Page 5 of Next Time I Fall (Excess All Areas 2)

“Yeah. Sad Fridays arrive tomorrow. Can you make sure everything is set up for them?”

Cerys had it on her list of things to do today so she’d be ready. “Of course. What were you thinking? Most of the band sing, right? So, we’ll need multiple mics. And that new digital convertor arrived over the weekend so I can make sure—”

“I meant their logistics, Cerys. How they are getting from the hotel to here. They’re going to need a tour of the place before I meet with them. Lunch. That kind of thing.”

Cerys felt her heart drop. A whole month she’d been here, and her father still hadn’t let her play any meaningful role. He had his preferred engineers, she understood that. But when they’d spoken, she thought she’d been pretty specific in the kind of experience she needed. Which wasn’t a glorified assistant.

“Sure. Of course,” she said, pasting on a smile. “But I was also wondering if you and I could meet to discuss the objectives you received from Upper Street Records and their A&R guy. I haven’t seen the brief yet. I was hoping we could listen to some of the samples they have available, and you could tell me what you’re thinking. It would be great to know—”

“Cerys. I’m tired after the all-nighter I just pulled. And the team is all set for Sad Fridays. Rahim and Micah have it covered. Just make sure those logistics are taken care of, yeah?”

“Can I at least sit in?”

“You can. Watch how it’s done in the real world instead of on paper with those degrees of yours.”

With that, her father tapped his fingers on the doorframe and left. He took her happy mood with him.

Frustration bubbled in her chest. How convenient that he’d forgotten the demos she’d helped produce for bands on other parts of her program? She’d played them for him, although his feedback had been scant and more focused on the quality of the sound the university’s equipment had produced.

To anybody else’s ear they’d sounded great, but of course, he’d muttered about the importance of robust master clocks to remove the clicks and pops from misaligned samples. He was right, of course. And that’s what she wanted. His feedback.

How could he not understand that she craved to learn his exacting passion for recording music?

Cerys got it; she felt the same way. The same drive to create and produce music, to help with lyrics and melodies. To take a weak beat and fix it. To alter the tempo fromadagiettotoandanteand bring a dull song to life. To create complex harmonic structures that soared. To play with the dynamic range of a song.

It was why her father was regarded as one of the world’s best. The way he could help a band find their sound and refine it in such a way they were guaranteed hit after hit after hit.

She longed to learn from him. That had been the deal she’d made with him when she’d contacted him for the first time in her life to ask him if he’d be interested in teaching her. She’d been clear about what she needed. Experience and a reference she could take to the bank.

He’d agreed.

But he was reluctant to live up to his end of the bargain.

Cerys wondered if the time here would boost her career forward or hold her back.

* * *

Jase stepped out of the Detroit hotel and felt the inside of his nose freeze over. The frigid air stung his lungs as he breathed it in. The wind cut a vicious stab straight through his coat and hoodie. He blew out a breath through pursed lips, watching it condense and steam as it swirled away.

Over breakfast, the server had told him it was too cold to snow, which still left him puzzled.

“Fucking colder than the walk-in freezer at the pub,” he commented to Alex, his best friend, cousin, and fellow bandmate.

Alex’s blond curls spilled out from beneath a grey beanie as he blew warm air into his clasped hands. “This is worse. When it said nineteen degrees Fahrenheit, I had no fucking clue what it meant. Manchester never gets this cold.”

Jase took in the snow piled up on curbs and on the garden borders that ran through the hotel parking lot. “Snow’s pretty fucking cool. Not sure it makes up for having to fly nearly four thousand miles to record an album we could have recorded in Manchester, though.”

Alex shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, shoulders hunched up around his ears. “Mate, if someone handed you a million quid, you’d find a way to complain that the hundred-pound notes were crumpled.”

Jase gave Alex a sardonic smile. “It’s fucking true, though.”

“No. It’s not. Listen. I know you weren’t happy signing the recording contract because of Matt, but you did. You need to at least give this a fair go.”

A quiet voice inside told him Alex was right, but he shut it down.

“Stay out of things you don’t understand, Alex.”

Alex shook his head. “If the two of you fucking blow this for us, I’ll kill you both myself.”

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