Nash, Blake and Keaton are silent around me, aside from the absentminded tap of drumsticks on the snare. I have to wonder if the sound of his drumming isn’t leading us into troubled times to come…
The auditorium is empty save for a few crew members ensuring everything is in place for the show. Lighting guys are adjusting the angle, getting it to the perfect slant that matches the staging blueprints. Then there are a few members checking cables. Yet Darius is nowhere to be found.
I can’t help but pace back and forth, gripping my microphone in my hand and tapping it against my leg in aggravation. How long will we need to wait? Not to mention the longer we do, the more irritated the sound engineer will get. We already had an altercation once; I’d like to prevent pissing him off again.
Nash works through his strings to tune his bass, but it sounds perfect to me, which means he’s getting impatient too. It’s pairedwith Blake plucking on his strings and my scuffing of shoes against the flooring. It’s a soundtrack of impatience.
Blake meets my gaze, his furrowed brow quickly disappearing as he gives me a soft smile. “Hey there, Bunny. What has you so keyed up?”
A growl practically jumps out of my mouth. “He’s barely had the job for an hour and is already late.” I throw my hands into the air, almost dropping my mic. “I’ll admit I got good vibes from him at first, but if this is the dedication we can expect out of him, I’m not so sure.”
If I was honest with not only him but myself too, I’d admit that I miss Tristan. I hated so freaking much that he showed back up in my life, and I haven’t forgiven him for the way he tried to destroy me. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t find a secret sense of comfort in having him play with me again. We worked through the contentious bullshit until we blended into a perfect harmony of sound. Now I’ll have to start all over with someone new, knowing Tristan is somewhere out there, and I’m left yet again with no closure when it comes to him.
Keaton grunts in agreement, his speed increasing as he taps on the snare. Added movement catches my attention, and I spin in place to face the edge of the stage where I expect to find Darius. Instead, I find the sound engineer fiddling with the mixer. His movements are jerky, showing off his own mounting frustrations.
It makes my teeth grit again, knowing I can probably count down the seconds until he yells at me once more. Now the question is, do I hedge my bets and try to soothe him proactively? Or will that make it even worse?
“Late again. No respect for other people’s time.” His grumbles reach me before I’m even able to decide. I couldn’t agree more, although I’m sure his irritation is directed at me instead of the culprit. I check my watch and realize it’s only been five minutessince we were supposed to start, even though it’s felt like five years. If Darius doesn’t get here soon, I’ll drag him here by the ear. Ungrateful asshole.
Suddenly, the slamming of a door echoes from somewhere in the backstage area, gaining our attention as if we know it announces Darius’ presence. He strolls into view as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, lacking any and all urgency I’d expect to find in someone who values making a good impression on his new band.
He slips his phone into his pocket and peers up slowly, meeting my glare through his eyelashes. A smile spreads across his face before it stutters when he notices my expression. “You’re late,” I snap, all restraint on my nerves disappearing.
Darius glances around, noticing for the first time how everyone is waiting for him. A barely perceptible wince tugs at his features before it smooths out. I wouldn’t have caught it if I wasn’t watching him so keenly.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. His mouth opens again as if he wants to give some kind of excuse, but he quickly closes it again and chooses instead to hurry across the stage. “Where do you want me?”
I point to where his power supply is waiting to get plugged in. There’s also his pedalboard waiting for him, making it beyond obvious where he’s supposed to stand.
Maybe he’s just nervous and trying to fill the silence. But that doesn’t change the underlying unease and lack of trust I feel. I keep my mouth shut, too on edge and afraid of what I might say.
Darius takes out his guitar and strides to the spot I pointed out as he positions the strap over his head. It’s no time at all until the click of his power is in place. He glances around the room with a confident grin. “Okay, I’m here now. Let’s get started.”
My nerves bristle at him thinking he can direct when we begin, like he’s the one leading the band. A growl catches my attention. Apparently, I’m not the only one who got rubbed the wrong way.
“It’s nice and all that you’re here, but it’s not just about that, man,” Nash snaps. “We’re at the start of the tour, and this is your first time playing with us. How are we even supposed to trust you when you can’t show up to sound check on time?”
The sound engineer purses his lips and nods his head in agreement.
Darius tightens his tuning knobs without making eye contact, but I still spot the small wrinkle that forms between them like he’s puzzled, yet he pulls off a cool demeanor. “I’ve learned the entire set and have it nailed. I’m not here to slow anyone down,” he replies defensively as his fingers pick at the strings, making sure they’re in tune. “Let’s get through this sound check, and you’ll see.”
Keaton stops his tapping and holds both sticks in one hand where his knuckles turn white with how hard he’s gripping them. “It’s not only about hitting the right notes,” he says, his voice gravelly with how little he’s spoken today.
Blake seems to pick up on the same thought pattern. “We’ve been playing together for years as a band and have spent the last month making sure we blend seamlessly with Raina. You can’t walk in here and instantly find that chemistry.”
Nash cuts in right after, “Not to mention our best friend, the man you’re subbing for, is missing. You can’t simply step into his shoes and replace him.”
Darius meets Blake’s gaze before shifting it to Keaton and Nash. His lips press together, forming a line that’s still attractive even when you can tell his patience is thinning. “I’m not trying to replace anyone, and I’m not asking you to jump into being my best friend. I’m here to play with one of the top talents in the industry.” His hand squeezes the neck of his instrument,and if he wasn’t talking, I have the distinct impression that he’d be gritting his teeth right now. “I have a skill set that lets me instantly step into place when I’m needed. I know the set inside and out. I won’t let you down, but you have to give me a chance before instantly discarding me as someone who won’t flow with you.”
He has a point; we are jumping to conclusions when it comes to him. But when something seems too convenient…
Everyone falls silent for a beat, the tension thickening in the air with our inability to simply let it go. Things are too new, and the stakes are too high. The knowledge of why he’s even here leaving us raw with the memory of Tristan’s disappearance.
The seconds seem to tick by until Blake suddenly strums a chord, glancing between Darius and the others until his Caribbean blue eyes land on me. It’s clear he’s trying to ease the situation, which becomes even more apparent when he takes a deep breath and holds it for a beat before releasing it. I follow his example, appreciating his concern for making sure I’m calm above anyone else.
When my shoulders drop an inch with some of the stress leaving my body, he graces me with a hint of a smile. It washes over me, warming my heart and waking the damn butterflies in my stomach.
Turning his attention to the newest member of our merry group, he drops the smile he held for me and fixes the man with a serious stare. “Look, Darius, it’s just—you’re new, and we all have history,” he says gesturing to us. “We have a flow, you know? Built a trust that we rely on for more than performing on stage. We simply need the reassurance that you won’t throw us off mid-song.”
