Page 45 of Your Rhythm
11Honey Whiskey || Nothing But Thieves
MATT
I gruntas I hoist up yet another heavy black case with ‘Sherbrooke Station’ stenciled in spray paint on its side. We just started unloading at the Salle J. Antonio-Thompson, a huge Art Deco theatre that’s one of the main concert venues in Trois-Rivières.
I drop the box down on the stage and can’t help thinking that the two tiers of empty, red-padded seats might not be enough. Even before all our chart-topping success, we’d sell out every venue we booked in Trois-Rivières, mainly due to JP seeming to know almost every single person in the city. He’s always been vocal about his roots, and the people here take a lot of pride in him.
So much pride, in fact, there was an actual riot outside the high school auditorium we played last summer. About fifty people without tickets tried to force their way in. It was the first time the cops were called to any of our shows, and I have to admit it felt pretty fucking rock and roll.
“Matt, wrong side of the stage, man. I need that shit over here.”
I look over to where Nico’s flagging me down with his tablet.
“Right, right.” I stoop to pick up the box again.
I’ve been doing shit like that all day: putting stuff in the wrong spot, dropping things, staring off into space when someone’s trying to have a direct conversation with me. I’m not naive enough to pretend it has nothing to do with the anticipation of seeing Kay in about four hours.
It’s been almost two weeks since I took her to the rooftop, and I can still taste her lips on my tongue, still feel the curve of her hips under my hands. I know that if it weren’t for the sub-zero temperatures, that night probably would have ended with us naked and sweaty, pressed up against the stairwell wall. The thought of all the lines we were so close to crossing, and the memory of the ones we did, haven’t left my mind ever since.
She may have stopped things as soon as the kiss ended, but I know that whatever we’ve started isn’t going to let either of us go that easily. We’ve turned a spotlight onto something that’s just been waiting in the wings until now. I can’t shake the feeling that tonight this pull between us is finally going to take centre stage.
“Matt, seriously. This is thethird timeI’ve asked you to pass me that tape.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, right. Tape. Got it.”
We’ve got a smaller crew with us than we usually do, so me and the guys offered to step in as roadies for the day, just like we used to back before our shows got bigger and we became more annoying than helpful when it came to all the complicated setup. We’re at the hall all day, breaking only when so many boxes of pizza show up it takes three delivery guys to get them in the building.
The hours fly by in a blur of running around and heavy lifting. Soon we’re up doing our sound check before we’re due to meet Kay. In contrast to the Ottawa disaster, this one is smooth sailing; we only have to make a handful of adjustments before we all feel ready for the show. Something about working with the crew all day and being back in Trois-Rivières has even Ace in a good mood. For the first time in awhile, I’m hit with an electrical surge of hope, a glowing moment of optimism for the future of this band.
That’s quickly followed by an extra dose of guilt for the lie I told them. I knew they wouldn’t risk getting in trouble with Atlas just for Kay’s sake, and I seem to be the only one who’s not onboard with the label’s media scheme, so I said Kay had the green light to go ahead and keep interviewing us. No one asked any more questions after that, and I tried telling myself I wasn’t even stretching the truth that far. The interviews with Kay were already scheduled before Atlas decided to take control. We’re not getting in contact with anynewjournalists without their approval. Technically nothing about this is wrong.
Still, I feel a twisting in my gut as we haul our instrument’s off the stage so our opener, JP’s cousin—half of Trois-Rivières seems to be populated by JP’s cousins—and his band can do their own sound check.
“Ready to see Kay?” Ace asks me. “Sure you’re gonna be able to hide your boner?”
“Sacrement. I don’t have a boner.”
JP claps me on the shoulder. “But you do want to bone her.”
“I thought they already boned?” Cole joins in.
“How many fucking times are we going to say the word ‘bone’?” I demand.
Ace grins. “Just until you bone her with your boner.”
I pull him into a headlock and he tries to throw me off, the two of us lurching around until we almost knock over a lighting rig.
“Watch the gear, children!” Nico calls from a few feet away.
I let Ace go and the four of us head to the meeting room I scouted out and texted Kay about. She’s not there when we arrive, so we take seats around the glass coffee table that fills up most of the floor space.
“The snake is late,” Cole observes.
They’ve all taken to calling her the snake, mostly because they know it pisses me off. I don’t bother giving them the satisfaction of getting annoyed. A few seconds later, Kay bursts through the door, wearing the same oversized army jacket as she did on the roof. Her face is flushed from either running, the cold, or both.
“Sorry I’m late, guys,” she pants. “My French is so terrible it’s making everything here take longer.”
JP smiles at her. “Let me know if you need a translator,Mademoiselle Fischer.”
