Luke glanced at the sheet. “You said we don’t need to attend sound check, but I like my kit set up a certain way.”
“Great point. This is Rob Bruner,” Ed said, pointing to a beefy man in his mid-forties wearing a faded Dave Matthews Band T-shirt. “Rob has been a drum tech for some of the biggest tours that have happened over the last ten years. We keep him on retainer so he’s available to our artists.”
“I’m sure he’s great, but isn’t it easier if I just do it myself?”
Rob grinned. “I’m happy to let you do as much or as little as you want. But here’s the thing. Your kit is growing. It’s new to you. I watched some video. You got a stability issue through the snares. Your kick drum travels. The setup is getting wider when you’d really benefit from shifting the horseshoe. I got a more industrial rack I was hoping you’d try. It’s going to allow you to hit harder because I think you know the kit’s current limits and are pulling your strokes.”
“Sure, I’m open to trying shit, but it might be hard to shift to a new formation at this stage.”
“I’m not talking new formation. But you do need some tweaks. I’ve a loan on a new ergonomic drum throne and the rack, like I already suggested. We need you to feel strong and secure when you play, so you can really nail your strokes.”
Parker looked at the band. “That’s the purpose of this. We know you know how to play the songs. But this is how it all comes together live. We need to work out the transitions between songs, check the light cues, maximise the dramatic effect, and minimise changeovers and costume changes.”
“Costume changes,” Jase scoffed. “I’m not fucking Beyoncé.”
Ben laughed. “No, you definitely aren’t.”
“Alex could probably pull it off, though,” Luke said.
Alex chuckled. “I’m probably the only one who could, but no one would see it behind all my kit anyway. Would be a waste of effort.”
Parker rolled his eyes. “Guys. You seem to forget. This is a step up. Do I care if you change your T-shirt or remain a sweaty mess all the way through? No. I don’t give a fuck. But fans paying the kind of money for tickets that you are now charging expect a show. What worked in the pub and club circuit won’t pass on a major tour. And every single person picked for the tour has been chosen for their experience. You need to listen to them.”
“Fair enough,” Jase said.
“There’s going to be a lot of sitting around, today,” Ed continued. “So, you all have time to spend with your respective member of the road crew. They are going to work with you on every specification. What key you want your guitars tuned. Which order you like your pedals. Whether you want your song list taped to the floor, on a speaker or to your left or right. Photographs will be taken. It’ll all be documented. The idea is, when you walk onstage, you should feel one hundred percent confident that your kit is exactly how you want it. And it will consistently be the same, night after night.”
“The sound and lighting team worked from the audio of our last studio rehearsal playthrough. They already have a fairly detailed production plan. But it’s the transitions and any variations that come from really playing it live,” Parker said. “I’ve just got to catch up with Ed and some of the team, but there’s a small room set up for you over there. Help yourself to coffee and be ready to start setup in ten.”
Ben looked around. “This is some next-level shit.”
Matt nodded and led them into the room that had been set up for them. Nothing fancy given the warehouse space, but there were chairs, a couple of tables, a TV. “It starts to get real pretty quick, doesn’t it? All this must cost a fortune.”
“I’m glad Cerys is on the team and coming with us,” Jase said, pouring coffee into a plastic cup from a large pot on the table.
Alex slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m surprised you didn’t go over and say hi.”
“New rules. She wants to keep church and state separate while we are rehearsing. Not make a big deal of being together.”
“Are you cool with that?” Luke asked.
“I’d rather we were just us. But I get it from her point of view. It’s tough enough being a woman in this industry, hell, any industry. So, yeah, if she needs distance while we’re at work, I’m cool with it. Anyway, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that shit.”
A shiver prickled the hairs on Luke’s neck. He didn’t want to think about absence. His son had perfect little hands, and perfect little ears, and the most perfect little nose. Watching him move, listening to his heartbeat, he was no longer “the baby” or Cletus. He was his own child. And something had cracked the wall around his heart. He couldn’t even begin to remotely explain it. In just those few moments, he’d caught a glimpse of a future that involved footie in the park, and the first day of school, and late-night feedings, and siblings.
Jesus.
More kids.
A family that was tight as a unit. Him, Willow, and their kids against the world.
Words didn’t even begin to describe the warmth that filled him as he thought about it. Day trips to Blackpool to ride donkeys on the sand, possibly with his sister and Matt’s kids.
But absence.
No, there were no words for the panic that filled him at the thought that less than ten months from now, Willow and his son could be out of his life across an ocean. He had to persuade her to stay.
And to persuade her to stay, he had to make her understand his feelings were real, but more importantly, that he wouldn’t use her. That she could trust him when every other man in her life had let her down.
Fuck.
“You okay?” Matt asked.
Luke shook his head. “Nah. Bricking it, to be honest.”
“What’s wrong?” Alex asked.
“I’m having a son,” he said, wondering why it had taken him eleven days to tell them. Wondering if it was ridiculous to pull out the ultrasound images. He did it anyway. “He’s definitely a Cletus and healthy.”
Ben slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s amazing. A son. That’s pretty cool.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it, that he’s healthy?” Jase asked.
“It is. But I had an epiphany while we were in there.”
As he proceeded to tell them everything, he felt as though his chest was collapsing. Panic began to wrap its icy fingers around his throat, squeezing it tightly. He tugged the collar of his T-shirt away from his neck.
“Jase, get him a chair,” Matt said, sliding his shoulder beneath Luke’s arm. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?”
Fuck.
Panic.
The four walls of the cavernous space crowded him. His skin burned with prickly heat. And his heart felt as though it was dropping ten floors every third beat.
“Sorry,” he gasped.
“You need to see a doctor, mate,” Alex said, handing him a bottle of water.
Luke placed the ice-cold liquid to the back of his neck and checked the door was closed. He didn’t want the label to see, or his drum tech, or all the new people he had to work with. But he couldn’t regain his breath and his teeth chattered furiously, causing his whole body to shudder.