“That’s awesome,” I mumbled, deflating. “She’s amazing.”
“Yeah.” He opened his case and pulled out his instrument while I stuck the abused cap on the writing end of the pen and dropped it on the paper.
“You’ll have to let me know when they’re performing,” I said.
Craig grinned at me then, and everything snapped back to rights between us. “Sure thing.”
For a couple minutes, he fiddled with amps. It wasn’t uncommon for Riley to be late, and normally, I’d have joined Craig in setting up. Right then, I was just as frozen in my seat as my brain was about, you know, having a cognizant thought or a single worthy lyric.
“What are you working on?” When Craig was finished adjusting, he turned my way, glanced briefly down at my blank notepad, and raised an eyebrow, but he was decent enough not to come and crane his neck over my shoulder to behold my barren field of inspiration. “Don’t you think our standards are already solid? We don’t need a longer set list.”
Maybe we didn’t, but that didn’t change the fact that I was stuck. Eventually, we would need something new, and I didn’t have anything in me. After years of demanding three practices a week and dragging us all through the ringer, I was wasting everyone’s time.
But Craig was being nice, trying to let me off the hook and take the pressure off, so I couldn’t exactly snap at him for it. My molars ached from how hard I clenched my jaw though.
“Sure, yeah.”
Except that I was a hack. I’d plateaued.
My career was over before?—
Well, before I’d proven to Henry I could do this.
It was the last thing I could do for him, but he’d been the one who knew how to twist a few words into something beautiful. Here I was, squandering the last bit of momentum we’d built for Lucky Black Cat, and I?—
“Sorry!” Riley gasped as they crashed into the practice room. “I’m sorry. I was?—”
Still wearing their work apron was what they were. They grinned sheepishly, tugged it over their head, and bundled it up in a ball, dropping the green cloth beside the drum kit.
“Here now,” they said, grinning.
I guess that meant I needed to get my shit together.
That didn’t make rehearsal run smooth or anything. My voice came out tight instead of gravelly, my frustration bleeding through in every note I played.
Craig and Riley didn’t say anything. Every time we ended a song that hadn’t gone right, Riley gamely said, “Go again?” And we did, until Craig looked at the clock.
“Dinner’s at eight . . . ”
It was seven forty-five.
And—shit.
I dragged my phone out of my pocket. It’d been buzzing for the last twenty minutes, but I’d ignored the notifications, because part of me was constantly convinced that we could just play one more time, and it’d be right. I’d calm down and it’d go well and then I could take a break.
Then I could check my messages.
I didn’t deserve a distraction when I was fucking up so bad.
Except I’d forgotten about goddamn trivia night.
It didn’t matter anyway; we never won. But the idea of leaving Lucas hanging? My brother had been there for me in away few had, and I couldn’t disappoint him. So every week, I sat beside him at bar trivia while he assured me that some question would come up about music and I’d be invaluable.
Meanwhile, we just got drunk and laughed together over silly questions and sillier answers, which was the best part of the whole thing.
Lucas had already texted me three times, the most recent asking if I wanted my regular drink. He usually got there an hour early, and—well, I didn’t show up at seven, but I was rarely this late.
“Yeah, I have to?—”
