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IAIN
Thank fuck for rehearsal.
It wasn’t as energizing as a live performance, but I still got excited whenever we hit a stage. It helped me get out of my head. Which was kind of funny since most people didn’t use work as a distraction; they needed distraction from work.
Then again, was this really working? It never felt that way to me. Yeah, we played hard, and there were late nights and travel, but my career was my passion, one and the same. Take away the money, and I’d still be playing.
But, upon entering the venue, we noticed right away that our instruments and the general state of the theatre were chaotic. Two of my guitars were still in their cases, which meant they hadn’t been tuned yet, which was surprising. Everything should’ve been ready to go by the time we got here.
Ace and Tommy were bickering back and forth as they worked on Faise’s drum set.
I picked up my favorite Konicki, the only guitar that had been set up, and strummed a few chords. It sounded good.
“Hey Ace, what’s happening?” Brodie asked.
“Sorry for the delay, guys, but Faise’s drum kit was damaged in transit. We’ve spent the better part of the day fixing it, andI had to source a new kickstand. I texted Harlow. Didn’t he tell you?”
I glanced at Brodie, and he just shook his head. “Nope. And from here on out, text us directly. We’re having a bit of a communication problem with him.”
“You got it.”
“My babies,” Faise exclaimed as he stepped up behind the kit.
“It’s all fixed,” Tommy reassured him with a nod. “Let’s test it out.”
“Check the rest of Iain’s guitars and then the mics,” Ace directed.
The guys and I reviewed the set list and decided which songs we wanted to practice.
Once our instruments were tuned and ready to go, so were we.
Then I noticed Dawson and Regan talking in the wings. It looked like something big was going on until Regan nodded and made for the exit.
“Holls, are you playing or what?” Ronin yelled out.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Stop staring at your hot as fuck bodyguard and start strumming,” Brodie teased.
“Shut up.”
Brodie chuckled. “I’m surprised you invited him to our meeting with Harlow. I thought you wanted to get away from Dawson?”
I held the neck of my guitar in one hand and gave him the middle finger with the other.
“No thanks, I prefer Van’s fingers,” Brodie quipped.
Instead of replying, I started playing the intro chord to Filthy Pain.
I closed my eyes and forgot all about that meeting, the interview last night, and the past month.
When I finally opened them, there was Dawson on center stage, staring at me.
Same as always, except the look he was giving me now was less hard-ass and more “I want your ass.” Or maybe that was my wishful thinking?
So, I did what I usually did when faced with something I wasn’t prepared to deal with. I ignored it and stuck my tongue out.
He rolled his eyes at me, and just like that, we were back to normal again.
