Page 82 of Unfinished Noise

The van grew silent again; the drone of the engine was the only sound.

Alfie nudged Jamie’s knee gently. “You okay?”

Jamie didn’t answer right away. He glared at Spencer’s shoulders, the way they stayed tense, and the way he didn’t look back again.

“Yeah,” Jamie finally said. “I will be.”

But he wasn’t sure if he meant it.

Nathan pulled off the highway when they rolled into a tiny desert town baked under the noon sun. The place looked as if it had been forgotten decades ago. The gas station’s sign was so sun‑bleached the letters were barely readable, ghost shapes clinging to the metal. The asphalt around the pumps shimmered with heat, giving off that thick tar smell that stuck in your throat. The diner next door had a faded mural of a cowboy on the wall—his hat peeling, his smile cracked straight through the paint.

Farlan’s van parked beside Nathan’s. Everyone climbed out of the vans like they’d been trapped for days instead of hours. Jamie stretched his legs, feeling the dry air cling to his skin.

Alfie squinted at the diner. “This place looks like it serves food and tetanus,” he muttered.

Jamie snorted. “As long as it’s not another granola bar, I’ll risk it.”

Jamie, Alfie, Billy, Farlan, Nathan, and Spencer entered the diner. The diner smelled of burned coffee and old grease. The vinyl booths were cracked, patched with duct tape in places. A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, doing absolutely nothing to cool the air.

Nathan herded them toward the biggest booth in the back, the one with a window that looked out at the empty road and a single tumbleweed stuck against a fence.

Jamie slid in beside Alfie immediately, hoping to avoid any awkwardness. Spencer didn’t let that fly.

He reached across the table, hooked two fingers into Jamie’s belt loop, and tugged him over. “Sit here.”

Jamie shot him a look. “I was fine where I was.”

Spencer didn’t budge. “Sit.”

Jamie sighed and moved beside him, stiff shoulders. Alfie gave him a sympathetic glance across the table. Menus hit the table but no one opened them.

Nathan cleared his throat—loudly. “Alright. Before anyone orders pancakes or whatever, we need to talk.”

Jamie slumped back. Great. A lecture.

Nathan planted both hands on the table. “Last night was a mess. This morning was worse. I’m not doing this all the way to Black Rock City.”

Billy stared at his napkin like it held the secrets of the universe. Farlan tapped his fingers, restless. Spencer kept his jaw tight, eyes forward.

Jamie didn’t look at anyone.

Nathan continued, voice firm. “We have a huge show tomorrow night. Huge. This concert could make or break us. I’m asking—no, I’m telling you—we need a drama‑free environment.”

Spencer shifted beside Jamie, brushing his thigh. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t lean in either.

Nathan pointed around the booth. “Everyone keeps calm. No fights. No sniping. No passive‑aggressive crap. We’re not blowing this because someone’s feelings got bruised.”

Jamie’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything, but he felt Spencer glance at him.

Nathan finished, “This is a no‑drama zone until after the show. Understood?”

Billy nodded fast. “Yeah. Totally. By the way, the club found my guitar and I’ll return yours, Spencer.”

Spencer nodded.

Farlan added, “We’re good now. No issues.”

Jamie didn’t respond. He picked up his menu and stared at it as if he were reading, even though he wasn’t.