Ten hours later my hands are sore and my fingers tender with surfacing blisters, but it’s all for a purpose. I’ve memorized the entire set list for Three Ugly Guys’ upcoming tour, and for the first time since snagging this gig, I feel like a rock star.

The practice studio door swings open and my uncle’s brow lifts from his usual scowl. “You still here?”

I stand from the drum set, stretch my legs, and lift my backpack from the corner, swinging it across one shoulder as I meet his stare. “I literally have nowhere else to go.” I laugh, in part from the insanity and humor of the situation. Me, Leighton Wellington, homeless for a night. I doubt anyone would have predicted such absurdity when we all celebrated my graduation last week.

“Fuck.” My uncle shakes his head and blows out a harsh breath. “I guess you can stay with me.” He makes a show with another heavy sigh. Who knew Uncle Bedo was one for the theatrics?

“Aw, thanks. That’s such a kind invitation. You must really love me.” My legs swallow the distance between us in long strides.

He narrows his gaze and holds the door until I pass through. “Obligation. Don’t get used to it.”

“Really?” My eyebrows shoot up with my surprise. “I thought you tossed the family guilt years ago.”

His lips waver from their usual firm line and he nods his head toward the back exit. “Rears its ugly head from time to time.”

The hallway is lit but it’s the glare from the setting sun that casts an almost golden hue against the awards and accolades that line the walls. I keep up with his hurried pace, but take it all in, the success and what this man at my side has created without a hand up from anyone. “I never said this before, but growing up I always admired you. The way you didn’t concede to Grandma and Grandpa’s demands. How you made your own success without their support.”

“And money.” There’s pride he can’t hide from his voice.

“Yeah, so did you really tell Grandpa to fuck off when he threatened to cut off your inheritance?”

Bedo stops to meet my stare. His lips abandon the irritated grim line and I swear he almost gives in to a smile, but before it happens he steps ahead and pushes the back door open. “I take it you’re probably hungry in addition to needing lodging accommodations.”

“Yeah. See, it’s weird, but since I’m human and all, I do need to eat.” I hate that he’s equating my survival skills to that of a toddler. I know how to take care of myself just fine. Hell, I charmed my way to a free turkey sandwich from the front receptionist earlier, and I do have some money. I had the forethought to pull a couple hundred in cash from my account, but I need to use that sparingly. By now, I’m sure my father’s shut down my credit cards . . . if my mother hasn’t.

“The smart ass thing? That work well for you at home?” He disarms his waiting BMW.

“Why? You don’t appreciate my sense of humor? ’Cause I can keep it up all night long.”

“Get in the damn car.” He slides in the front seat and mutters to himself. I can’t make it out exactly, other than a few cuss words. Not wanting him to drive off without me—and I don’t put it past him—I toss my bag in the passenger seat and buckle up.

“You too fancy for In-N-Out?”

“Everyone’s shit stinks.”

“Burgers and fries it is.”

I may have a long way to go to earning my uncle’s trust, let alone a relationship, but in spite of what he says, he doesn’t hate me. Not the way he does his parents. He wouldn’t have to hide his smile at my jokes if he did. And even though I’ve blackmailed my way into this job, he doesn’t resent me the way he does my parents. At least not yet.

“Morning, sunshine.”

I’m blinded by the searing lights overhead, but before I can roll under the covers, I’m met with my uncle’s freshly shaven face.

“What time is it?” I rub the sleep from my eyes and let loose a yawn.

“Six in the fucking morning.” He claps his hands and I swear to God, smiles. Fuck, he’s a morning person. He slaps the wall and turns to leave, his shoes clapping against the polished wood floors of his condo. “We’re leaving in twenty.”

“Fuuuck . . .” I need coffee. I roll out of bed and scrounge through my bag, pulling on a pair of clean underwear and jeans before stumbling to the bathroom. There’s no time for a shower, so after I hit the head I wash my hands and splash water on my face, styling my hair to tamp down the crazy bedhead.

