“If you look at that phone any harder, you’re going to shatter the crystal with your mind.”

I looked up at Zach as I shoved my phone into my pocket. Piper wasn’t texting me back and I’d been staring at the stupid thing like a sixteen-year-old for what felt like a lifetime. “It’s too much of a pain in the ass to download all my apps again.”

“Truth.” Zach dropped onto the uncomfortable couch beside me. “If that radio guy fellates Hunter any more, he’s going to have to just kneel in front of him.”

I snorted. “Sometimes it’s a wonder they bother bringing us in with the interviews.”

“Yeah, between Reed’s current Page Six status and Hunter’s pipes, there’s very little left for the rest of us.” Zach laced his fingers over his belly and kicked his feet out until he slumped down on the couch. “Bored.”

“Me too. Want to go get into some trouble?”

His eyebrow rose with interest. “What did you have in mind?”

“There’s a guitar shop a few blocks down the street.”

Zach was on his feet before I could even sit up. “Oh, man. Let me at it. Maybe I’ll find my Starburst.”

I stretched out my legs then gripped the arm of the couch with a grimace. My thigh seized into a cramp. I breathed through the lightning-quick pain as nerves danced and knotted. I jammed two knuckles into the muscle to work it out. Damn planes always kicked up my old injury. My six-feet-four frame was not meant to be folded into a chair meant for children.

There was nothing average about my inseam, let alone the width of my shoulders, but business class was easier than trying to find a flight that would allow for all of us to be in first class. Add in the fact that I’d slept on a couch made for my tiny Kitten and I was a hot mess.

Her unexpectedly charming version of sexting was not helping matters. I was uncomfortable on about eleven levels. A music shop where I could beat out some of my restlessness was just what I needed.

Since I couldn’t beat it out in other ways right now, this would have to do.

I followed Zach to the elevators and shot off a quick text to our manager to tell her where we were going. I’d put up a post on social media to get something out of the day for the fans who gave a shit about me and Zach.

For the most part, we didn’t care about the adulation that was poured on the lead singer and the lead guitarist of Hammered. All this bullshit was just part of being in a band. Zach was just as talented, but Reed had earned his moniker, Bats, for a reason. He was insane on stage and people loved him for it. Zach was quieter, with a longer attention span for a good shred. But that didn’t generate as much press.

The thing that always burned me was that if they weren’t interested in us, then don’t fucking ask us to go to the interview or radio station. Was that so hard?

We dropped our visitor’s passes at the desk before we hit the street. As with most of San Francisco, the steep incline of the hills was a bear, but it felt good to get moving. I’d been so wrapped up in Piper that I’d been neglecting the gym. That was never good for my leg.

When we got to the wide window with the name Barney’s etched into the glass, Zach practically smashed his face into it to get a closer look. “Sweet fuck, do you see that?”

I wasn’t a guitar guy, but I could appreciate the well-worn blue Les Paul in the window. It wasn’t the Starburst he’d been lusting after—I was well-acquainted with pictures of that, thanks—but I’d bet it was a good enough mistress for the afternoon.

A bell jangled over the door and a kid popped up from behind the counter. His pleasant smile melted away into pure shock. “No way.” He spun around and then again before coming around the counter. “I was just listening to you guys on the radio.”

I was impressed that anyone still listened to the radio. Then again, it was an XM channel that had been interviewing us today.

The kid backtracked to the stereo console over the glass case and cranked it. “See? They’ve been pumping Hunter for the last twenty minutes.” His head bobbed on his long neck as he swiped long, dark hair out of his face. A faded Megadeth shirt hung on his lanky frame to complete the garage band look he was going for. “Not being subtle about it either. The dude on this show is a tool, but hey, I wanted to hear the new stuff. The song rocks, man.”

“Thanks,” I said simply. It was usually better to let the fans get it all out before I tried to talk.

Hunter’s voice pumped out through half a dozen speakers. The kid was right that the interviewer was a pushy fuck, but as usual Hunter took it in stride. He talked about the new album and the recording process for our new single set to drop in three weeks.

