Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Where’s the road crew when you need one?” Sweeny mumbles as we stare into the wall of black crates and cases packed into the trailer. It’s almost four, but the late arrival of our gear doesn’t matter nearly as much as getting it into that room and unpacked.
“When did you become such a diva?” I shoot back.
“What can I carry?” Callie asks, eyeing the remaining equipment.
“It’s fine. We’ll get it,” I say, then wince at her laser scowl.
Right. Zero chance she’ll sit this out.
“The round one there,” I correct. “Just be careful because it’s heavier than…”
Yeah, she’s already halfway up the ramp.
I shift the weight of the amp to follow her, but stop when I realize Luke hasn’t moved. He’s still staring into the trailer with a blank look .
“You okay, dude?” I call to him.
He flinches and casts a quick glance in my direction. “What? Yeah.”
He used to be a much better liar.
I move beside him and suck in a breath.
His pedal board case.
The gray box still has the faded Landry’s Bar logo we jokingly applied on one of our tours. I don’t even remember which one. The sticker was a weird velvet material in the shape of the bar’s obnoxious “L” logo. Eli slapped it on Luke’s case so he’d know which was his and we never took it off.
“They must have loaded it last,” he says in an absent tone.
Because it wasn’t with the rest of our equipment.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yeah.”
After a long silence, he inhales deeply and grips the handle. “Let’s hope all the pedals still work.”
“If they don’t, we’ll get it sorted out by Friday.”
A flash of fear erupts in his eyes before he blinks it away.
“Right. Yeah, good.” He clears his throat and starts up the ramp toward the bay door.
I want to offer a word of encouragement, but what is there to say? Of course he’s terrified to get back into the studio. So am I. Pretending otherwise is just a waste of brain cells.
Callie prevents further commentary when she skips back to the open dock door for her next load.
“Hey, rockstar,” she jokes, nudging Luke’s arm with her shoulder when he passes.
The cloud dissolves from his face as he shakes his head with a smile. He continues toward the storage room while Callie moves toward me.
“You didn’t get very far with that,” she observes, scanning the amp in my arms.
“Yeah, I got lost. Which way is the building again? ”
She snorts and runs a hand over my bicep. “Not gonna lie, I don’t hate watching you carry heavy stuff.”
“Why, Callie Roland, are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe,” she replies in a coy tone. “What are you gonna do about it?”
Intrigued, I scan for witnesses, but my gaze snags on my cymbals case. Definitely getting those next. My entire kit is calling to me from the depths of the trailer.
A smack on the arm makes me jump.
Callie is staring at me in bewildered amusement when I focus back on her. “Are you seriously ogling your equipment instead of me right now?!”
“What? No! I mean…”
I shrug with an apologetic grin, and she smacks me again.
I didn’t think there was anything more fun than igniting a crowd with your music, but pushing this woman’s buttons is quickly making a play for the top slot.
She leaves nothing to chance this time when she tugs my head down for a quick kiss. Sweeny’s amp is becoming incredibly inconvenient.
“I can’t wait to see you play,” she says softly as we separate.
“I can’t wait for you to see me play,” I return with a teasing smile.
Eye roll— and thank you.
All joking aside, I can’t unpack my kit fast enough once we’re unloaded.
I could do this in my sleep—and arguably have a time or two — but pulling my instruments from their cases and assembling them into my own little percussion kingdom feels fresh and new.
Part of it is the novel environment, but mostly it’s Luke’s presence.
Watching him adjust his pedal board and guitar strap is pure cinema for my soul that thought it would never see this image again.
He's in conversation with Callie while he works. I can’t hear their dialogue over the wail of guitar tuning and effects testing, but he’s probably answering her endless questions. She’s fascinated by anything that’s important to other people.
I leave them to it and quickly get wrapped up in my own universe. Once I have the toms and cymbals in place, I pull out a set of sticks, drop to the seat, and test out the spacing of the hi-hats, snare, and kick.
“So this is it. You in your native habitat,” Callie says, drawing my attention.
I straighten from adjusting the kick pedal and shoot a grin at her.
“Be prepared to be amazed,” I boast, pointing my sticks at her.
“I already am,” she says with a measure of excitement.
A rush moves through me at her heated look, triggering a strange need to show off. Maybe it’s the drummer equivalent of a peacock, but I use the next few seconds to throw everything I have into a test run of the kit.
