“What? Which one?” He looked every bit the jilted groom.
“We don’t have a name yet,” I replied.
“You don’t have a name? How long have you been a part of this band?”
“Since this afternoon.”
“Have you signed a contract?”
“No, just a verbal.”
Quinn let out a sigh of relief. “Well, shit. You scared me. A band with no name is no band at all.”
“So, what, I just bail on them? That’s shitty. What do I even say to them?”
“Tell them you got a better offer from a band that already has a nameanda sold-out stadium tour coming up. You don’t have time to feel bad. Now, text your little playmate and let him know you’ve joined Sketch Monsters. See what he has to say about that.”
“Like right now?”
“Do you want to wait until you’re in Vancouver? Yes, now.”
Snagging my phone off the table, I pulled up Cap’s contact and started texting my resignation.
Rory
Hey Cap I’m really sorry to have to tell you this…
“I swear to god, Quinn, if you’re messing with me…”
“I’m not. I had a vision.”
I sighed, backspacing out of my resignation. No way was I betting my future on a premonition. “Dammit, Quinn. I don’t have the luxury of playing this game with you.”
“I dreamed you were in the band, shithead. Hear me out. Way back when we were putting Sketch Monsters together and were auditioning drummers, I thought you’d be perfect, but I didn’t know where you were, and I didn’t have time to search for you because it was a time sensitive situation. So, we hired Brandon. And he was great, but after he died, the label has been pressuring us to hire a new drummer. As a band, we’ve been struggling to find someone who meshes with us. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I had a dream. We were playing in front of a massive crowd, and I turned around and saw you sitting there behind the drums. It was a sign. No disrespect to Brandon, but you were always supposed to be in the band. That’s the truth.”
“You might want to leave that out of the introduction speech during shows.”
Quinn grinned. “I will.”
“What about the other guys? Are they dreaming about me too?”
“You’re so conceited.”
We had a good laugh over that, like old times—before he’d become sheriff and run me out of town.
“The other guys are in. I showed them video of us playing together years ago. They see it. But we have to hurry.”
“For what?”
“We’ve got to go to Mike’s garage. Make you an official Sketch Monster. We’ve got a whole blood-swapping, cattle-prod ceremony planned. You don’t want to miss it.”
I didn’t. The truth was I’d happily take a brand to my ass cheek if it meant I could be that guy in Quinn’s dream—an official member of a headline band. “Let’s go!”
“Hold on there, bud. We’re going to head to Mike’s so you can practice a few songs before we introduce you to our manager, Tucker Beckett. Here’s the thing about Tucker: you cannot meet him looking like this. I can’t stress this enough. You need to take a bush whacker to your, well, everything. The dude created AnyDayNow, and while he’s relaxed his boy band beauty requirements, we at least need to be able to introduce you in the light of day.”
“You’re such a dick, Quinn.” I shook my head, suppressing a smile. “I almost missed it.”
“Almost?”
