Page 33 of Dark Verse

“I said that because you keep trying to wing it and half of these songs are new to someone in the group.”

I leave out the second part of my statement and just yell it in my own head.

Someone, meaning you!

Knox smiles. “We’ve always managed to muddle our way through. It’s worked before.”

“Past tense,” I say curtly. “But as long as you’re working for me—”

“Look, I fixed it, okay?” He reaches into his back pocket and holds up the slightly crumpled sheets. “I’ve got them now. No harm. No foul.”

“No foul?” I repeat.

Sweet baby Jesus, give me the strength to not smack this man upside his head.

“Do you know what time it is?”

Knox’s expression shifts, and he drags a hand down his face, losing a few water droplets from his beard. “Five-ish minutes past?” his tone is almost sheepish.

“Fifteen.”

“Okay, fifteen—”

“Zeke, Octavia, and Cash have already been here for twenty minutes,” I point out.

In my book, that doesn’t make him fifteen minutes late, that makes him thirty minutes late. As the frontman and clearly the most out of practice, I expect the most from him, including getting here before his bandmates.

I keep my voice fully under my control to hide my general annoyance with him.

“They are tuned and ready to go. But now we need another ten minutes to get you into the mix. So you are not fifteen minutes late. You have suddenly eaten up a half hour of your own rehearsal time. Because you forgot paper.”

Knox opens his mouth, then closes it again, the action reminding me of a fish.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“I don’t need sorry. I need you here. On time. Prepared.”

I watch him shift his weight. “I am prepared. I just—messed up.”

I lean back a little on my heels, studying him for a moment. He’s got the kicked puppy look down. That contrite expression cools my own agitation after a few more deliberate breaths on my part.

“Fine.”

Knox blinks. “Fine?”

“We’re changing your call time. Starting tomorrow, the Nightshades will rehearse after the Heirs.”

I say it as a statement, looking between the band members. Octavia nods, Zeke shrugs, and Cash is unreadable. Only Knox voices any objections, like he has a leg to stand on here.

“That’s really not necessary.”

“Early morning clearly isn’t working for you,” I cut in before he can keep talking. “You’re either half-awake or missing something essential. Either way, you’re late.”

Knox opens his mouth to speak, but Zeke steps in.

“That would probably work better for us, Ray,” he says firmly. “Thanks for being so considerate.”

From the silent conversation I witness between them, I can tell that Zeke and Knox have known each other for a long time. By the end of their unspoken exchange, Knox looks slightly deflated.