Page 38 of Game Winner
Throughout the arena, there’s fake snow, small ice sculptures with a music theme, blue and purple lights everywhere, and vendors selling cold beers and hot spiked drinks.
Sage and Rhys’s VIP passes get them into special access areas where they can mingle with bands and have a drink. Soren and Tyler’s lanyards are reserved for people with the band, allowing them into the private areas like the dressing room, and they can hang backstage while we’re performing. After our set, we’re going to a hole-in-the-wall diner we found the first year we played here. The guys and I unwind there post-show every year, and I’m looking forward to including Soren and Tyler in the tradition.
Hoping I can catch a glimpse of my guys, I pull open the door.
Layne stumbles into me. His eyes are too bright and wild. I grab hold of his arms. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But his hands clutch my shirt, and he presses into me like he used to do when we were kids and he got scared in the dark.
I pet his back, also like I used to do back then. “You look like a deer caught in headlights. That’s not nothing. Tell me.”
He shakes himself, then pulls away from me. “I just… it’s fine. I saw someone.”
Not much fazes him, so I can’t imagine who’d cause this reaction. Though I could see him being starstruck by Luke Thompson. “Was it Luke?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Someone I didn’t expect.” He says it more to himself than to me, raking a hand through the hair he spent so long styling.
I wonder if that “someone” has anything to do with Layne’s mood over the last few months and the song he composed.
One of the organizers heads our way, speaking into her headset. She pushes the mouthpiece aside when she reaches us. “Five minutes. Please head for the stage.”
Layne ducks into the room and takes a swig from a hip flask that belonged to his dad. “Let’s go, boys.”
I grab his hand. “Layne, who was it?”
“Doesn’t matter anymore.” The tone is final and sad. He tucks the flask into his bag. “Come on.”
“Layne…” Blowing out a breath, I exchange a look with Everett and Gavin, and we follow Layne through the maze of backstage.
The number of people it takes to put on a show like this never fails to impress me. We gather into a little huddle, more of a group hug, and then it’s time.
We take the stage.
Waving to the crowd, Layne grabs the mic from its stand. “Hey, Minneapolis. Are you having a good time?”
They roar in response.
“I’m happy to hear it. It’s fucking cold out there, right?”
More cheers and laughter answer him. I get settled behind my kit. Everett and Gavin slip the guitar straps over their heads.
Layne looks back at us, checks that we’re good, then spins to the audience. “Let’s get you warmed up. One, two, three, four…”
As he counts, I clack my drumsticks together, then thunder my way into “Angry Robot.” The song is a fan favorite. It’s heavy, and the pace is lightning fast. My muscles burn keeping the rapid-fire rhythm, but I love the feeling.
The crowd is into it. Flashing the horns, nodding to the beat, singing along with us. Blue and purple lights flare, then flame orange like the rage in the song is strong enough to set off fires.
Panting into the mic, Layne paces the stage, working the crowd in the way that only he can do. His energy is palpable, and the audience eats it up. “Our next song is one that people always request at our shows. It’s a little older, off our first album. Let’smake some noise.”
With a smirk, Everett plays the opening chord of “Make Some Noise”, and the Flame Shade fans in the crowd cheer.
Layne’s voice is perfect. Everett and Gavin take turns rocking my way. Everything is seamless. No wrong notes. No wrong lyrics. No mistakes. We’re putting on the best show we can. I’m damn proud of my band.
Making music that makes people happy is such a rewarding feeling. We perform “Weight of the World,” “Creatures,” and “Make You Mine.”
