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Michael punched him in the shoulder. “Fuck off.” He said it playfully, and normally the punch wouldn’t have even registered, but good goddamn that hurt.
Ryan had landed on the same shoulder three times the other night, and then he’d overdone it with Denver. Yeah, his body was one
big bruise. And the rest of him one big mind-fuck. He needed to get his head on straight if he wanted to make sure tonight went well.
Michael frowned. “You good?”
“Yeah, just a rough week.”
“Truth.” Michael ducked under the bus for his two guitar cases. “Hold up and I’ll help you in.”
They pushed in the cart full of their instruments and both of them paused at the sound of Molly’s voice soaring.
“I heard about this venue, but damn.”
Ryan nodded. “Only reason I pushed for Albany. This place is supposed to have some of the best acoustics ever. Toad the Wet Sprocket actually came out here just to play at this venue.”
Michael laughed. “You and your weird band trivia. Fucking Toad. Haven’t heard that name in forever.”
Ryan grinned. “Hello, know your California bands, man.” He shrugged. “My little brother is a huge fan. I don’t know how, it was the wrong decade for him. For fuck’s sake, their huge single is older than he is.”
“Music is evergreen when it’s good, my friend.”
“Hell yeah.” Speaking of good music, Ryan itched to dip into his trunk and find a few of his lesser-used instruments. Seemed like the perfect night for it.
Soundcheck lasted a little longer than normal, but it wasn’t a bad thing. They all picked over the setlist and adjusted for the venue. They played “Every Rose” a half dozen times before they were pleased with their version of it. Molly even added a few songs they hadn’t played since the studio.
Jules and Elle played it up on Twitter and Instagram, teasing a few rarities to get people talking about the show. The tickets were sold at the radio station and no one would find out where the venue was until an hour before the show.
It was pretty genius, as far as Ryan was concerned.
He kept stealing glances at the back corner where Denver usually hid out at concerts, but she was absent. He had to put that out of his head or he’d be a freaking psycho by the end of the night.
The show was what mattered right now. Even if he ached to show off for the woman who owned him.
Already.
He took his turn in the little makeshift booth the radio station had set up. It was a local station instead of satellite radio, and for once, the DJs seemed to actually know the music scene. It was a damn miracle. Everything was computers and programming these days. A lot of DJs had been watered down to basically doing voice-over work minus the passion.
“We’ve got Ryan Waters in the booth with us. I looked you up. Seems like you’re called Ryan, Master of All Trades. How’d you earn that status?”
Ryan had been asked this question about nineteen times in the last twenty days, but for once, he dug in and looked for a different answer. A personal one. “My folks run an instrument repair shop. I used to mess around with everything that came through the door.” He laughed. “I was the only kid to get excited to see a tuba, a violin, a harpsichord, and a saxophone in one week.”
The DJs eyebrows shot up. “And you learned them all?”
“Not at first, of course. But after being around all sorts of instruments from the age of three, it all kind of seeped into my head. I helped my parents as I got older and wanted to know how everything worked. I was a bit of a high-strung kid—shocking, I know.”
“Watching you and West onstage, I’d say I’m shocked, except not at all.”
Ryan grinned. “My mom was psyched that I’d sit down for five minutes, let alone five hours to help her repair a few dozen violins. Strings and brass were our specialty, but my dad could figure out anything a client brought in. And I wanted to be like my dad.”
For a long time, he’d wanted that. Then he’d run from it like his ass was on fire. After a while, the walls of their little shop had begun to close in on him. And he hadn’t wanted to be behind a Plexiglas display full of misfit instruments that had been discarded as children grew out of their band phase.
“So, you can play anything?”
Ryan snapped back into the conversation. “Just about.”
“We had a bunch of students from Albany High bring over their instruments. Care to pick out a few to play tonight?”
