Page 22 of Knot Their Opening Act

I set an alarm on my watch for a half hour then look up to a set of lift doors closing. I launch forward and stick a hand between them and step in, facing the door.

There’s one other body in the back corner, and when my eyes meet hers in the reflection of the gold doors, my heart does a little flip.

Shit.

“Hi, Thomas,” says Jez. Her husky—or is it whispery?—voice makes my own throat feel the need to be cleared. So I do.

“Morning, Jez.” I give a weird smile, scowl at myself, then return to staring at the digital screen showing what floor we’re on. Then I realize I haven’t pushed a fucking button yet.

The 12th is lit up. Lucky girl scored a penthouse. That means a corner room with a view and a jacuzzi. Ash is spoiling her. But then, I’ve had a turn in those rooms before. Maybe it’s first time tourers who get those.

Realizing Istillhaven’t pushed my floor, I reach out and purposefully stab at the 6th with a knuckle. The lift makes a two-toneddingand I step forward onto my right foot as though the door’s about to open. Instead, it carries on.

“Sorry,” she says, voice soft. “I think it’s because I pushed mine early and yours was a bit late.” She doesn’t sound too sorry, but she does sound like she’s not feeling too well. Maybe fighting a cold. That’s not lucky, for sure, but also, not abnormal. Just unfortunate it’s started so early.

I just grunt in acknowledgement and slide to the other corner of the lift so she has space to exit first.

“Excited for tonight?” She’s clearly trying. Poor lass. I give her that.

I shrug and nod. Then force myself to speak. “Hopefully as good a crowd as last night.”

Somehow, the strong nearly-silent type thing became my trademark. Except on bass. Everything comes out on those four strings, and that’s enough for me. I’m not shy. I just like to save my energy for the people I’m closest to, I guess, and when it became a thing I was known for, I gave in. Everyone has an overgeneralized character trait in this industry.

Weird, the things a spotlight do to you that you just allow after a while. Sometimes without even thinking.

Then it occurs to me—she undoubtedly feels awkward about what happened last night. She didn’t faint in front ofus, but we saw the aftermath, and I know she was embarrassed. And as I was falling asleep last night, all I could think about was how she’s got to be worried that Kai, and even the rest of us, will hold this against her. That she’s not strong enough to handle the tour, and that our group assessment of why she should be disqualified fromTen to Onewas correct. But that’s not true at all.

“I thought your set was excellent,” I say. My voice is a bit stilted, and I think lower than most people expect. I don’t look at her. I still stare at the buttons and the digital screen, which seems to be moving slower than fuck. We’re only nearing eight.

But I look up because I can almost hear her jaw drop. Her eyes are wide. Ha. Didn’t expect that from me, did you?

“Thank you. I was happy with my performance for the most part. The band was perfect. I’m just amazed I didn’t get booed off, but upset that my body rebelled afterwards.”

She stops suddenly like she’s overshared. But I actually really like her voice. Her speaking voice is lower than she tends to sing, and it makes her seem very down-to-earth.

“It goes without saying that you guys played flawlessly.” I don’t know that she even caught any of our set, because we definitely didn’t play at our best. I made a few flubs, but that’s normal for first night. Kai, however, was all over the place. I don’t think the audience noticed, but he swapped out some words and even lines, and forgot his guitar was meant to introNight into Noonand just stood there, staring at Nico with ananytime you’re bloody readyexpression, before his eyes bugged out and he counted me in.

“Thanks. We had some moments,” is all I offer. I consider detailing them. It might ease any tension she’s feeling. But then the room—the lift, I should say—shudders sideways to a violent halt.

I fling my arms out and grab the rail that runs around the wall. Jez does the same, grabbing it on the back wall and the side, near me.

“What the hell!” she yelps.

The screen shows we’re between floors 11 and 12. Just about to stop at the penthouse to drop her off. And we’re not moving.

I press the 12th floor button again, but it’s still lit up and nothing’s happening. Fuck.

“Oh God, no, God no, God no,” Jez whispers under her breath.

I’m not afraid of enclosed spaces, and certainly don’t struggle from claustrophobia like she does. But they’re not myfavoritething in the world.

I press the lobby button but it does bugger all. It feels like we’re at a slight angle, and as I look at the floor and our heights, sure enough, we are somewhat tilted. Bad fucking sign.

Jez pulls herself along the rail to stand beside me at the control panel. She presses the big red EMERGENCY CALL button, and a moment later, a bored voice answers.

“Hello, Lift Technician speaking, where are you located?”

“We’re stuck in a lift!” Jez moans. “Can you get us out please?”

---