The kid cracked his knuckles. “Do you guys think I could, you know, have a picture?”

Zach smiled and went in for a bro hug with the kid. “Absolutely. As long as I can play that blue ‘57 Gibson in the window.”

“Oh, man. Isn’t she sweet? Gus doesn’t let me play it too often, but she wails like nothing I’ve ever played before.”

“Gus? Not Barney?” I asked.

“Yeah, Barney’s been dead since before I was born.”

When was that? A second ago. The kid had to be barely twenty. Not that I was that old—thirty-three wasn’t ancient—but I felt every inch of it in body and mind today. The heavy fog that had been rolling in on San Francisco didn’t help my leg either. The city was damp and hot in a way that Los Angeles rarely was.

But it didn’t really matter what city we were in, there was always a music shop to make it feel like home. This one was outfitted with the latest in guitars, basses, pedals, and amps. Zach and the kid were geeking out about the newest pedals that had come in. I glanced around the surprisingly spacious room and finally found the small percussion area.

Along the back wall was a descent Ludwig set. And though I was a DW guy, I just wanted to pound on something.

That would do.

“Mind?” I gestured to the bright gold setup.

“No, man. I mean I’d love if you wanted to jam or something. You know, if that’s cool. I mean, it’s okay if you—”

“Definitely,” I said. No need to let the kid fall all over himself. I held out my hand. “Wyatt.”

The kid’s Adam’s apple jumped as he shook my hand. “Jake.”

“Don’t get nervous, man. We just want to play.”

“Right. Just like that. This is crazy.” He scratched the back of his head. “Is it okay if we record this?”

“For your website?”

“That’s cool, but nah, man. For me.”

I laughed. “Works for me. Just tag us when you post it.”

“Oh, man. It’s like fucking Christmas.”

I shrugged out of my suit jacket and draped it over the counter as I rolled up my sleeves. I tugged the tails out of my jeans and settled behind the kit. It only took me a few minutes to find my way around the hardware. Some of it was set for show instead of use, but after a few adjustments, I twirled a pair of sticks set across the snare drum.

I pounded through a quick warm-up and Jake just stood there, dumbfounded. It was nice to see someone give a fuck about me behind the drums. When we played for tens of thousands, the one-on-one personal touch got lost. And my being at the back of the stage often meant I was an island in the dark.

My interaction was mostly with my bandmates, not the crowd. Especially with the monitors in my ears. Here it was just the love of the beat and the pure joy on Jake’s face as he and Zach dueled their way through our song, “Crossing My Line”.

When Jake played the opening chords to “Ramble On”, Zach pretty much got a boner. They sang off-key until they righted themselves. It was all passion and garage talent and it felt good to warm my muscles and beat the shit out of something to bring my ragged edges under control.

Switching to Led Zeppelin brought out the guitar-centric songs. I didn’t know them all. While I loved music, I wasn’t an aficionado like those two.

An hour passed and I’d sweated through my dress shirt within the first half hour. A small crowd had gathered while we were playing. It wasn’t as if we’d kept the volume down on what we were doing.

By the time we finished, I had three texts from Indie, our manager, asking us to wrap it the fuck up. Her words.

Zach handed back the guitar with a heavy sigh and signed one of the newer Gibsons that was a staple in the shop. I signed a DW kick drum that Jake found in the back and we all made a few posts on our social media accounts. I was also the proud owner of a Barney’s T-shirt since I was drenched.

Guess they were getting a little free press from me. Indie was going to love that. And speaking of our fair manager—our phones were full of excited fan replies and angry texts from Indie.

Unfortunately, none of the texts were from Piper.

I pushed that to the back of my head as we fought our way out of the cluster of fans that had moved in. I signed my shirt and gave it to a teen at the back of the crowd who was near tears from being so far away from the action. I shrugged on my suit jacket and followed Zach down the block and over an alleyway to lose a few fans who were following us.

