Page 84 of Unfinished Noise

Jamie and Alfie stood near the edge of the circle. Jamie nudged Alfie’s shoulder. “Walk?”

“Yeah,” Alfie said quietly.

Jamie and Alfie headed down the dirt path, the sun catching Jamie’s hair in a soft gold. Jamie needed a break. Alfie needed company. And Spencer needed to focus.

Nathan clapped his hands. “Circle up. Practice time.”

Billy groaned. “Already?”

“Yes,” Nathan said. “We’re not half‑assing this.”

Farlan adjusted his instrument. “Let’s get it over with.”

Spencer stepped into the center of the trailer circle, the ground uneven under his boots. The desert stretched out around them, quiet except for the low hum of wind brushing across the sand. He glanced once toward the path Jamie and Alfie had taken, their figures small against the open land.

Billy tuned his guitar. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “Just tired.”

He wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t the whole truth. His mind drifted toward Jamie—toward the way Jamie’s hand brushed his when they walked, the way he laughed when Spencer teased him, the way he looked at Spencer like he mattered.

Nathan counted them in, and Spencer forced his focus back to the music. The sound echoed off the trailers, rough and imperfect, but familiar. The kind of practice that felt like building something from the ground up.

Still, every few minutes, Spencer’s gaze flicked toward the path again.

Jamie would come back. He always did.

Spencer finished practice with the guys, sweat still clinging to the back of his neck, and stepped out into the open air. The concert grounds stretched in every direction—rows of tents selling merch, food stands smoking up the place with grilled onions, trailers lined like a little temporary village, and stages scattered across the field where different bands were already warming up. Music bled together in layers—drums from one stage, a guitar riff from another, someone screaming into a mic two tents over.

Spencer walked, needing the movement to settle his nerves. Every few steps, someone from another band stopped him.

“Spence! Good luck tonight, man.”

“You’re gonna kill it!”

“Come backstage later—we’re doing shots!”

Spencer smiled, bumped fists, nodded, but kept moving. His stomach was tight, and the adrenaline from rehearsal hadn’t burned off yet.

He spotted Jamie and Alfie near a bright red ice‑cream stand, both of them leaning over the counter like kids. Jamie was pointing at flavors with that little crease between his brows he got when he was concentrating. Alfie already had a cone in his hand, dripping down the side.

Typical. Absolutely typical.

Spencer walked up behind them and slid an arm around Jamie’s waist before kissing him—quick, warm, the kind of kiss that settled the jittery buzz in his chest. Jamie smelled faintly of mint ice cream, and the familiar weight of him under Spencer’s hand eased some nerves that had been crawling up his spine.

Jamie looked up. “Hey. You done?”

“Yeah.” Spencer exhaled. “I’m really nervous. I need to walk.”

Alfie licked his cone and shrugged. “I gotta meet Nathan anyway.” He gave Jamie a pat on the shoulder and wandered off, already distracted by something across the field.

“You okay?” Jamie asked.

“Not even a little,” Spencer said, but he smirked. “Come walk with me.”

They headed down one of the dirt paths between the tents. The ground vibrated under their feet from the bass thumping at the nearest stage. People moved everywhere—crew members hauling cables, musicians tuning guitars, fans already lining up at barricades. The air smelled of dust, sunscreen, and fried food.

Jamie slipped his hand into Spencer’s. “You’ll be fine.”