The last word ended on three plucked strings that sang gently in the otherwise still night. Then, somehow, at the same time, a breeze kicked up and ruffled the hair at the back of Jeff’s neck, and he shivered and raised his head as the spell broke.
Jeff had never seen so many cell phones used as lighters. The noise built the same way as the breeze, with a whistle or two first, and then applause, and finally hoarse, jubilant howls that went on for minutes, until Jeff started to feel embarrassed for real. He stood and handed the guitar off to the first tech who appeared as another gave him back his electric and took the stool away.
“I guess that’s gonna be a single,” he offered. Not Howl’s, though, if he had anything to say about it.
The noise made him grin, though inside it felt grim. He slipped the strap of the electric over his head and rolled his shoulders. “Now—should we turn the volume back up?”
He let the way he felt shine through when he turned to meet Trix’s eyes behind the drum kit. She registered his expression and then looked down, ostensibly to fuss with the snare.
Well. There wouldn’t be an encore tonight.
When Jeff left the stage after the final number, he handed his guitar to a stagehand and beelined for the green room. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone. He didn’t check to see if Trix was following, or how far back Max and Joe were until he was in the room and he heard the door click closed.
He whirled.
Trix stood with her arms crossed, looking every bit as angry as Jeff was.
“How fucking dare you,” he said.
She opened her mouth.
“No, really,” Jeff said. “I want to know. Where the fuck do you get off? Who the fuck are you to decide when my songs are ready to be performed?”
“You havehalf an album in there, easy,” she shot back. “Were you planning on writing the whole thing yourself?”
That couldn’t be her problem. “Are you worried I won’t leave enough room for your tracks?” he asked incredulously. “I don’t get it. This morning I was pissed you pushed about the album so your response was to push again with higher stakes and make me perform a new song that you had no idea would be ready in front of five thousand people? Walk me through that decision process.”
Trix slammed her palm against the door. “What the fuck else was I supposed to do, Jeff? You fuckingabandonedus like we had some kind of disease. You’ve refused to talk about album development forsix months. I’m sorry, but I have a career to think about, you know? You obviously need a kick in the ass to stop trying to make things perfect and sit down with us and start collaborating.”
“You obviously have forgotten the entire concept ofboundaries!” Jeff thundered. “We had this argument this morning! Plenty of bands take more than eighteen months between albums! I amtired, Trix! I am tired of being on the road all the time. I love playing with this band. I love our music. But when I ask for some space to get my head straight, suddenly I’m the bad guy? I am tired of not having the time or energy for anything else. If this is enough for you, that’s great. But it’s not, for me.”
“So, what, you just get to make that decision for all of us?” she snapped. “Unilaterally? Because there’s three other people in this band. In case you forgot.”
That was low. “How could I,” Jeff hissed, “when one of them keepsstabbing me in the back?”
“Maybe if you’d paid some goddamn attention, you would’ve seen it coming!”
Fuck!Jeff fought the urge to break something. He threw his hands in the air instead, palms forward. “That’s it. I’m done.”
Trix went ghost white, taking two steps away from the door, toward him. “We have four more shows—”
“And I’ll be there,” Jeff said coldly. “I will be there for every dress rehearsal, every sound check, every concert. But that?” He gestured toward the stage. “That was the last new song I’ll ever play onstage with Howl, I promise you that.” He didn’t care what it cost him. “I hope it was worth it.”
He yanked open the door, still incandescent, to find Tim standing next to the door, looking distinctly unwell. Jeff smiled nastily at him. “Consider this my notice.”
He didn’t want to mean it. He’d never wanted to mean it. But how could he stay after this? He loved being onstage, but it took a certain amount of fearlessness and a huge amount of trust, not only in himself and his abilities and the fact that he had something to say, but in the people up there with him. If he couldn’t trust Trix not to push him over the edge, he couldn’t play with Howl anymore.
And there went the past fourteen years of his life and most of his savings, just like that.
God, what was he doing, walking away from this? He felt sick. Had he eaten before the show? Not that it mattered—he could hardly keep anything down now. Better to just go home and….
He’d burn that bridge when he got there. For now, going home would be enough.
Chapter Eleven
IN THEcar, he let his brain turn off and leaned against the window, his hair, still damp from a fast and furious post-show shower, tickling his cheek and forehead. He didn’t need to play the whole night on an endless loop. If he let himself think about it, he’d only feel worse.
He should’ve stayed in Willow Sound. Instead of an audience of five thousand, he could’ve had a couple dozen around a campfire, with Carter next to him for some unprofessional but pleasantly rumbly harmony. Besides, he didn’t trust Carter not to overdo it if he didn’t have supervision. Sure hesaidsomeone else would be handling the physical aspect of campfire night, but Carter had never been that great about delegating. He was probably walking kids over to the s’mores table, showing parents and teens the different ways to lay kindling.
