Page 140 of The Drummer

“If they don’t, we’ll get it sorted out by Friday.”

A flash of fear erupts in his eyes before he blinks it away.

“Right. Yeah, good.” He clears his throat and starts up the ramp toward the bay door.

I want to offer a word of encouragement, but what is there to say? Of course he’s terrified to get back into the studio. So am I. Pretending otherwise is just a waste of brain cells.

Callie prevents further commentary when she skips back to the open dock door for her next load.

“Hey, rockstar,” she jokes, nudging Luke’s arm with her shoulder when he passes.

The cloud dissolves from his face as he shakes his head with a smile. He continues toward the storage room while Callie moves toward me.

“You didn’t get very far with that,” she observes, scanning the amp in my arms.

“Yeah, I got lost. Which way is the building again?”

She snorts and runs a hand over my bicep. “Not gonna lie, I don’t hate watching you carry heavy stuff.”

“Why, Callie Roland, are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” she replies in a coy tone. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Intrigued, I scan for witnesses, but my gaze snags on my cymbals case. Definitely getting those next. My entire kit is calling to me from the depths of the trailer.

A smack on the arm makes me jump.

Callie is staring at me in bewildered amusement when I focus back on her. “Are you seriously ogling your equipment instead of me right now?!”

“What? No! I mean…”

I shrug with an apologetic grin, and she smacks me again.

I didn’t think there was anything more fun than igniting a crowd with your music, but pushing this woman’s buttons is quickly making a play for the top slot.

She leaves nothing to chance this time when she tugs my head down for a quick kiss. Sweeny’s amp is becoming incredibly inconvenient.

“I can’t wait to see you play,” she says softly as we separate.

“I can’t wait for you to see me play,” I return with a teasing smile.

Eye roll—andthank you.

All joking aside,I can’t unpack my kit fast enough once we’re unloaded.

I could do this in my sleep—and arguablyhavea time or two—but pulling my instruments from their cases and assembling them into my own little percussion kingdom feels fresh and new. Part of it is the novel environment, but mostly it’s Luke’spresence. Watching him adjust his pedal board and guitar strap is pure cinema for my soul that thought it would never see this image again.

He's in conversation with Callie while he works. I can’t hear their dialogue over the wail of guitar tuning and effects testing, but he’s probably answering her endless questions. She’s fascinated by anything that’s important to other people.

I leave them to it and quickly get wrapped up in my own universe. Once I have the toms and cymbals in place, I pull out a set of sticks, drop to the seat, and test out the spacing of the hi-hats, snare, and kick.

“So this is it. You in your native habitat,” Callie says, drawing my attention.

I straighten from adjusting the kick pedal and shoot a grin at her.

“Be prepared to be amazed,” I boast, pointing my sticks at her.

“I already am,” she says with a measure of excitement.

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