“Knock. Knock.” The door inched open and Ethan poked his head inside. “Ready?”
“Ready.” I clutched my sticks in my hand, drawing strength from the smooth wood. Then I followed him outside and through the crush of people.
The crowd’s cheers grew louder with every step toward the stage. Nixon and Jonas were already waiting to go on. Nix was bouncing on his feet and cracking his neck. Jonas was whispering something in his fiancée Kira’s ear, making her laugh.
“Are you okay?” Ethan asked as he escorted me toward them.
“Change of plans for tomorrow. I’m not going to Seattle. Can you make arrangements for me to go to Bozeman, Montana, instead?”
“Um . . . sure.” He nodded as confusion clouded his expression.
In all the years Ethan had been our tour manager, he’d never had to arrange for me to take a break from the show lineup for a trip to my childhood home. Because since I’d walked away at eighteen, I hadn’t been back.
“I want to leave first thing in the morning.”
“Quinn, are you—”
I held up a hand. “Not now.”
“There she is.” Nixon grinned as I approached, his excitement palpable. Like me, he lived for these shows. He lived for the rush and the adrenaline. He lived to leave it all on stage and let the audience sweep us away for the next hour.
Jonas smiled too, but it faltered as he took in my face. “Are you okay?”
Where Ethan was the peacemaker and Nixon the entertainer, Jonas was the caretaker. The designated leader by default. When Nixon and I didn’t want to deal with something, like a Grammy acceptance speech or hiring a new keyboardist, Jonas was there, always willing to step up.
Maybe we relied on him too much. Maybe the reason it had been so hard to write new music lately was because I wasn’t sure of my own role anymore.
Drummer? Writer? Token female?
Bitch?
Shorty’s damn voice was stuck in my head. “Some guy from the stage crew came into my dressing room and took my sticks. He was ‘holding them’ for me.”
It was better they think that was the reason I was upset. Ethan wouldn’t ask questions about my trip tomorrow, but Jonas and Nixon would.
“He’s fired.” Jonas looked to Ethan, who held up a hand.
“It’s already done.”
“Good luck, you guys.” Kira gave Jonas another kiss and waved at Nixon. She was a little less friendly toward me—my fault, not hers—but she smiled.
I hadn’t exactly been welcoming when she’d gotten together with Jonas. I’d been wary, rightfully so. His taste in women before Kira was abhorrent.
“Thanks, Kira.” I offered her the warmest smile I could muster before she and Ethan slipped away to where they’d watch the show.
Jonas held out one hand for mine and his other for Nixon’s. As we linked together, we shuffled into a shoulder-to-shoulder circle.
This was a ritual we’d started years ago. I couldn’t remember exactly when or how it had begun, but now it was something we didn’t miss. It was as critical to a performance as my drum kit and their guitars. We stood together, eyes closed and without words, connecting for a quiet moment before we went on stage.
Then Jonas squeezed my hand, signaling it was time.
Here we go.
I dropped their hands and, with my shoulders pinned back and my sticks gripped tight, walked past them to the dark stage. The cheers washed over me. The chanting of Hush Note, Hush Note seeped into my bones. I moved right for my kit, sat on my stool, and put my foot on the bass drum.
Boom.
The crowd went wild.
Nixon walked on stage and lights from thousands of cameras flashed.
Boom.
Jonas strode toward a microphone. “Hello, Boston!”
The screams were deafening.
Boom.
Then we unleashed.
The rhythm of my drums swallowed me up. I escaped into the music and let it numb the pain. I played like my heart wasn’t broken and pretended that the woman who’d supported me from afar these past nine years was clapping in the front row.
Tonight, I’d be the award-winning drummer. The Golden Sticks.
Tomorrow, I’d be Quinn Montgomery.
And tomorrow, I’d have no choice but to go home.
***
“What are you doing here?”
Nixon shrugged from his seat on our jet. His eyes were shaded with sunglasses, and he was wearing the same clothes he’d changed into after last night’s show. “Heard you were taking a trip. Thought I’d tag along.”
“Have you even been to sleep yet?” I walked to his seat and plucked the glasses off his face, and the sight of his glassy eyes