“And what happens if we decide to continue”—Mike paused, glancing at both Matty and me—“as a band?”
The label head scooted right back up in his chair, hope playing out over his face. Of course they wanted us to stay. Sketch Monsters might possibly be the most recognizable band in the world right at this moment in time. The name alone stood to make us all a fortune. But the question remained—did we want it? Could the three of us stand on that stage and perform not only without Brandon but also without fear?
“Should you decide to stay, we’ll set you up in the studio to get going on your next album and, when you’re ready, a tour. I’m sure Tucker has told you about the offer to perform at the Grammys. It would be the perfect opportunity to show the world you’re back but also to help ease you back into performing.”
All eyes shifted to me, waiting on my response. I pushed a pencil around on the table with my finger, weighing my options, which were: everything or nothing or something in between.
“Can we have a minute?” I asked. “Just the three of us, please?”
I’d never seen men of such stature clear a room as quickly as these guys did. They’d stood by our side in solidarity hoping, maybe even praying to whatever god men like this prayed to, that the decision we made would be in their favor.
Once the door was shut behind them, I looked up at my bandmates for the first time since the shooting—really looked at them—and as our eyes met, I realized we were all suffering the same. We all felt the loss and the pain. What would be the benefit of breaking up and going our separate ways?
“Can you do it?” I asked Mike. “Can you perform?”
“I can,” he said, holding my eye. “I’m ready.”
I turned to Matty and asked the same question.
“I’ve got some things to work through, but if you guys are going on stage, I’ll be standing up there with you.”
“What would we do about a drummer?” I asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Mike said. “I think we should wait awhile before replacing Brandon. I say we get guest drummers. At least until we go on tour.”
I liked the idea of keeping Brandon’s spot open for the right guy. And byright, I didn’t mean the best drummer. I meant a brother from another mother.
“What about you?” Matty looked my way. “What do you want?”
What did I want? I thought of Jake, that wronged kid who’d put everything on the line for a fragile dream—his safety, his sanity, his happiness. That’s what had been necessary for him to be great. And what would be necessary for Sketch Monsters, too.
“I want to keep drumming.”
* * *
“Are you sure about this?” Jess asked as I pulled the guitar strap over my shoulder.
“Oh, I’m sure.” I nodded.
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Tucker came ambling up, his cane barely slowing him. He saw my guitar and frowned.
“Quinn, this is the Grammys.”
“Yes, Tucker. I’m aware.”
Mike and Matty joined us.
Tucker’s lips flattened as he shook his head. “This is not the stage to make a stand.”
“We disagree. This isthestage to make a stand.”
“So, is this your new thing?” he asked. “How you’re going to tackle every concert?”
I laid a hand to his shoulder to calm him down. “One stage. One stand. One time—for Brandon.”
Tucker met my eye, emotion passing through his as he nodded.
