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Knowing it and dealing with the aftermath was a whole different show. Pushing her was also a mistake, so he twisted her seat back to facing the front window. “Mind the rumble strips, hey?”
She slammed her fist into his shoulder and he laughed before whistling his way down the aisle to the back of the bus.
Before he could slip into the bathroom, Molly hopped down in front of him. “You wouldn’t be doing anything stupid, would you?”
“Taking a piss?”
A perfectly arched blond brow rose. “Don’t play dumb, Ryan.”
“Not sure it’s any of your business, Mol.”
“It’s my business when it affects the band. And you’re distracted on the best of days, but lately?” She shrugged.
He peered down at her. “Are you saying I can’t do my job?”
“Just what do you want your job to be?”
He dipped his hands into his pockets and found the little toy he’d taken from Denver. He’d forgotten about it in all the excitement of the theater. “I’m exactly what I’ve always been to this band. I fill out the songs in whichever way is needed.”
“You don’t do what we rehearse more than half the time. You can’t just freestyle through any song. We need structure and a setlist we can depend on.”
Molly had always been a bit of a control freak when it came to the setlist, but this was the first he’d heard she didn’t like how the concerts had gone. “We’ve always had a touch of improvisation in our sets. It’s what keeps the show fresh.”
“Except when it doesn’t work.”
“Elle could crack a whammy bar and Mikey could break a string. Hell, even Mal could split one of his skins. Shit happens.”
“Yes, but they have a secondary guitar to play when theirs has an issue. Your box of toys doesn’t come with spares.”
“So, I pick up another one and fix it when I get offstage.”
“I’ve been watching our YouTubes. Your little skipping-through-the-daisies routine isn’t working, Ryan.”
He slammed his molars together before he could mouth off at her. “Has anyone else felt this way?”
“Everyone’s too friendly with you to let you know.”
“Oh really?” His gut churned. He’d been exploring all sorts of instruments to create a more melodic accompaniment to Michael’s and Elle’s shredding guitars. The band skewed to the hard rock side more often than not, but he’d always wanted to add more layers to the arrangements. He’d been doing just that—at least he’d believed he was.
Ryan stepped back to the middle bunks and flipped open West’s curtain.
“Hey!” West held up a hand at the stream of watery daylight invading his cave. “What the hell, man?”
“You hearing this?”
West pulled out an earbud. “I don’t eavesdrop. That’s Lo’s department.”
“Molly thinks I have no direction onstage. You agree?”
West yawned and swung his feet around so he could drop to the floor. He cracked his neck, but he didn’t say anything right away.
Ryan’s shoulders tensed.
West clapped a hand on Ryan’s upper arm. “C’mon, man. It’s not that—at least not exactly. We just could use a little more composition. We aren’t exactly a jam band. And honestly, there’s enough Dave Matthews Band wannabes out there.”
“Okay. What does that mean for me? I’m not necessary?”
“No. We’re not saying that. You’re an integral part of us. You’