My uncle sits at the end of his kitchen table, the television from the other room blaring with entertainment news. His eyes bounce from his laptop to his phone as he shovels oatmeal in his mouth. He doesn’t glance up so I make myself at home in search of the only thing that’ll get my mind working.

My stomach grumbles, but first, coffee. I fill a cup from his espresso machine and reach for a banana on the counter before joining him at the table.

He glances over the screen of his computer and his lips pinch with disapproval as I peel back the banana.

“Want some?” I mumble through a mouthful.

He releases a tsk, shakes his head, and goes back to his screens as the reporter from the other room runs down the latest in celebrity gossip.

. . . Everyone is wondering who’s the daddy as Operation Baby Bump watch continues.

In other juicy gossip, rumors are running wild with the sudden delay of Three Ugly Guys summer tour dates. They’ve already rescheduled the first week, sending Los Angeles, Arizona, and Colorado fans into utter despair. An inside source close to the band hints this delay has nothing to do with the death of their former band member, but rather from disputes with their current label. Sony and Universal are sure to be sniffing around. Could this be the end of the longstanding relationship between Off Track Records and 3UG?

I quirk an eyebrow. “Leaving the label? I just got here.”

The correspondent's cut short as the screen goes black. My uncle shakes his head, holding the remote in his hand before tossing it across the room. “They don’t know shit,” he mutters under his breath and packs up his briefcase.

Dismissed, I chug the remaining coffee in my mug and toss the banana peel into the trash on the way to get my bag, not entirely confident my uncle won’t take off without me if I’m not ready when he decides to leave.

Coming back into the living room, I find him leaning against the door, tapping into his phone. “You ready or what?”

“Yeah.” I nod and slide my feet into my white Chucks, not bothering to tie the laces as I follow him out the door.

He doesn’t say much on the way to the office, but for letting loose a few expletives at the long line of traffic. I have to wonder whether the gossip we heard this morning holds any truth. I want to bring it up again, but at the same time don’t need to piss him off first thing in the morning. We have all day for that.

I settle for mindless scrolling through my phone, only that’s interrupted with the loss of Wi-Fi. “What the—?” I shake my head and dive into my phone’s settings, finding it’s no longer connected to a data plan. My parents.

“Genius boy can’t work his iPhone?”

My gaze snaps to my uncle’s humored grin.

“No. I think my parents shut it off.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Felicity always did hate not getting her way.”

“I expected the loss of financial support, but I didn’t think about the phone. I assumed they’d leave it on, if only to harass me.” I blow out a breath. Well, fuck. I need a phone. Don’t I? But I can’t just go out and get one. Not without an income or bank account of my own. Adulting sucks. “Shit.”

“It’s a phone. You’ll live,” my uncle scoffs.

“Says the man who carries his around like it’s a fifth limb.”

He doesn’t respond, because we both know it’s the truth. The studio isn’t far from his condo and even with the morning rush he pulls into his reserved spot twenty minutes later. Not five seconds out of the car and he’s already buried inside his phone.

I can’t help but laugh.

“Save it.” He leads the way to the back entrance, his eyes never leaving the screen. Impressive since he doesn’t trip once. “I don’t have a problem. It comes with the job.”

“Isn’t that what all addicts say?” My words earn a brief glare and it causes my lips to pull wide with a grin. Inside his office, I strut over to one of the couches and splay out, resting my hands behind my head. “So, what’s on tap for today’s agenda?”

Bedo thumps his briefcase onto his desk with more force than necessary. “I’m not here to entertain you. I have meetings until ten. Do whatever you want until then.”

I lift my head to peer over the back of the sofa and catch his gaze. “What happens at ten?”

He doesn’t lift his eyes, instead settles behind his computer. “I get to break the news to Three Ugly Guys they’re bringing you on tour.”

I practically roll off the couch, I’m so excited. “Really?”

“Yeah, just don’t piss them off.”

This is it. It still hasn’t seemed real, but now that I’m meeting the guys, it’s actually happening. “I’ll go practice.”

