m pretty sure the last time my hands hurt this much, I was still learning to play guitar. I’m also pretty sure this is the first time in a long time I’ve felt true happiness while playing.
As the sound concludes between us, the other sounds in the building reach my awareness.
Someone is hammering upstairs. Both the front and back doors open and close in a near-constant pattern as workers move like bees in late summer, rushing to get everything done before the first real frost. A few of them even pause briefly to give us light claps as we finish, although the sound is sporadic and rushed.
“You guys are sounding great,” Danica says, her tone amplified by the speakers. “I’ve never heard a boy band sound so rock.”
Zeke and I both turn to Via, giving her a round of applause. Cash joins in by hitting his hi-hats several times.
“All her,” Zeke says, and it’s true.
We all agreed when we signed the contract that we wanted to stretch our abilities.
We picked deep track music from our youth, and Octavia picked a boy band I absolutely discounted as real musicians when I was a teenager.
But reading the lyrics as an adult, they hit with an intensity I wasn’t expecting.
“This is your last rehearsal in this space until opening night,” Danica says.
She gestures to the general disorder happening around us.
“Understood,” Zeke and I both say.
“What time you want us here Saturday?” Via asks.