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Emme nodded. “Good to hear. Any particular musical influences?”
Tom thought for a moment. “I’d say I’m mostly a fan of blues and soul,” he said f
inally. “More modern stuff I like—I’m pretty into that dirty Southern sound in alt country. My dad owned McKinney’s, and I grew up there, hearing blues bands play. J. R. Wilbur used to play on Wednesday nights, and he felt sorry for this kid who was always in, you know, a bar. So he’s the guy who taught me how to play.”
Emme whistled. “Learned to play guitar from J. R. Wilbur? Those are some credentials. Let’s hear it.”
Tom got out his bass. They worked through the tune-up as a group, Dave fiddling with knobs on the soundboard, Emme alternating between keyboards, checking microphones. The level of professionalism and comfort both of them seemed to have around what had to be tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment made Tom’s heart beat a little faster. This was serious. He’d known when he heard them play, had known from the quality of the album, that this wouldn’t be like hopping onstage at the bar after the musician had too many free beers. If they let him join, going on this tour wasn’t the only thing that would change for him. Doors would open.
He’d sat in with so many bands, had played on so many friends’ albums, but touring had never, ever been an option. His dad had been too sick. Katie had needed too much. The bar had to be rescued from the brink of bankruptcy. But he’d gotten the bar under control, his dad had been gone for over a year, and Katie was doing so much better, and if this audition went well, maybe his life could look the way he’d always wanted it to. Tom’s hands shook, palms sweaty. He felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket, but he ignored it. Please wait. Just give me an hour.
“We’ll start with ‘Walking Away,’ since that’s the one everyone knows,” Emme said.
Tom nodded and swallowed hard. You’ve got this. You listened to it a million times before now.
The song was one part mournful breakup croon and one part ditch-the-bastard anthem, a little bit Diana Ross, a little bit Stevie Wonder in the instrumentation, and a whole lot of retro Motown bass. It wasn’t easy to play, but it was a hell of a lot of fun.
Tom’s nerves coalesced into adrenaline as he played, the sheer joy of making music with a talented group of people. He could hear their playing through the monitors, and god damn, they sounded good. Emme’s voice soared over the bass groove, while Guillermo kept the beat without overwhelming the tune. Dave was seriously talented at guitar, adding blues licks that Tom hadn’t heard in the studio version and improvising without needlessly showing off. By the time the song ended, the notes had wound around them all, the tiny communications coming as second nature; slowing the tempo when Emme nodded, holding a note a little longer with a look from Dave.
They played together for two hours, long enough for Tom’s phone to buzz at least five times, but his high of belonging glowed warmly around him as he packed up his instrument. The way the three of them interacted, the seamlessness of their partnership, felt like family. He hadn’t realized how much he’d longed for that until he’d had a taste of it, and now he had. Everyone in the living room was smiling by the time he checked his phone to see the list of missed texts from Katie. Thank god none of them had been emergencies in any real sense of the word.
Dave offered Tom his hand. “Nice work, man.”
Guillermo nodded, and Emme looked up from the notebook she’d been scribbling in. “I’ll see you out.”
Tom thought he saw Dave narrow his eyes at Guillermo when she spoke, but he shouldered his case and turned toward the front door, Emme at his side. As she opened the door into the fading evening light, she smiled at him.
“So? How’d you think it went?”
Tom cleared his throat. Please let me in. “Pretty well.”
“Pretty well?” Emme scoffed and aimed a light punch at his arm. “Dude. It was awesome.” She looked back over her shoulder, as if checking to see if Dave or Guillermo had followed them into the hallway, and lowered her voice before she spoke again. “If you want in, you’re so in. I’ve got to talk to those two about it so they feel like I’ve consulted them, but seriously? Give me two more hours and we’ll make it official.” She winked at him as he stepped outside.
That wink, combined with her low-voiced whisper, overpowered his nerves long enough to wake up something else inside him, something needy and more than a little feral. He winked back. “I look forward to it,” he said, before he took the front steps two at a time.
Emme knew before she opened her mouth that Dave was going to argue.
He always got that stubborn set to his eyebrows when he disagreed with her. It usually happened when she wanted to make changes to a song he’d written, or when she really dug in about cutting a guitar solo. And she nearly always won the argument anyway, but having it in the first place was beginning to get exhausting.
“So? What do y’all think?” She slid onto the piano bench and turned around to face Dave and Mo.
“He’s better than Alyssa,” Guillermo said. “She was pretty good. And I liked her. But she’s usually more of a rock girl, and you can hear it in her playing. Tom, you can tell he’s a blues and soul kind of guy, and it sounds better with our songs.”
“I agree. And he improvs well. He’d be a good songwriting partner.” Emme watched Dave’s face. His eyebrows were still doing that thing. She wanted to get up and push them back into their usual shape with her fingers, as if that would make him less obstinate.
He’d been digging in his heels more and more lately, questioning every decision that she made. After being so supportive for so long, his new opposition felt like betrayal.
“I don’t like him,” Dave said finally. “It’s not that I don’t like him. He seems cool. I’ve heard him play with a couple of bands at McKinney’s. Andy says he’s reliable, and god knows that’s a plus. But I don’t think he’s a good fit for us.”
“Why not?” Emme tried to listen to him. She really did. She wasn’t just going to shut him down before he’d spoken his piece.
Even if she’d already made up her mind, practically the minute Tom walked in.
“You’re not going to like what I have to say.” Dave rubbed his hand over his forehead. He actually looked torn up about whatever it was. For a moment, Emme felt bad for him.
Then he spoke. “I don’t like the way he looks at you, or you look at him.”
“Not this again.” Guillermo stood up. “Really, man?”
