Page 48 of Game Winner
I twist my neck to the right, then the left, working out the kinks. Tyler isn’t the only one who hasn’t been sleeping well. “Thanks.”
We head down the stairs. Gavin is perched on his stool, playing with something on his phone. Across the room, Layne sits cross-legged on the couch, scribbling in his songbook. His sleeves pushed up to his elbows show that his bruises have all healed.
“Hey guys.” I set my phone near my kit so I’ll be able to see if Tyler texts.
“About time you got here.” Layne doesn’t look up and doesn’t stop writing. His foot, shaking fast, tells me he’s either angry or has a lot of pent-up energy. I won’t hazard a guess as to which it might be.
I glance at the clock. “I’m not late. Right on time, actually.”
Shaking my head, I settle behind the drum kit and hold back the retort of how many times he’s been late and made us all late.
Gavin puts his phone down. “How’s Tyler? How are you?”
“Tired, but hanging in there is probably accurate for us both. Let’s go over what we’re doing for next Friday’s show. We have time for a five-song set.” The Metros don’t have a game that day, so I won’t have to worry about Ty being taken care of. I’ll still worry because I’m learning that’s a given when it comes to Tyler and Soren.
Gavin grabs his bass. “I was thinking “Dog Days,” “Fuel to the Fire,” “Walking Nightmare,” and maybe “Shades of Shadows,” and “Out of Time.”
“Hold up. We need to chat about something first.” Layne tosses his songbook onto the cushion beside him. “Jett Hale from Hard and Heavy Live reached out. He said Luke Thompson told him about us. They’re putting together an intimate concert ofbands people should know aboutand would like us to be there.”
“Wow, really?” I stare at Layne. My brain sputters, freezes, then sputters again, trying to make sense of what he just said. Hard and Heavy Live has been a rock music staple for decades. Tons of huge bands have played on the show over the years. “Wait, they film the show in Manhattan. Where’s the concert?”
“There. April twenty-fifth. It’s a Saturday. We can fly out Friday afternoon and come back on Sunday.”
The dates ping in my brain as I bring up mental pictures of the Slash and Metros schedules. “I’m not sure how Tyler will be by then. The first round of the playoffs would be starting sometime around then, and if both teams are involved, he’ll need me to stay with him.”
“You’ll still be taking care of himnext month?” Layne gapes at me. “It’s a broken bone, not recovering from major surgery.”
“Shh.” I jab my finger toward the ceiling. “He’s right upstairs. Don’t be a dick.” I spit the words out in a hushed growl and grit my teeth together. “He has a significant injury, and he needs help dressing, showering, and someone to basically be his hands. It’s more than a simple broken bone.”
Layne uncrosses his legs, stretching them out in front of him with an air of indifference that has me fisting my hands. “He’s the reason you missed practices over the last two weeks. He’s a grown man. Are you telling me that he can’t find someone else to stay with him?”
The urge to throat-punch my best friend flares. “That’s. Not. The. Point.” I clench my fists. “I said I’d stay with him. He’s struggling right now and needs the support of people he trusts.”
“Yeah, well, I already told Jett we’d do it.” His look is expectant. Like that will make me immediately cave and agree.
“You can’t commit to things without checking with us.” I tug at my hair, but it does nothing to calm the blaze simmering in my gut. “Especially one that comes with big expenses like flights and hotel rooms.”
He lifts his chin. “I did what any of us would do.”
My head is shaking in the negative before he’s even finished. “If I’d talked to them, I would’ve said thanks and we’ll get back to you once I check with my bandmates.” He’s handled the bulk of the social media and account monitoring because he likes it the most and is good at it. But I should check it more so things like this don’t happen.
He stands, and as much as he tries to act cool, I see the tension in his movements and the twitching of his jaw. “So… what? You don’t want to do it?”
“It’s not just me. Gav and Ev have a say.”
But the pair don’t say anything, they just watch Layne and me like we’re on opposite sides of a tennis match.
Pacing the length from Gavin’s bass to Everett’s guitar, I consider the upcoming weeks. “Tyler will be close to six weeks post-injury by then. Maybe he’d feel up to traveling and could come with us.”
But right now is too soon to tell. I’m worried he’ll try to push himself too hard and end up with a setback.
Layne gives me the biggest eye roll ever. “Seriously?”
Frustration flashes bright, and I stomp toward him, stopping when I’m in front of him. “What is your problem?”
“Nothing.”
“That eye roll says otherwise.” I’m so done with him right now. Tired of his moods and his keeping everything to himself, Tired of the constant worry over him or what he’s going to do next. Just tired. And ready to burn it all down. “Either he comes or I don’t go.”
