“Well, at least that’s settled.” Mike grinned.
Our guest drummer walked up.
“Echo,” Tucker called out. “Great job in rehearsals. I knew you’d master the song in record time.”
“Getting the song down wasn’t the problem. It was stepping into Brandon’s shoes.” Echo turned to me. “Thanks for trusting me to fill them.”
“Thanks for doing this, dude,” I replied, bumping fists.
“Happy to help. Hey, they’re calling me over. See you on stage, boys.”
We watched Echo walk away.
“Excellent. You four seem to be getting along well,” Tucker said with just the right amount of smugness. He was, after all, the one who’d suggested Echo fill in last minute.
“Hate the dude,” I answered.
Mike nodded. “Fucking douche.”
“He’s like my older brother who used to stick his armpit in my face and wouldn’t let me up until I licked it,” Matty replied.
Tucker’s eyes widened. “All right, well. It looks like Echo won’t be staying.”
“We told you, Tucker. None of them will. We aren’t filling Brandon’s spot permanently until we’re ready.”
A stagehand hurried over. “Okay, guys. It’s the commercial break. You can take your places.”
I turned to Jess. “Wish me luck, Getaway Girl.”
“I can do better than that.”
She stepped in and kissed me. This was not a quick peck that said, ‘Good luck, honey,’ but a kiss with full-on tongue and the promise of treasures to come.
She shooed me away with a swat on my ass. Just the sendoff I needed to make this performance count.
The stage was dark when we stepped out and took our places. My new guitar was sitting against the amp waiting for me. I grabbed it and moved it around the back. Tonight it was going to be about me and Lucia… her white wood still stained with blood and the hole blasted into her body visible. But I’d had a change of heart. I didn’t want the guitar to remain locked away and neglected forever, so I had Lucia meticulously repaired to honor its history while still allowing me to work the strings.
Not to be outdone, Mike and Matty were wearing matching shirts with dates, one marking the day Brandon was born and the other, the day he died. Dangling from each of their guitars was one of Brandon’s drumsticks. From my back pocket, I removed Brandon’s signature Iron Maiden baseball cap, and combing my hair back with my fingers, I fixed it on my head.
We would not let these people forget, or worse, pretend it had never happened. We would go out there and wear our pain and anger and sadness… and we’d be great.
Only then would we move on.
36
Quinn: Bucket Boy
Ilooked down at the address on my phone. Then up at the apartment complex. Then back down. Wow, talk about false advertising. Someone had taken creative license when they’d slapped up a picture on their website. This place was a dump—and that was coming from a guy who used to have a freeway going through his backyard.
Broken windows. Rickety stairs. Trash strewn about. Of all the days not to bring security—or bug spray—this was it. I considered going back to my car and waiting for backup, but this was a delicate matter, and one best done alone. We needed this. We neededhim.
I zipped up my sweatshirt and yanked the string tight, sculpting the hood to contort my head into a snug-fitting condom. A pair of sunglasses completed the ensemble. Couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Sketch Monsters had hit the big-time after the Grammy performance, and with only weeks away from a sold-out arena tour, this secret mission of mine—and by secret, I meant that Tucker did not know—was all the more important. Although our plan had been to employ guest drummers indefinitely, that was easier said than done. We needed something more permanent for the tour, but no drummer we’d auditioned fit the bill. However, there was one… one drummer I couldn’t get out of my head.
I climbed the outdoor stairs to the second floor and arrived at 217, the apartment I’d been assured he lived in. He’d gotten no warning of my arrival. If he had, no doubt he wouldn’t have been home when I knocked. We hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, and my guess was, he still held a grudge.
I could hear music inside blaring as I walked up. I rapped my knuckles against the splintering wood. The blinds next to the door shifted as a finger lowered one of the slats. I pulled my sunglasses off and loosened my hood.
“Surprise,” I said.
