Page 70 of Lost Lyrics

“I’m always down for playing before work.” Lewis strummed out a rapid beat on his bass. “I’m good to go.”

“Alright then.” My fingers hovered over my strings. This, playing with the guys, our friendship and having fun, were more reasons for living. “Let’s play ‘Motion,’ ‘Love Makes You Crazy,’ ‘Follow You,’ the medley from tour, and the songs we played for our encore. That should be about half an hour.”

“Yes, boss.” Slip saluted me.

Asshole, but I love him. “Fuck you.”

“Love you. Now let’s play.” He positioned his fingers over his strings.

Cole tapped his sticks together, beat his bass drum four times, then hammered out the intro, leading us into our set. Lewis, Slip, and I struck our electric guitars. The music reverberated through our amps, my feet, and my soul. Cole’s cymbals shattered the air. The booming beat struck the center of my chest. I sang, but not in front of the mic.

We stood in a circle, feeding off each other’s energy. Slip and Lewis banged their heads in time with the music, flicking their long hair over their faces. I laughed out loud, rocking from side to side on my feet. Cole’s hands were a blur as he struck his drums. It was wicked to be back together again. Playing. Joking around. Living and breathing music.

For thirty minutes, we rocked out our songs. We sweated. We panted. But no one called timeout. Cole struck the last note,threw his sticks in the air, and caught them. “Hell yeah. That’s what it’s about. Us playing. The music. That rush.”

He raced around from the back of his kit to join us.

We huddled in a circle, draping our arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Cole’s right.” Fire burned hot inside my chest. “Music is who we are. We’re going to write an incredible album. Tour. And keep doing this for the rest of our days.”

“Absolutely.” Lewis wiped his sweaty face on the shoulder of his T-shirt. “But I’m starving. I’ll buy lunch. Then let’s get to work. I’ve got a bunch of songs I’ve been working on and want you to hear.”

“Me too.” I tilted my head toward the door. “Food, then work.”

“Deal.” Slip took off his guitar and placed it on the stand. “I’ve got lots of verses and ideas to throw at you guys. I’ve written some cool riffs, and other bits and pieces. They just need to be paired with some awesome lyrics.”

Cole grabbed a towel from the basket next to his drums and wiped his face. “I’ve worked on some new cool beats. I can’t wait for you to hear them. But once we sit down, fuck around, play with some lyrics, and I get a feel for the song, that’s when I fire. That’s when the drumming comes to me. You know that.”

“We do. I want to hear everything, but let’s eat first.” I set down my guitar and led everyone out of the room.

We headed out to the kitchen and living area. I grabbed icy-cold beers for Cole, Lewis, and me, and a lime and soda, now a permanent item in my fridge, for Slip.

We sat around my dining table and told stories and rude jokes while we waited for the pizzas Lewis had ordered to arrive.

I loved these moments—hanging out with the guys, talking shit, and laughing—just as much as playing music.

We had the best job in the world.

We had an album to write.

We would. I had no doubt.

Lost and Foundwould be another epic chart-topper.

I felt it in my bones.

I pictured us performing in front of thousands of people at Wembley, MetLife, and even the MCG in Melbourne. Yeah, that would be epic.

We’d work toward making that dream a reality . . . after lunch . . . and another beer or two.

This time together, enjoying each other’s company and having fun, was just as important as our job.

I was a fucking good boss, wasn’t I?

Hell fucking yeah!

Chapter 18

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