He nods, a quick lift of his chin but I can tell he’s impressed. Being the best doesn’t happen of its own accord. I’ve worked damn hard to become the musician I am today, and I’m prepared to carry that same work ethic into this band.

I charm my way into an empty practice studio and keep busy practicing, but by a quarter till ten I’m overcome with restless anticipation. I’ve never been one to seek approval of others. Frankly, no one cares about your personality when you’re the best of the best or have pockets as deep as my family’s. But these guys won’t give a fuck about my classical music training or performances. They’ll only see a privileged white kid—which technically is true. I don’t fit the mold when it comes to famous rock stars, but I do have the talent. I’ll just have to convince them.

“Hey, Lizzy.” I tip my chin to the pretty receptionist and she giggles. “Know where my—” Shit. Almost said uncle. “Favorite manager is?”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen and she bites the inside of her cheek. “They didn’t come find you yet? Trent, Aust, and Sean showed up early. I think they’re in Studio Five. Just past the practice rooms.”

Shit. “Thanks, Lizzy.” Not wasting another second, I jog back down the hall until I find the correct room. I blow out one last nervous breath, knock, and push through the door. Sure enough, everyone’s already gathered inside around a long table.

“So glad you could finally join us.” My uncle tips his chin in greeting.

With a slow swagger I slide into the open chair at his left. All eyes meet mine for a brief second before turning back to Bedo.

He clears his throat. “So, a little change of plans.” My uncle taps the edge of the conference table and sets down his phone. “The guy I hired to play drums had a family emergency.”

“Fucking A.” Austin groans and rubs his hands over his face.

“What are we going to do?” Trent leans forward and rests his forearms against the table.

Sean clears his throat. “Maybe we should delay the tour?”

“We’ve already rescheduled the first week. We can’t cut any more.” My uncle narrows his glare on Sean. If I hadn’t been staring, I would have missed it, because my uncle’s face grows with a smug smile as he rocks back into the padded chair. “Besides, I’ve already hired someone better.”

“Dude.” Austin shakes his head. “Not cool. We need to be consulted on big shit like that.”

“I was under the impression you all needed time away. Not to be disturbed.” Bedo’s brows rise and he shrugs. “We had a problem. I took care of it.”

“So, when do we meet the guy?” Sean rubs his fingers over his eyelids and slides them over to his temples.

“He’s right here.” My uncle tips his chin my direction, and I swear to God, I can’t tell whether he’s trying to make them hate me or he’s an arrogant ass all the time. “Meet your new drummer.”

Austin stares and then bursts into laughter. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Nope.” My uncle’s smile grows.

“This a joke? Tell me you’re fucking with us.” Trent shakes his head, a mixture of anger and confusion riddles in his tone, and his eyes narrow on mine.

“I’m afraid not.” My uncle says the words as if he were sorry, but it doesn’t seem he is at all. In fact, he appears absolutely joyful at the shocking news he’s delivered. Fuck, he’s doing this so they’ll hate me off the bat. His gaze spins to meet mine and he lifts his brows. “He might not look like much, but the kid can play.”

I’m not sure whether I should smile or scowl at the backhanded compliment, but for the sake of keeping peace I force a smile and wave. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Bedo? The fuck, man?” Sean lets loose a chuckle.

Trent lifts his chin, the angry lock of his jaw not completely gone, but at least it’s not directed at me. “Kid. How old are you?” He turns to Bedo. “Can he even stay out after curfew?”

“Really?” I raise my brow and work really hard not to roll my eyes. I don’t have a thousand tatts and a five o’clock shadow, but I’m almost nineteen years old. Thanks to my awesome family genetics—broad shoulders, strong jaw, and full, thick head of hair—I easily pass for twenty-one.

“Do you even play? You look like a fucking model.”

I pucker my lips and blow Austin a kiss. “Aww, you think I’m pretty?”

“Leighton.” My uncle’s sharp tone cuts off my teasing. “Why don’t you shut up and play something?”

Dutifully, I cross the adjacent space littered with instruments, take a seat at the drums and pull the sticks from my back pocket. I lift my gaze as the guys pile into the room and find places against the wall. Their skepticism is apparent. Time to prove them wrong.

