Page 40 of Dark Verse

I grin a little at that.

“A team, including you?”

“Yes.”

Nodding along, I say, “I think I like that idea, but what do I get in return?”

“Other than keeping your job?” Raven answers immediately, her timing reminding me of a comedian. I think I see a little smile at the corner of her mouth, but it disappears.

“Yes, other than keeping my job and my bandmates from killing me for losing this job.”

Now she does smile. It’s not wide, just the corners of her lips turning up slightly. Still, seeing that makes me determined to get her to do it again.

“A boss who will stop riding you because she knows she can count on you.”

Her words send my mind directly into the gutter, but I work to keep listening as she continues.

“And more creative room. Demonstrate your reliability, and I’ll loosen the reins. Let you arrange more. Maybe have you feature more of your original songs during the opener’s set.”

That breaks through the filthy thoughts I was having about her riding me.

“Wait—seriously?”

So far we’ve only been playing our most popular songs interspersed between cover songs.

Ven nods.

“Seriously. The Nightshades have real potential. I don’t hold you back because I don’t trust your music. I hold back because I don’t trust your follow-through. Fix that, and I’ll give you all the space you want.”

“All right, I can work on that. I’m not promising perfection, but I will make a true effort to be more consistent and reliable for you.”

“That’s all I’m asking. Actually—no, that’s not all. You’re staying ten minutes after rehearsal today to run the bridge you missed yesterday.”

I sigh, but I still smile. “Fair.”

“Good. Now let’s get to work. The team’s waiting.”

Her choice of that word feels significant to me in that moment. I’ve always thought of Cash, Via, and Zeke as a family first and a band second. We’ve held each other up through so many moments in each other’s lives that the lack of blood relation between the four of us is meaningless at this point. We are like cousins, a bond forged by time, care, and music.

But I’m realizing in the moment that I’ve been pretty careless with them in these last few weeks. I agreed to come out here to cover for Cash. I agreed to stay longer and audition for this contract. I agreed to all of this, yet I’ve been too casual about what that all actually meant.

Without another word, I leave her office and head to the stage. The next two hours pass with the frenzied intensity I used to have nearly every day when I was in my twenties. As we near the end of the set list for opening night, I cross the last song on our ever-growing set list with any real imperfections. After the first run of it, I request that we run it again.

“Yeah,” Cash asks, sounding surprised.

“Last chance to do it in here.”

A second run of the song is cleaner, but I know I can do better. When it finally all aligns on the third run, when we hit the final chorus that last time, I start feeling buzzed. The sensation doesn’t make it all the way to my tongue, yet I feel more confident about the relaunch.

This last month has felt like a pressure cooker towards perfection. I’m pretty sure the last time my hands hurt this much, I was still learning to play guitar. I’m also pretty sure this is the first time in a long time I’ve felt true happiness while playing.

As the sound concludes between us, the other sounds in the building reach my awareness. Someone is hammering upstairs. Both the front and back doors open and close in a near-constant pattern as workers move like bees in late summer, rushing to get everything done before the first real frost. A few of them even pause briefly to give us light claps as we finish, although the sound is sporadic and rushed.

“You guys are sounding great,” Danica says, her tone amplified by the speakers. “I’ve never heard a boy band sound so rock.”

Zeke and I both turn to Via, giving her a round of applause. Cash joins in by hitting his hi-hats several times.

“All her,” Zeke says, and it’s true.