After a week without Holly, Lucas started to adjust to being a single guy again. Ready to move on and leave his heartache in the past, he sat on the balcony that faced the back of the house and focused on the week ahead. Everything he’d wanted for as long as he could remember would materialize. He was about to embark on a full-time music career. Ron Abelman, President of Falcon Records, specifically requested the hands-on meeting with Prodigy and would, no-doubt offer them a lucrative recording contract.
Lucas walked through the sliders, into his suite of rooms, and took a seat on one of the couches. Some people thought it odd that a 23-year-old single guy lived with his parents. His trust fund would kick in once he turned 25, and that’s when he planned on buying his own place. Multiple additions had been added to his childhood home, the last when he turned 18. It offered him and Tessa their own suite of rooms far enough away from each other and from their parents’ massive wing to afford everyone plenty of privacy.
He picked up his Gibson and played one of the songs that was on the demo Prodigy planned to submit to Mr. Abelman at the meeting. A new riff suddenly jumped into his head and traveled down to his fingertips. He worked the strings, moving from chord to chord, seamlessly transmitting music from his brain to his hands. He bolted to his feet and then fell to his knees as the music fueled his body with a jolt of adrenaline.
“Whoa! That’s fucking awesome!” Mason Wilder, Lucas’ best friend and Prodigy’s drummer, stood in the doorway, eyes wide with excitement. “Did you just make that up? Right now?”
“Yeah,” Lucas answered. “It just came to me.”
“Finish it. I got drum beats already bouncing around in my head.”
Lucas hadn’t planned on a writing session, but once Mason heard the music nothing could stop him. The guy had more drive than anyone Lucas knew, even Tessa, at times. Foot always tapping, fingers always strumming, Mason was always ready to lay down tracks.
Mason wasn’t family by blood. He was family by choice. Mason’s dad, Jimmy Wilder, was the mind-blowing drummer for Immortal Angel and Mason, Lucas, and Tessa had spent their childhood on the road touring with their parents.
Mason was some kind of child prodigy, the third generation of drumming greats. By the time Mason had reached 16, he had surpassed the talents of both his father and grandfather. Five years older than Lucas, Mason already had a long-standing successful music career. He’d recorded drum tracks for Hollywood movies and toured with world-famous bands, although he never committed to a permanent gig because his loyalty was to Prodigy.
“Let’s hear that killer riff again and that melody,” Mason said. “I gotta lay down a beat.” He didn’t need a drum. An upside down wastepaper basket did the trick.
“Dude, you just dumped trash all over my carpet.”
“I’ll pick it up, later.”
Lucas repeated what he’d just played while Mason listened intently, bobbing his head, hands positioned above the overturned wastebasket itching to put together a beat.
“Cool! I got it.” Mason interrupted Lucas. “Start again.”
This time, when Lucas played the melody, Mason joined in right away, creating a rhythm from nothing but the hard bottom of a plastic pail. Mason’s feet tapped on the floor as if pounding imaginary twin bass drums. He even added a few cymbal strikes, replicating the sound with his mouth. Watching Mason was inspiring, and Lucas added a few extra notes that enhanced the melody, and the structure of the song started to come together.
“Man, that was so fucking cool!” Mason exclaimed when Lucas stopped playing. “Should we get Tessa in here to throw down a bassline? And lyrics. We need lyrics!” Mason started texting Tessa before Lucas had a chance to respond.
Two minutes later, Tessa joined them with her blue-green Quantum Modulus bass strapped across her chest. “I didn’t know we were writing music tonight. I was binge watching the final season of Game of Thrones.” She wiped her brow dramatically. “It was intense. I needed a break.”
“I didn’t know either,” Lucas replied. “But you know there’s no waiting once Mason has a beat in his head.”
“You put it there, man, when I walked in and heard you playing.”
Tessa turned the key on the head of her bass. “Let’s do it.”
Lucas and Mason played what they had, which was a little more than half a song at this point.
“Cool. Got it.” And that’s all Tessa needed. They started from the top again and Tessa added rhythm that gave the piece the backbone it needed, turning it into a kickass song.
They ran through the song again so Lucas could record it on his laptop, and an hour later they had a track ready for lyrics. Mason jumped up and high-fived Lucas with both hands. “Cool, bro!” Then he squeezed Tessa in an excited hug. “Write some rad lyrics for this.”
“I’ll do it right now.”
“Do it later. We’re going out for drinks,” Mason announced. “To celebrate.”
“I don’t want to tag along with you boys,” she protested. “Go without me.”
“You never tag along, Tess. Come with us. Lucas, you don’t mind, right?”
“Nope.” Most guys didn’t hang out with their sister, but Tessa was cool and they had a lot in common. She wasn’t just his little sister, she was a close friend.
Lucas ordered three bottles of beer, while Tessa and Mason grabbed a booth. A pretty blonde brushed against Lucas’ arm and stepped on his foot as she squeezed into a spot next to him at the bar.
“Sorry,” she giggled. “This place is—” Her brows pinched together and she cocked her head to the side, before her eyes lit up and she smiled flirtatiously. “I know you. You’re that fantastic guitar player. You play in a band with Mason Wilder. You’re Tommy Blade’s son.”
