“Nigel might skin you alive,” Trent says. “The poor man is having kittens right now.”

Shit.

“Sorry,” I say. “I went back there to chill for a few minutes, and then that guy was there and we were talking and I kinda just forgot what time it was.”

Trent just grunts. He’s not particularly talkative at the best of times — last year, Rolling Stone actually called him ‘broody and mysterious,’ and while I don’t think he’s exactly either, I can see where they get it — but he usually does better than grunt.

We don’t say anything else as we walk to meet Gavin and Eddie, the rest of the band, both waiting just off-stage in the wings. I’m nervous, because I always get nervous, cracking my knuckles and repeating the set list to myself in my head.

Tidal, Charcoal Teeth, Cage Rattler...

When we get to the side of the stage, he’s standing there, both his hands stuck in his pockets, staring out at the crowd. All day he’s been walking around tensely, nitpicking roadies and backstage managers over this or that because it turns out that when he’s not high all the time, he can be a little uptight. That, and he’s just nervous.

Eddie’s doing jump squats in his flip-flops, and every time he lands, before he squats again he shakes all his limbs out like he’s a dog.

It’s... interesting.

Eddie, in general, is interesting.

And there’s the shadow, of course. The shadow that hangs over everything that we do as a band, the shadow that’s gotten lighter every day since it very nearly suffocated us over a year ago, but I don’t think it’ll ever go away, not completely.

The shadow’s named Liam, and he’s why Eddie is our new drummer, why we still think of him that way even though it’s been something like fourteen months. Liam’s not dead, just gone, very gone, the sort of gone that no one talks to or interacts with.

At least, I think he’s not dead. But I’ve got zero proof.

We all look at each other. Eddie shakes his head side-to-side and his cheeks flap while he says “HUMMMNGNGN,” and we all look at him and then look at each other one more time, trying not to laugh.

“You lot ready?” Gavin asks.

“How many people?” Trent asks.

“Dammit, Trent,” I say.

He looks down at me, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Eddie peeks out.

“There’s, like—”

“Eddie, don’t,” Trent says. “I was just messing with Darcy.”

“Oh,” Eddie says.

“So that’s a yes to being ready, or would you like to keep fucking around?” says Gavin.

I roll my eyes at him.

“Who made you the fun patrol?” I tease.

“Oh, fucking come on, it’s the first massive show with the new songs, I’ve got every right to be a little—”

“Guys,” Trent says. “Can we say kumbaya or whatever, hug it out, and go play some rock and roll?”

“Kumbaya,” Eddie responds instantly.

“There. Now you, Darcy,” he says, that smile at the corner of his mouth again, and I can’t help but smile back because Trent always somehow knows the right thing to say to me.

“Okay,” I say, refusing to say kumbaya because that’s just fucking silly. “We gonna go do this?”

Eddie pumps one fist in the air and hollers, because of course he does. Gavin reaches one hand out to me, and when I take it, pulls me in for a quick hug, then does the same to Trent.

Trent puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his big, warm body, and for just a split second I close my eyes because this is nice. So nice.

Then it’s done. The lights on stage go down. The crowd starts cheering and the noise escalates to a fever pitch, a roar, and then they’re stomping on the muddy ground and my heart is beating in time with the stomping and we walk onto the stage.

Madness. Cacophony. Pandemonium in the crowd and it’s like I’m floating across the stage, my feet not touching the floor because there’s nothing like this in the world, nothing at all.

My bass is on a stand already, and I pick it up, slinging it over my shoulder, silently sliding my fingers along its thick strings and suddenly I feel right at home because this is what I do best, this is what I know and I love, and now the rest of the night is on smooth autopilot and I get to enjoy myself.

Trent and I look at each other from across the stage. Gavin glances from me to him and then finally to Eddie, who nods.

He counts off, and then we all come down on that first note at the same time, the crowd screaming as it washes over them and we launch into the first song.

And it’s pretty much the fucking best.