Adrenaline works through my veins. As I hear their murmured doubts, I quash the smile that threatens to spread across my face. This is the part I love. Everyone I’ve ever performed for takes one look and assumes I can’t play, but they have no clue how talented I am. How the notes practically flow from my mind, and the music comes as natural as breathing.

These guys are like everyone else. They don’t think I can do this. They expect me to fall short.

“Anything in particular? Or shall I start with the planned set list?” I take the sticks and spin them between my fingers.

Trent catches the motion, releases a whoosh of breath and narrows his stare at my uncle. “Dude. Bedo. Really?”

“Just listen to him play. Close your eyes if it’s too distracting.” He nods at some guy in the sound booth and glances back at me. “Leighton?” My uncle’s gaze is full of warning. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t make me look bad.

No problem-o.

Closing my eyes, I visualize screaming crowds, blazing stage lights, and a magnetic energy in the air. I’m a fucking rock god. It’s go time. Sticks above my head I count it off and play like my life depends on it. And unless I plan on sulking home with my tail between my legs, it kinda does.

The sound guy pipes the guitars and vocals into the room and I’m careful to play exactly as it’s recorded on the tapes I practiced with yesterday. Now’s not the time to get creative or take over. Nobody likes a showoff. These guys already don’t like me. Sure, I get that I’m younger. I don’t have piercings or tattoos. And yeah, I was raised with a sense of fashion beyond ripped jeans and band T-shirts. But hell, I’m stuck behind this set. It’s not as if it matters what I look like as long as I can play.

Oh boy, can I play.

The energy from the music paints a smile on my lips. I can’t fight showing how much fun this is, or how much I love playing this music. It’s loud. Fast. Hard hitting. And before I know it the song comes to an end with one last kick and beat of my sticks. I lift my chin, tossing my head back to clear the hair from where it falls on my forehead.

Their faces are priceless. Complete and utter shock. All of them, well, except Uncle Bedo who is trying, unsuccessfully, to mask his grin.

Told ya I wouldn’t let you down.

“Okay, I’ll give it to you.” Austin nods before turning to Bedo. “The kid can play, but he looks like a child. I’m not even sure his balls have dropped yet. The fans will eat him alive. No offense, man.”

“None taken,” I say but Austin doesn’t hear my reply.

Bedo strolls by the guys, staring at me more as if I’m a product than a person. “Nerds are in right now. We could slap a pair of glasses on him maybe? Wardrobe will work their magic. Besides, I’m over the bad boy rockers. After the drummers we’ve been through, we need clean. I’m only hiring someone who can pass a full background check and drug test.” Bedo closes the space between us and slaps my back. “Leighton meets those qualifications, and he plays.”

“Dude, even his name is pretentious. Leighton.” Austin chuckles. “No offense, man.”

Right. Insult my appearance and my name. That’s cool, man.

“Austin, stop being a dick,” Trent says. “That was one song. Does he know the set list?”

“He’s ready. I wouldn’t hire him if he couldn’t handle it.”

“What’s his story? Where’d he learn to play like that?” Sean says from where he sits in the corner. He’s been quieter than the rest of the band and I wonder whether that’s the way he is, or if he’s doubtful about my ability to do the job.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Bedo lifts his brow, and then drops his gaze to his phone. “Shit. I’ve got to take this. Why don’t the four of you play? Test the waters.” He taps on the screen. “Hello?” In four long strides the door bangs shut behind him with a thud.

All eyes on me, I twirl the sticks between my fingers and meet their gazes. “Shall we?”

“Fuck,” Trent says under his breath, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m too young to babysit.”

“Okay, pretty boy. Let’s see those chops.” Sean walks over to the bass and straps it on. “But cut the fancy talk, yeah?”

