it go. I might never use it again, but it was a link I needed to hold onto a little while longer. I locked and closed the door, hoping it wasn’t metaphorical. I still wanted to find some way to work things out, but I didn’t know how. Not with his attitude. Not with my refusal to be someone other than who I was.
And with that, I left Shane’s world behind, summoned an Uber, and headed to the address Jo had given me. I got out a block early to grab a cup of coffee, then with nerves flipping over in my stomach, walked up the front steps to the home of the legendary drummer, Hervé Diaz.
Hervé opened the door with a massive grin. “You must be Layla. Jo said such lovely things about you.” I grabbed the hand he’d extended, expecting to say hi and shake, but he tugged me into a hug. “Any friend of Jo’s has to be all right. Come on in. The guys are setting up downstairs.”
He whisked me down to his basement, which was completely decked out with a couple of sound booths and all kinds of production recording equipment. I may have wiped the drool from my chin.
Charles McCord and Mark Townsend both greeted me with a wave and a salute respectively. My eyes bugged out. Stay cool, Layla.
“And I don’t think I need to tell you who that is.”
Adam was sitting on an amp, walking an octave up the neck of a guitar. Fucking sexy as hell. “Layla! You made it!”
He crossed the room and gave me a hug, and I didn’t even think about sniffing him. “Thanks so much for inviting me to do this. It’s such a great honor.”
He chuckled. “Well, I hope it works out for you.”
And right then, it was evident that he was doing this as a favor to me, not because his band needed the exposure it would bring. They didn’t need it. But I needed them, and he was okay with that. I felt humbled that he’d extend his powers of good to someone like me.
Hervé showed me where to set up my equipment, then I lived every fan girl’s fantasy. Again.
The guys played for a couple of hours, and they made it more show than rehearsal. In fact, it wasn’t the fly-on-the-wall experience I’d expected at all. It felt planned out, almost scripted. There was no bickering. They didn’t squabble over songs. They weren’t putting together a setlist for an actual tour. The band wasn’t even touring, which made me wonder: What were they rehearsing for?
They did play some unreleased material, and that would be the gold in my article and a huge hit at my forum. But they mainly played songs off their latest album, all super polished and professional.
I couldn’t help but compare the experience to the rehearsal with Shane’s band, a band I hadn’t followed as closely, and yet, they’d set a bar no other band would reach. And the reason for that wasn’t the music or the performances or even how welcome they made me feel. It was simply Shane’s joy at having me there.
And for the first time, I almost regretted choosing this over the boy who’d given me those shy smiles when Noah had first accused me of being a super fan. Turns out maybe Noah had been right. Maybe my priorities were completely out of whack.
What was I doing here? Was this really worth losing Shane over? Surely Lars would understand if I didn’t follow through. This wasn’t even my real job.
Everyone I knew online would be eating their hearts out with jealousy if they knew where I was sitting, but all I could think about was how lonely I was going to feel when I walked out with a camera full of videos and nobody to go home to.
As the band wrapped up, I thanked them for giving me such an incredible opportunity, hoping my gushing sounded as sincere as it would have been just a month earlier. I did appreciate them donating their time, especially since they didn’t need to at all, kicking myself for having mixed emotions on a day like today.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Once I got back to Jo’s, I set to work writing the blog and editing videos. Once Lars gave me the go-head, I posted the article on the Rock Paper, then went over and stared at a blinking cursor on my own site, trying to figure out