Page 14 of Unfinished Noise

“Did we lose?”

“No.”

Alfie threw his hands up. “We are Switzerland.”

Jamie laughed, tension easing a little. Spencer wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close.

“We’ll get them next time,” Farlan said.

“You would’ve gotten them this time if Billy didn’t sabotage his own team,” Jamie said.

Billy pretended not to hear.

They piled into the van again, the bowling alley neon fading behind them. Jamie sat pressed against Spencer, watching the city blur past the window. The mood was lighter now—Nathan humming along to the radio, Alfie scrolling through his phone, Billy and Farlan behind them in their own van.

Jamie didn’t love that they were here. Didn’t love that Billy kept sneaking glances at Spencer. But Spencer’s hand stayed on Jamie’s thigh the whole ride, thumb brushing slow circles, grounding him.

They pulled into the hotel lot, Nathan parking crooked like always.

“Alright,” he said, clapping once. “Quick change, then practice.”

Jamie nodded, stepping out of the van. Spencer laced their fingers together as they walked toward the entrance.

Chapter Six

Spencer

First show back. First real test of the new lineup. First time performing with Billy again in front of an actual crowd. He tried not to think too hard about that part.

They got to McCormack’s Pub early, the place still half‑asleep. Chairs stacked. Lights dim. The smell of beer soaked into the wood like history.

Spencer carried in amps while Nathan hauled the drum cases. Billy and Farlan followed with cables. Jamie and Alfie helped set up the front tables, wiping them down, arranging chairs, making the place look less like a morning-after crime scene.

Jamie kept glancing at Spencer, giving him these soft little smiles that made Spencer’s chest loosen.

He’s okay today. Good. Let’s keep it that way.

When the stage was finally wired and tuned, Jamie and Alfie claimed a table right up front. They ordered beers and a plate of nachos big enough to feed a small village.

Spencer loved seeing them there—Jamie leaning forward on his elbows, Alfie already waving at Nathan like he was cheering for a sports team. It grounded him.

The pub filled up fast. Locals, bikers, college kids, people who remembered Black Shadows from years ago. The energy was loud, warm, messy—exactly the kind Spencer liked.

Spencer stepped up to the mic, guitar strapped across his chest, and the crowd erupted before he even played a note. That hit him hard.

They missed us. They actually missed us.

The first song didn’t just start—it unfolded. Nathan slipped into the beat with an easy confidence, the drums settling into a pulse that carried the whole room with it. Farlan layered in the keys, warm and bright, filling the space like sunlight through open blinds. Billy’s harmonies slid in next, clean and tight, threading around Spencer’s melody instead of crowding it.

And Spencer rode the wave of it. His voice moved, rising over the crowd as if it had been waiting for this exact moment to come alive again. The entire song blended into one smooth, rolling sound that made the pub feel smaller, closer, like everyone in the room was breathing in the same rhythm. Spencer was exactly where he belonged.

People clapped along. Some stood. A few even whistled.

Jamie watched him with that look—wide‑eyed, proud, like Spencer hung the moon. It made Spencer sing harder, louder, and better.

Halfway through the set, an older guy walked in—big, broad, wearing a black vest that looked broken‑in from actual miles on the road, not fashion. A pale scar curved along his left forearm, the kind that came from something sharp and stupid, and he carried himself like someone who’d tell the story with way too much enthusiasm. He scanned the room once, spotted Jamie and Alfie, and headed straight for their table with the confidence of someone who didn’t need to ask permission to sit anywhere.

Spencer saw it mid‑verse.