I almost respond with “Pardon?” but catch myself before the word flies out. I have more to learn than music for this role. Eighteen years of pedigree aren’t easy to shed overnight. Clearing my throat, I meet Sean’s gaze. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want.” Sean’s gaze dances with humor as he turns to Trent and Austin. “I already like this one.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a suck-up.” Austin groans, straps on his guitar, and struts in front of the drum set. “If you are, it’s my ass you should be kissing.”

“Don’t listen to him.” Trent rolls his eyes. “Enough chit chat, ladies. Let’s play. Demon’s Edge. From the top.”

I hold the sticks out, counting off and then beating down on the toms. Fuck, I love this. The melding of instruments makes a perfect sound. I keep my focus on the music, not willing to chance a look at any of the guys. I’m a trained musician. I’ve got this. Even if they don’t approve of my age or ink-free skin, they can’t say shit about how I play. The song is fucking rock perfection. As I beat out the final rolls, crashing against the cymbal, then stilling the sound with my hand, I finally lift my gaze.

They all stare as if I’m a freak of nature. With my IQ and musical training, that’s not exactly wrong.

“Another?” Sean slaps at the strings of his bass, the sick riff enough to bring a smile to everyone’s face. “Sapphire Nights, then transition right into Cut.”

“You can handle that, kid?” Austin lifts an eyebrow.

“I’ll manage.” I’m proud of myself for not rolling my eyes. With the tap of a bass beat, I break into the song and everyone joins along. This time I’m not so concerned about perfection, the rhythm’s simple enough a much less talented drummer could play without trouble. I allow myself to get lost in the music and I feel on fire, my body and mind sucked into the jam. It feels fantastic, and as I imagine playing this for thousands of screaming fans, touring the country, fuck, I can’t rein in the smile that spreads across my lips. This right here, it’s what I’ve always wanted, and for the first time in my life I get to steer the ship. I’m traveling my own map.

We jam out for a good hour and my uncle never returns, but it’s not a problem. It’s actually better he’s not here. We’re building trust as musicians—as a band—and it’s not something he can help with. I have to earn this.

“Hell, yeah!” Trent’s smile holds the same joy I feel in my bones. We rocked that last song as if we’d been playing together for years. I could hear it, and so could he. He nods to the door. “I guess Bedo’s not coming back.”

“You’ve really practiced.” Sean nods, walking over to pound his knuckles against mine.

I shrug, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years it’s that no one loves an egotistical ass. “Yesterday Bedo set me up in here with your practice tracks.”

“You learned all that in one day?” Sean asks, but there’s a hint of disbelief in his words.

I hold up my hands so he can see the blisters and calluses.

He lets loose a long whistle. “Savage as fuck.”

I think I’ve earned his measure of respect.

“Dude, what are you, some kind of genius?” Austin shakes his head. He doesn’t know the half of it.

“Something like that.”

Trent checks the screen of his phone and glances at the door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah, man. I’m starved. And I’m gonna win.” Austin heads for the door with Trent.

“You wish.” Sean laughs at Austin and sets his bass back into the stand. “You coming, kid?”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Bedo?” My fingers tap at my sides, a habit from when I was younger, and the second I realize I’m doing it I shove my hands in my pockets. “At least tell him we’re leaving?”

Austin bursts with laughter. “If he wanted to keep tabs, he should have stuck around.”

I glance at the door, propped open by the heel of Trent’s boot, and debate my options as three sets of eyes stare expectantly. Should I go with the guys, or will Bedo get pissed and fire me before we leave for the tour? “I’m not really sure—”

Trent snaps his thumb and index finger together before pointing my way. “Do you give a fuck where you sleep on the tour bus?”

The fact he’s acknowledging my place on this tour brings a smile to my lips. “I’m just honored to play with you guys.”

“Then stay here if you want. We’ve got a wing challenge to battle.” Trent shrugs and he and Austin leave.

Sean strides to the door, catching it before it shuts. He meets my gaze over his shoulder. “And if Bedo ever shows, tell him we’ll be at the house. He can come to us.” I don’t miss the animosity in Sean’s words, but I do wonder what my uncle did to place it there. Before I can ask, Sean is out the door and I’m left, for the second day in a row, alone in an empty studio.