Page 22 of 4-Ever

The guys were busy setting up our equipment and already working up a sweat. Hauling our gear in and out of venues, including amps that weighed a fuckton, was no mean feat. We didn’t need a gym because we worked out every fucking day. And often, we didn’t have anyone, save the venue manager, to help us.

I sat down behind my kit and adjusted my stool and my kickstand, while Brodie tested his mic, and Holls and Ro, their guitars.

A half hour later, the manager told us the doors were opening and we could hear the crowd on the other side of the curtain as they filled the room. The venue could pack in a thousand easy and the stage was the nicest one we’d ever played on.

My adrenaline spiked as the minutes counted down to showtime.

Until Brodie’s phone rang, and we all stopped talking so he could hear.

“Brodie James… yeah… uh huh… thanks,” he said and tapped his phone. “Thanks for nothing! Fuck!”

“Another label said no?” Holls asked as he swiped a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, that was Ethan from Strattos. Apparently, we don’t have the sound he’s looking for,” Brodie spat out as he paced.

“What does that mean?” Ronin asked.

“I don’t fucking know! That’s all he said!” Brodie snapped and stormed off to the wings.

I set my sticks aside and walked around my kit. “That’s the second rejection this month.”

“This is so goddamn frustrating!” Holls bit out. “And to think I fucked that guy.”

“You what?” I asked.

“Ethan said he loved our music, and our deal was a sure thing,” Holls explained with a shrug of his shoulders. “He was hot. We were celebrating.”

“He was using you, for fuck’s sake!” I snapped. “Think Holls, come on. No wonder he didn’t take us seriously. What the hell?”

“Hey! I’m not the only one who fucks around with guys in this business. Don’t make this my fault!”

Ronin stepped up and placed an arm around my shoulder. “Take it down a notch, Holls.”

“Of course, you’d come to his defense,” Holls bit out, pointing at me with his guitar pick.

“I’m not taking sides. Done is done. We just gotta stay cool and keep going,” Ronin assured us. “So, they said no. Fuck ‘em.”

“Too late,” Holls quipped, shaking his head.

“A bigger and better label will come along,” Ronin insisted. “But Holls, maybe don’t fuck someone at the label that’s scouting us until we have a signed deal, yeah?”

“Ronin’s right. About all of that,” Brodie’s voice piped up. “Fuck Strattos.”

Brodie walked back on stage, hands on his hips. “I’m good. We’re good. Fuck that asshole and his shitty label! He wouldn’t know good music if it bit him on the balls.”

“Small, hairy balls at that,” Holls teased.

Our confidence had wavered, but it came back around like always.

Holls shook his head. “I just don’t get it. Crowds love us, and so do other bands. I don’t know what else we can do. Like, why other bands and not us?”

“I have an idea to switch things up,” I offered. “I think we should change our scheduled plans for next year and go to Europe instead.”

Ronin turned to me. “Europe? Why?”

“We’ve been touring the states for three years. Enough already,” I tapped my sticks together. “Maybe a label over there will take notice? What do you guys think?”

Brodie nodded. “I like it. And a change of scene is what we need. I’ve got some savings that I can dip into to help fund our flights over there. Holls, Ro?”

---