Page 13 of Game Winner
Layne brings his cup away from his lips. His eyes haven’t lost that faraway look he gets every time he sings this song. “Maybe we should work on something else instead. I’m not feeling this one anymore. If we have to cut a song from Winter Fest, and it’s this one, I don’t want to spend so much time on it.”
On the other side of the room, Gavin and Everett look at each other and then at me. I shrug because that reasoning clearly makes zero sense. “You literally just asked for feedback. Gavin has a violin right upstairs, so why would we hold off on seeing if it fits with the song? And if we have to cut a song from the set list, we can choose a different one.”
Layne’s pale blue eyes flash from wounded to fierce and he tugs on one of the chains around his neck, pulling the metal links taut. “Can you please not push this right now?”
My internal antennae, tuned to Layne since we were eight years old, goes off. I round the drum kit. The thick black rug softens my footsteps. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.” He tugs on the chain again and looks anywhere but at me.
“Bullshit.”
He bites his lip. “Maybe we should cut the song now. We have other ballads we can play at the festival instead.”
“No way. I get chills when you sing it. It’sgood, Layne.”
Everett strolls past us toward the tray of coffees he brought from work. “It is. We never know what song will be a hit, but if I had to bet on one, it would be this.”
“So would I. It’s like capturing lightning in a bottle.” Gavin’s voice comes from somewhere behind me. “I know you were a little hesitant when you first showed it to us.”
Layne turns his attention to his tea, tugging on the tag to bob the bag in the water. “A moment of weakness I’m regretting now.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I study my best friend. He’s never been shy about showing us a song. There’s more going on here. If it’s going to upset him this much, I’m willing to put the song on hold for a while. “Why do you want to cut it?”
“Never mind. Forget I brought it up.” He huffs a sigh. “Everything’s fine. We should work on the song Everett’s writing. Ev? Do you have the lyrics ready?”
He bustles to the other side of the room and snags a sheet of paper from Gavin’s pad that has nothing to do with Everett’s song.
I let him go. His body language is screaming at me not to press things right now. After detouring to grab my water bottle from the windowsill, I return to my drum kit. “Ev, I’m ready whenever you are.”
Everett plays a few chords and we join in, improvising, seeing what works, playing with notes and words.
Layne sits cross-legged on the chair near me, holding his mug of tea. His posture is too rigid and his smile is too forced, but as we work, he relaxes. We can read each other so well. I wonder if I’ll ever be this in tune with Tyler and Soren. I’ve only seen them two times, but something’s sparking between us. Having them at the show the other night and hanging out afterward felt almost magical. My pulse picks up with the thought of seeing them again.
We work on Everett’s song until we’re happy with it, then switch to the playing with the fragment of a song with sensual notes and a pounding beat that’s been in my head since I met Soren and Tyler, and wrap up practice by running through a few covers we like to slip into our shows that never fail to get the crowd singing along.
As Gavin and Everett discuss dinner plans, I join Layne on the couch by the stairs and sink into the soft black cushions. “Do I need to hurt someone for you?”
“Bax, you get mistaken for band security enough as it is. If you start cracking heads, we’ll have to hire you for real.” He tosses his phone onto the arm of the couch. “And we can’t afford that.”
That answer only affirms that someone’s responsible for my friend’s pain. I lean in closer and wait for him to meet my gaze. “Tell me what happened.”
With a restless move, he shrugs the tattered green cardigan back in place from where it slipped off his shoulder. “I don’t like talking about when I’ve been an idiot, so no thanks.”
“You’re not an idiot.”
He twists his fingers together on his lap. “Well, I feel like one. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
I lay my hand on top of his. “Okay, then I’ll drop this until you’re ready.”
“Thanks.”
“But let me say this last thing.” I tap my finger against the large skull ring on his index finger. “If playing the song at the festival really upsets you, we can cut it. I’ll back you up.”
He sucks in a breath and when he releases it, he sinks down, resting his head on the back cushion, and aims his gaze at the ceiling. “We should perform it. I agree with everyone. We have something special. I won’t let my drama interfere with what’s best for the band.”
“What’s best for you matters more.”
Layne opens his eyes and sends me his first real smile of the day. “Noted. You want to tell me about your newest fans?”
