“Guys, guys,” Reagan said. “Maybe we should start with lyrics and—”
“Start with lyrics?” Max asked. “We never start with lyrics.”
“How is she supposed to know that?” Dare snapped, shoving Max in the chest. “She’s never had the pleasure of being involved in this fucking bullshit.”
“Okay, not with lyrics then,” Reagan said calmly. “How do you usually start?”
“Exactly like this,” Logan said. He was sure Toni wasn’t getting what she expected for her book, but she was getting an authentic experience. “These assholes can’t agree on anything.”
“We can all agree that you contribute nothing, so you might as well leave,” Steve said.
“I contribute!” Logan shouted, anger making his skin hot and his heart race.
“What do you contribute? D chord, D chord, D chord, D chord,” Steve said, keeping the beat to his improvised bass line with shakes of his head.
“Shut up,” Logan growled. “I sometimes play E.”
“We usually start with a guitar riff,” Dare said to Reagan. He looked to their original rhythm guitarist. “Max?”
Max looked at the electric guitar he’d brought in and hooked to one of the practice amps. He swallowed hard, rubbing his wrist brace, and then switched his attention to the acoustic guitar in the corner. “I still think acoustic—”
“No,” Steve interrupted.
“Bull headed,” Max grumbled under his breath, but he rose from his spot on the sectional to yank his favorite blue guitar off its stand—it was the only guitar he hadn’t allowed Reagan to borrow when she’d joined the tour. He took his time adjusting the tuning while the rest of them twiddled their thumbs or exchanged glares.
Max took off his wrist brace and carefully laid it on the coffee table. He flexed his fingers several times and then shook blood into the underused hand. “This one has been keeping me awake at night,” he said. He played several notes of a raunchy riff, shook his head, slid his hand along his fret board to a lower octave and started over. Smiling, he nodded and bobbed his head slightly to the rhythm as he came to the end of the string of notes and returned to the beginning.
Logan sat up straighter, listening to the natural rhythm of the piece and mentally adding his lower bass tones to the midrange.
“Oh, I love it,” Reagan squeaked.
“So you hear this kind of stuff in your head?” Toni asked. She was staring at Max with the kind of awe she usually reserved for Logan.
“Only when it’s quiet and I’m trying to sleep,” Max said with a wry grin.
His smile turned into a grimace, and he jerked his hand off the fret board, cradling it against his chest with his right hand. He massaged his left wrist and shook it out before returning his fucked-up hand to his guitar and playing the riff again. Dare’s rapid string of notes blaring from his amplifier made everyone jump. He shook his head and tried a completely different string of notes, shrugged and started over, now alternating E-minor triplets with a four-note pattern.
Wow, they were actually getting things done. Logan was proud of his band for holding their shit together for a change. Well, for the most part. Heads hadn’t started rolling yet.
Logan stood and went after the bass guitar he’d hooked up on the far side of the lounge. Dudes were going to flip when they heard the awesome bass line running through his head. Before he could even lift the strap over his head, Max’s riff ended abruptly, and he jerked the plug out of the end of his guitar.
“Fuck this!” he yelled, slinging the free end of the cord on the ground.
“If your wrist is bothering you, I can play the riff.” Reagan extended her hands toward the now-silent guitar.
“I’m done for today,” Max said. He slid the door open so hard it slammed against the frame with an earsplitting crack.
“We should have gone with acoustic,” Dare said.
“What difference would that make?” Steve asked. “Don’t you have to strum harder when you play acoustic?”
“Strumming isn’t his problem,” Dare said, setting his guitar aside. “It’s fingering frets rapidly.”
As was done in all Exodus End songs. Even the ballads. Max was probably thinking if they took a huge departure from their norm and slowed things down—a lot—he could play.
So it made perfect sense to Logan why Max would rather play acoustic. “If you’d let him play what he wanted, he could have used a few connected chords. Not had to move his fingers much.”
“So we switch him to bass,” Steve said, shrugging.