the concert. When the fireworks had gone off prematurely he’d been annoyed but slip-ups happened on the road all the time. But the resultant fire and panicked stampede was a nightmare branded into his subconscious he doubted he’d ever get over.
The stupid thing was, when the warning sirens initially went off, everything halted, playing out in slow motion. The flames spreading from the pit beneath the stage out into the front rows of the venue, the panic of security staff desperately trying to usher patrons towards the nearest exits, the screams of terrified people, and his feet being rooted to the stage while staff tried to drag him to safety. He’d shrugged them off initially, dithering over whether to make a death-defying leap to help those below. Of course the decision had been taken out of his hands when three roadies had tugged him offstage. Another had managed to rescue his precious guitar, but seven people had lost their lives and he’d never forget it. Their screams, along with the smell of burning flesh, would haunt him forever.
‘Fuck,’ he muttered, swiping a hand over his face, only to refocus on the guitar again. Not his—Yanni’s, who’d dabbled in strings back in high school, before realising drums were his dream. It had scratches etched into it from being dragged between school and band practice in Daz’s parents’ garage. Its pine colour had faded over time, appearing almost bleached now. And the plectrum, a funky green opal design that teenage Kody had coveted, was tucked into the bottom strings.
He knew why Yanni kept the guitar—sentimentality. Kody’s first guitar travelled with him everywhere even though he rarely played it. He may have hated school but thanked the big guy upstairs every day that his year seven music teacher had seen his potential and given him an old guitar. He knew every inch of that instrument: the feel of the strings; the rough wooden surface; the precise tuning required. It had grounded him like nothing else in his crappy teen years and he’d taken it around the world as a lucky talisman, a reminder of how far he’d come.
Kody blinked, the moisture in his eyes annoying him as much as the invisible band constricting his chest. He’d never been the sentimental type, so tearing up over an old guitar was plain idiotic. But he knew that his maudlin mood stemmed from so much more than an inability to pick up a guitar and he needed to get out of this funk before Isla picked up on it.
From their day together yesterday, Isla was way too smart for him. She’d see right through him. If she knew about the concert accident she didn’t say but the fact she hadn’t asked why he was in town hiding out in this house or how long before he returned to touring spoke volumes. She must’ve looked him up on the internet like any kid would and figured out he hadn’t done any gigs since Wellington.
He’d explain it to her if she asked. Then again, what could he say? That he had no inclination to play music of any kind? That the thought of getting up on a stage again made him want to barf? That he’d be letting down the only real family he’d ever known but seeing the disappointment in his band’s eyes when he froze on stage would gut him further? How could he explain any of it to his daughter when he’d barely processed his feelings himself? The guilt, the pain, the regret, was wrapped up in a tight bundle of nerves lodged in his gut and refused to budge no matter how much he willed it away.
He owed the band an explanation. But for now, he’d touch base with Yanni and lay the groundwork for his big reveal: that he’d be leaving Rock Hard Place.
He flipped open the laptop on the coffee table and stabbed at the button to video conference. The wifi took longer to connect out here so he waited, relieved when Yanni’s face appeared. Apart from the lines fanning from his eyes and the deeper grooves either side of his big nose, Yanni looked the same as he had in high school: curly black hair, big brown eyes and a grin that made you want to smile back at him. He’d been Kody’s first real friend, someone he could depend on when he’d started high school and realised being a sulky, grouchy introvert wouldn’t get him far. They’d bonded over their