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“Very minor. Just trying to sprinkle a few older songs among the new while we work out which ones are performance ready and which ones need more work.”
“I’ve jotted down a few ideas too, and I’ve been writing,” Kane admitted. “Bobby and I have smoothed out a couple new songs enough to where the rest of you can start working on your parts.”
“Record anything?”
“Of course.”
“Perfect. Break it out and let’s hear what you’ve got.”
Nodding, Kane pulled his laptop out of the drawer he kept it in and opened it up. Soon, a hard driving drumbeat had Tripp giving thought to the kinds of rifts he wanted to add. Bobby’s bass was deep and resonating, the rhythm making his heart pound. Creating hadn’t felt this exhilarating in a long time, but then, nothing had, and it clicked then why Kane had said what he’d said when Tripp first stepped on the bus. No matter what the future held, Tripp vowed never to lose himself that way again.
Chapter 30
Black rain, dead roses
“Guys, you need to come out here and see this!”
Groggy, Tripp rubbed at his eyes, trying to figure out what Bobby was babbling about. The bus was still moving, smoothly and quietly too, nothing bouncy, rattling or jerky like there was a problem, which was good because no one needed a problem at…what the fuck?
“It’s three-twelve in the morning. The only thing I need to do is go back to sleep and forget this moment ever happened,” Tripp grumbled.
“Stop talking about going back to sleep and do it, for fuck’s sake, I’m trying to sleep over here,” Kane growled from his bunk several feet away.
“You need to get up too,” Bobby insisted.
“The fuck I do.”
“Guys, you need to see what’s going on, it’s bad,” Shanny said. His voice sounded odd, strained, or maybe it was just how groggy Tripp was.
“How bad can it be when we’re still moving?” Tripp grumbled.
Bobby’s outraged squawk made Tripp cringe. “Not here! Online. Weren’t you listening?”
Sitting up, Tripp batted the hair from his eyes. “All I heard you say was something about coming out there, which, I get the feeling you are going to keep bugging me about until I do.”
“Exactly.”
Groaning, Tripp swung his legs over the side of his bed, immediately met with a cold floor beneath his bare feet. Great, now it would take forever for them to warm back up again. Goosebumps ran up his arms as he made his way from the back of the bus to the middle, contemplating whether to insist that George turn up the heat. He decided against it, knowing Shanny would just complain about it being too warm and have it turned down again.
Damn, he had the lights on out there too. So much for blearily keeping his eyes half-closed to not wake up fully so it would be easier to fall back asleep again.
“What the fuck are we supposed to be looking at?” Kane asked as he shambled over to stand beside Tripp. Bobby’s sticker covered laptop was open on the table, a red banner at the top and a video playing with the sound low.
“Just listen,” Shanny said, voice wavering.
“Dude, if you expect me to hear anything you’d better turn that shit up,” Kane grumbled.
Bobby tapped the mouse pad and raised the volume, muttering the whole while. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”
The first word to pierce Tripp’s sleep muddied brain was accident, the second two: legendary band. He was suddenly wide awake and sinking into the seat behind him, whispering prayers that it had nothing to do with Winter or Wild Child.
“Breathe,” Bobby cautioned, placing a hand on his shoulder that helped ground him. “It has nothing to do with Winter.”
Guess his whispering hadn’t been that soft, but at least he could relax tremendously, leaning against the back of the couch as the reporter began to speak.
“At approximately one forty-five this morning, after finishing a performance at the Holland Arena here in Alameda, three members of Shriveled Rose, Cass Reid, Lars Chancery, and Adrian Lee, along with their manager Kevin Delaney, boarded a helicopter bound for their venue a short distance away. Twelve minutes into their flight, the pilot radioed in a distress call, the last communication between the helicopter before it crashed in the field behind me. Authorities have confirmed that there were no survivors. The music world has lost three beloved musicians who’s lives and legacy are already being celebrated as fans flood social media with messages and memories. The surviving members of Shriveled Rose, Terry French and Kale Michaels have issued the following statement through their publicist.”
We are shocked, devastated, heartbroken and without words to express the loss we’ve been dealt today. Heaven just gained some more players in the eternal band. Rock on brothers, we’ll see you on the other side.
