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“Band members are, a few of the venues are not.”
Why did it sound like he was chewing? He’d better not be eating anything good after the way this conversation had derailed Tripp’s meal.
“Hey, did you hear what I said about the venues?”
Tripp pulled the phone away from his ear, scowling at it for several seconds before warily drawing it close again. “My ears were working just fine until you bellowed in them!”
“Then pay attention, damn. Now, what do we do about the venues.”
Grumbling beneath his breath, Tripp tried to figure out why he was being asked to problem-solve for an issue he wasn’t completely on board with being a part of yet. Still. Itwouldprovide plenty of opportunities to spend time with Zakk. “Okay, so, we give them what they want and schedule the rest of the rotations around it.”
“Good idea on the surface, but when you see the emails I sent you about the locations, you’ll see why the issue came up.”
“Yea, okay, I’ll take a look. Next.”
“Besides the animosity between you and Dez?”
Tripp waved his hand in the space in front of himself, even though Tavis couldn’t see him doing it. There were only two ways that would get sorted. A civil conversation or a knock-down, drag-out brawl. Either way, it would get laid to rest. “We’ll work it out. What other issues are we looking at?”
“Timeframe, for one. We’re all over the place when it comes to that and how close together we want shows. We’re fluctuating between thirty-to-forty-five-minute sets with fifteen-minute tear downs, but if we all help that shouldn’t be a problem. Everyone’s good with campgrounds where that is a viable option, but we need a plan for when there isn’t one that will provide a place to park three RVs.
“Yeah, that could pose an issue, albeit a small one. Hell, all of them seem minor and easily worked out.”
“Maybe, but you said no way in hell, so I’ll tell them they’re on their own.”
“Don’t be too hasty.”
“Why? Thinking about changing your mind?”
“I think I already have.”
“Really, so, what brought about this change of heart?”
Leaning back against the back of the couch, Tripp peered up at the ceiling and made a mental note to climb up there later and get the cobwebs down from around the ceiling fan and dust the blades. In hindsight, getting the plain wooden one because it was just like the ones in the house they’d grown up in had seemed like the best idea. Now, he found himself wishing for something more interesting to stare at. Like the metal feather and stained-glass raven one Winter had installed in his room.
Why had he objected again?
The answer came to mind almost as soon as he thought of the question. His twin had come up with it and as a rule of thumb, Tripp had gone in a different direction, not that it was necessarily a better one. Judging from the lack of words and increased chewing coming through the phone, Tavis was waiting for his answer.
“I happen to agree that testing the songs before a live audience would be the best way to polish them,” Tripp admitted. “We can make note of their reactions to each song and tweak them accordingly.”
“And if it so happens that in the process of all this refining you get to spend extra time with a particular keyboardist…”
Tavis left it open-ended rather than suggestive and Tripp appreciated the restraint because Zakk’s name made his stomach clench and memories of him splayed out on Tripp’s bed, pale skin, black sheets…
“Tripp, hey! Tripp! You still there?”
“Are we done?” Tripp growled as the image in his head broke up and drifted apart.
“Apparently, you’ve already checked out so yeah, we’re done. Tell Winter to stop ditching my calls.
“He doesn’t listen to me on a good day, what makes you think he’ll listen to that?”
“Well, if we’re going to do this tour, then he and I need to talk.”
And there it was. The real hiccup in their little plans, the rift that had opened between the two just a few months after Rocktoberfest. Small at first but widening with each day they didn’t speak. Currently, they were on day ninety-seven and counting and it was making crafting new music difficult.
“You ready to tell me what went sideways between you two?” Tripp asked as he retrieved the broom from the kitchen supply cabinet and tried to brush away some of the crap clinging to the ceiling fan. It worked, sorta. The blade looked less disgusting, but his hair and the couch would need to be cleaned next, considering that was where the bulk of it had wound up.
