Page 27 of Hope & Harmony

“Stop!” Emmit’s arms went up in the air, pointing to Drix. “You are not going anywhere.” His finger slid to Ames. “And you need to get your head out of your ass. I am trying to help you. I am trying to give this band a sellout tour, which you currently do not have. So, all of you need to check your egos and realize this is the best for the band. You have a contract and a record label who want to see results, not hear you throwing tantrums.” He swung back to Drix. “Grab your guitar, you are next to Echo.”

My mouth parted in horror, knowing Emmit was right. But I still couldn’t get over the thought that this was happening, and the one person I fucking hated more than anyone was taking Ziggy’s spot. I wondered if he even remembered what he did to me. Or cared about anything at all. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who thought much outside himself.

“But—” Ames started.

“Hear what he can do, Ames,” Emmit warned. “He knows his shit.”

Tobias was the first to hook back up his guitar, giving in to Emmit, causing Geo to head to his keyboard.

Ames huffed and sighed, his jaw still tight with anger, but he moved to the microphone.

“Remember what we talked about?” Emmit turned to Drix privately, though I could still understand. “Your position here? What you need to do?”

“Yeah.” Drix made a point of fully facing me before responding. He pulled the strap over his head, his stare heavy on me, cutting under my skin. “I’m Echo’s babysitter.”

Aghast, I blinked at him, my knuckles cracking against my sticks.

“Let’s start withScotch Tape Hole.” Emmit clapped his hands together, heading to the front of the stage as Drix strolled up to the exact spot Ziggy had stood for so long, plugging into the output jack. His long fingers fiddled and tightened the tuning pegs on his guitar, his head cocking to me.

“Better sit down, Echo.” He nodded at my stool, a smirk upping the side of his mouth in his notorious bad-boy expression. “Looks as though you and me are going to be working close together.” He lifted his hands from the guitar and signed in perfect ASL,

“Looks like I’m your new ears, drummer girl.”

CHAPTER 3

Being a girl drummer in a world of men had always been an uphill battle. Most rock bands were men, most managers and agents were men, and sadly, most music labels were run by men. Not to say things weren’t changing, but it was still extremely hard to be taken seriously in rock.

You had to be ten times better than a male counterpart to even be seen.

And I had double the challenge.

At 24, I was tiny, with a heart-shaped face, huge onyx-colored eyes, and long, naturally dark brown hair, which I streaked purple. I didn’t necessarily look like a rock drummer in one of the most popular bands, but one fact had driven a lot of attention and reservations to me.

I was deaf.

One of the few who, with unrelenting determination, pushed through the stereotype that a drummer couldn’t be deaf. Most assumed that because we couldn’t “hear” music the same way as “normal” people, we couldn’t play it. Especially not well.

Music, to some, was only sound, something you listened to on the radio to fill the silence.

Silence.

That word was different to me.

Music was something I felt. It was an entire-body experience, sweeping through me like I was the instrument of sound. The vibration of my drums would pulsate my body, throbbing into my skin, digging into my bones. I could see every note, feel every lyric, and disappear into another world where music was my entire existence, and I no longer felt the separation. I could get caught up in my world, feeling the beats, the sound floating into my bare feet, and vibrations thumping through my system, forgetting the real world existed sometimes.

Ames was impulsive and loved to chat with his audience or change the order of our playlist. So, picking up cues and shifts in a performance when the band’s backs were to me was difficult, especially if I was lost in a performance and didn’t know Ames went in another direction.

Even though I had worked hard to read lips, Ziggy became my “ears.” He would sign to me of alterations in our song set and cues for when things were off script. He was placed close, where I could see his face, read his lips, and notice his signals.

We had become good friends since junior high when Ziggy and I met. Family. A mutual bond of being in the foster care system together, we protected each other. Or more, he protected me. We found our mutual love of music, playing and auditioning for every band we could.

He was asked to join most of them, his talent obvious. A deaf drummer girl…yeah…not so much. No matter how many times they heard me play, when I could out beat all the other men auditioning, they didn’t want me. Ziggy wouldn’t leave me behind. It was us as a package or nothing.

The rejection was brutal. One was from someone I thought I could trust. I was wrong, but it burned a fire in my belly. I wanted it more. And I wouldn’t stop until I was the best.

Untilheregretted his choice.

A year after that dismissal, Ziggy and I met Ames, Tobias, and Geo. It was like finding family. The one I never had before. At the very center of the nucleus had been Ziggy.

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