“Dude.” Austin shakes his head. “Not cool. We need to be consulted on big shit like that.”
“I was under the impression you all needed time away. Not to be disturbed.” Bedo’s brows rise and he shrugs. “We had a problem. I took care of it.”
“So, when do we meet the guy?” Sean rubs his fingers over his eyelids and slides them over to his temples.
“He’s right here.” My uncle tips his chin my direction, and I swear to God, I can’t tell whether he’s trying to make them hate me or he’s an arrogant ass all the time. “Meet your new drummer.”
Austin stares and then bursts into laughter. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
“Nope.” My uncle’s smile grows.
“This a joke? Tell me you’re fucking with us.” Trent shakes his head, a mixture of anger and confusion riddles in his tone, and his eyes narrow on mine.
“I’m afraid not.” My uncle says the words as if he were sorry, but it doesn’t seem he is at all. In fact, he appears absolutely joyful at the shocking news he’s delivered. Fuck, he’s doing this so they’ll hate me off the bat. His gaze spins to meet mine and he lifts his brows. “He might not look like much, but the kid can play.”
I’m not sure whether I should smile or scowl at the backhanded compliment, but for the sake of keeping peace I force a smile and wave. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”
“Bedo? The fuck, man?” Sean lets loose a chuckle.
Trent lifts his chin, the angry lock of his jaw not completely gone, but at least it’s not directed at me. “Kid. How old are you?” He turns to Bedo. “Can he even stay out after curfew?”
“Really?” I raise my brow and work really hard not to roll my eyes. I don’t have a thousand tatts and a five o’clock shadow, but I’m almost nineteen years old. Thanks to my awesome family genetics—broad shoulders, strong jaw, and full, thick head of hair—I easily pass for twenty-one.
“Do you even play? You look like a fucking model.”
I pucker my lips and blow Austin a kiss. “Aww, you think I’m pretty?”
“Leighton.” My uncle’s sharp tone cuts off my teasing. “Why don’t you shut up and play something?”
Dutifully, I cross the adjacent space littered with instruments, take a seat at the drums and pull the sticks from my back pocket. I lift my gaze as the guys pile into the room and find places against the wall. Their skepticism is apparent. Time to prove them wrong.
Adrenaline works through my veins. As I hear their murmured doubts, I quash the smile that threatens to spread across my face. This is the part I love. Everyone I’ve ever performed for takes one look and assumes I can’t play, but they have no clue how talented I am. How the notes practically flow from my mind, and the music comes as natural as breathing.
These guys are like everyone else. They don’t think I can do this. They expect me to fall short.
“Anything in particular? Or shall I start with the planned set list?” I take the sticks and spin them between my fingers.
Trent catches the motion, releases a whoosh of breath and narrows his stare at my uncle. “Dude. Bedo. Really?”
“Just listen to him play. Close your eyes if it’s too distracting.” He nods at some guy in the sound booth and glances back at me. “Leighton?” My uncle’s gaze is full of warning. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t make me look bad.
No problem-o.
Closing my eyes, I visualize screaming crowds, blazing stage lights, and a magnetic energy in the air. I’m a fucking rock god. It’s go time. Sticks above my head I count it off and play like my life depends on it. And unless I plan on sulking home with my tail between my legs, it kinda does.
The sound guy pipes the guitars and vocals into the room and I’m careful to play exactly as it’s recorded on the tapes I practiced with yesterday. Now’s not the time to get creative or take over. Nobody likes a showoff. These guys already don’t like me. Sure, I get that I’m younger. I don’t have piercings or tattoos. And yeah, I was raised with a sense of fashion beyond ripped jeans and band T-shirts. But hell, I’m stuck behind this set. It’s not as if it matters what I look like as long as I can play.
Oh boy, can I play.
The energy from the music paints a smile on my lips. I can’t fight showing how much fun this is, or how much I love playing this music. It’s loud. Fast. Hard hitting. And before I know it the song comes to an end with one last kick and beat of my sticks. I lift my chin, tossing my head back to clear the hair from where it falls on my forehead.
Their faces are priceless. Complete and utter shock. All of them, well, except Uncle Bedo who is trying, unsuccessfully, to mask his grin.
Told ya I wouldn’t let you down.
“Okay, I’ll give it to you.” Austin nods before turning to Bedo. “The kid can play, but he looks like a child. I’m not even sure his balls have dropped yet. The fans will eat him alive. No offense, man.”
“None taken,” I say but Austin doesn’t hear my reply.