I pretend not to notice Callie’s awed expression a few feet away, but my heart feels every ounce of it. All the record execs in the world have nothing on the opinions of this one person.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Luke shaking his head with a knowing smile.
He’s fully aware I’m showing off, but whatever.
Like he’s never given a little extra to impress a girl.
I happen to remember a time when he made us repeat the same four bars of a chorus for over ten minutes while waiting for my sister to “accidentally walk in on our practice session.” All because he knew how good his voice sounded on that line.
She did eventually wander in. And yes, she was looking at him the way Callie is looking at me now.
Probably the way I’m looking at her as she retreats to the other side of the room with her laptop.
I smile to myself when she drags a chair in front of the door to block it.
She’s taking her guard duty very seriously, not that I expected anything less.
“So you ready to do this, or what?” Eli calls when the warmups die down. “Sweeny and I listened to the track a bunch last night. I think we’re ready to go.”
I look to Luke, who shrugs. “We’re ready,” he says. “Let’s run through the intro and get a quick sound check.”
That’s all I need to hear.
Sticks in the air, I tap out the count.
One. Two. Three. Four.
We’re back, baby!
After we get our levels, the first real pass is rough, but that’s to be expected. We don’t even make it through half the intro before I cut the beat.
“Seriously? Already?” Sweeny grunts as he dampens the strings of his guitar and fires a look at me.
Luke smirks at the familiar scene.
“We need to swap the riffs,” I say, ignoring their reactions.
“Huh?” Sweeny says.
“The bridge and intro riffs. Swap them.”
Sweeny shoots a glance at Luke, who shrugs. “I kind of hear it. Just try it,” he says.
I relax a little at Luke’s support and settle back on my seat. “ From the top. And Eli, don’t come in until the second line of the intro.”
“You want just the guitar?” Eli asks in surprise. “He’s only playing a lead line. Won’t that be a little thin?”
“Yep. It will be a good transition out of the piano opening. Then we’ll add a sweep into the full groove.” They exchange a look, and I narrow my eyes. “Just trust me, okay? I’ll show you in production.”
Eli and Sweeny shuffle back to their positions in the musician equivalent of throwing up your hands.
I count us in again, Sweeny starts his riff, and Eli, Luke, and I join in on the second line.
When all three snap a grin in my direction, I know we’re back in sync. When Luke shuts us down after the first verse to say we need to add a full stop going into the chorus, I know we’re officially in business.
As the session wears on, though, traces of panic whisper beneath the initial excitement. They grow with every start and stop, every adjustment that’s turning this song into something special.
My gaze keeps finding Luke. The way he commands the room, the band, the song. He’s a force, a fucking gift to artistry. And the more comfortable I get with the familiar silhouette in front of me, the more a cold trickle of dread pollutes the moment.
I need this. Our music needs this. We can’t go back to the way it was.
I can’t touch the magic only to have it ripped away again.
Luke twists a smile back at me as he slays the second chorus. I knew he would. This song was made for his raspy vocal that currently has all of us in a chokehold. He furrows his brows at what he must see on my face, and I paint a brighter expression.
The transition into the bridge saves me when he’s pulled back to his rhythm guitar to support Sweeny’s lick .
I was right about that too. Switching the intro and bridge was the correct call, and the way the band locks in during the instrumental tells me they agree. It feels so good to be riding this high again. To be creating and forming something beautiful out of the ashes of pain.
But I can’t shake that disturbing undercurrent. A warning echo worms through my brain, and by the time we break for the food Callie ordered, I’m struggling to project the same excited energy the other guys have.
“Sounding great, dude,” Sweeny says, clapping my shoulder as I rise and stretch my aching body. “Good call on the riff. Well, on all of it, I guess.”
I return a stiff smile and run the hem of my shirt over my forehead in a pretend attempt to wipe off sweat. Really, I just don’t know how to hide the strange burning in my chest.
“I think you should unleash for the outro,” I say. He tilts his head, and I nod toward his guitar on the stand. “Don’t play the same riff at the end. Just let loose and see what happens.”
His expression brightens at the green light. “You got it, boss.”
While Sweeny takes off for the restrooms, Luke and Eli chat about basslines by Eli’s amp.