Not like they didn’t know where we were headed, but the thrill of losing a tail used to be one of my favorite games with Zach and Bats. By the time we got back to the studio, Hunter, Keys, and Owen were leaning against a SUV with Bats on the phone inside.

“Nice of you to join us.” Keys crossed her arms. “I’ve had to listen to the warden for the last two hours because you guys took off.”

Zach shrugged and climbed in the open door. “You can usually keep your husband occupied a little easier.”

“Ha-ha. Nice shirt,” she said over her shoulder to me as she climbed in after Zach. “Why didn’t you guys take me with you?”

“You disappeared with said husband.” Zach laced his fingers behind his head. “Off for a quickie, Keys?”

Ah, bickering. It was my favorite soundtrack on these little outings. Since our fair keyboardist didn’t have a comeback—and her cheeks were nearly the color of her lip gloss—I figured she’d distracted our head of security with a little hallway action. At least that was what she was famous for in our little circle.

Owen climbed into the third row of seats with Hunter as someone tapped the top of the window to let the driver know everyone was in.

Just as well that I’d missed Quinn and Indie. I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about disappearing. Keys snuggled in between Zach and me. “You guys are causing quite the stir.”

“Really?”

“My phone’s been blowing up for the last half hour. At least thirty people were live streaming that little jam session on various platforms. Indie is alternately creaming her panties and ready to string you up.”

“Why?” I glanced down at Keys with a raised brow.

“You actually got more buzz from that little stunt than the radio show. They aren’t exactly happy with us.”

“Then the asshat shouldn’t have left us in the hallway like a pair of rejects,” I said.

I grunted as my pocket buzzed again and again. At this rate, it was going to kill the battery, for fuck’s sake. I dug it out of my jeans and silenced it, but not before I saw the shit-ton of notifications.

Jake had tagged us on the video and it was going viral. Add in all the replies with links to live feed, and we were a little bit famous. Imagine that?

I turned in my seat and met Hunter’s gaze. “Sorry, man.”

“Guy was a prick. He deserved it.” Hunter pulled his aviators out of his pocket and put them on as he crossed his arms and got comfortable. “Wake me when we get there. I got shit for sleep last night.”

Owen stretched his hands over his head with a loud yawn. “I hear that, mate. Callie is up pacing half the night these days. I’ll be happy when the baby comes.”

The ride to the airport was uneventful. We had another flight to Seattle and one more to Vegas in the morning. Things were starting to ramp up for the promotional tour. The single was releasing and it seemed to be nearly as important as dropping an album these days.

“Unbreak the Broken” was a quieter song than usual for our first single. Keys had written a piano piece that pushed the band in a different direction. Instead of burying it or selling the song to another artist, we’d decided to try it out.

So far, the sneaks had caused a buzz the likes of “Cathedral”, our last huge hit. Instead of turning away from the headier lyrics and more emotional content, Hunter and Keys had written most of the album together.

The studio sessions had been uneven, but powerful. We were all excited to try something a little outside our wheelhouse. While there were a few low-key songs in the mix, most of them were still in our hard-edged style. They just built from an emotional start instead of just a good time vibe.

I was all for it.

While I didn’t have much to do with the lyrics, my job was often to find the power in the songs and build in a beat that would match the guitars and bass. Our producer was willing to work with us, which was amazing, but he definitely didn’t rush us along. Which only encouraged all the linked-up couples to enjoy playing house.

Only Zach and I were itchy to get on the road. Or at least I had been, before.

I wasn’t analyzing that at the moment.

Even Bats, who barely spoke to any of us these days, wasn’t pushing to get on a tour schedule. Strain was growing between Zach and Reed—enough that we’d all fallen into single rooms instead of doubling up like we used to.

Again, more solitary moments for me to think too damn much.

I flicked my phone to life and texted Piper. No way was I spending the whole damn night staring at the ceiling.

Lesson two starts at 10:00PM. Keep your phone on, kitten.