Page 1 of How Good It Was (Excess All Areas 3)

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Luke Bryson, drummer of Sad Fridays, breathed in the air of thousands of people crying out the band’s name. Still backstage, he cherished every foot stomp, seat slam, and scream.

Because it meant they’d made it.

Seven months ago, they’d been nobodies. A grafting band with a van playing gigs in pubs and small venues. Then, some influencer, a woman with a huge following, had used one of their songs in Shamaze, a popular video app, and their world had been stood on end.

Currently the hot new thing, they’d been offered management representation and were here, in Detroit, in the middle of February, trying to record their first full studio album. But tonight, at their producer’s suggestion, they were going to play some of their new music live, to test it out in front of fans who couldn’t wait for more.

Intellectually, he knew it was all good. He watched Matt, his former best friend, and songwriter and bass guitarist for the band, talking to Jimmy Bexter, their famous producer. Normally, he’d be there with him, but Matt had betrayed his trust and slept with Luke’s younger sister, Iz, behind his back. Nothing said loyalty and friendship like doing your best mate’s sister and keeping it a secret.

Jase, Matt’s brother and their lead singer, was an asshole. But since he’d met Cerys, Jimmy’s daughter, there’d been a change in the once aggressive dick. Suddenly, he was all about collaboration with a desire to push all ill-feeling under the carpet.

Oh, and now he wanted to be Matt’s co-writer, had even started to play guitar, pushing Luke even further to the periphery of the band that was family, with the exception of himself.

Because Alex, their percussionist, and his brother, Ben, their guitarist, were Matt and Jase’s cousins.

Blood.

Always thicker than water.

Now, he stood on the outside looking in. And if it was a toss-up between feeling everything—all the turmoil and distrust and disappointment—or feeling nothing, he’d pick nothing every time.

Because numb worked.

Getting numb took effort.

The two lines of coke he’d done in the bathroom helped. So had the alcohol that flowed backstage like a river.

None of it affected his performance.

Muscle memory, talent, and a tolerance for the shit vibing through his veins made it possible. While his mind became blessedly numb, his body was able to keep a beat.

Jase stepped up behind Cerys. “Hey. What’s got you all stern faced?”

“Was just thinking I wish I’d picked a different outfit.”

“Nah.” Jase peered over her shoulder and looked down at her feet. “The moon boots are a fashion statement. They say, fuck the institution with a little bit of David Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity’.”

Luke checked out her boots. They were pretty big.

“They’re not that bad,” Jase said. Luke almost laughed at the lie.

But Jase picked her up and spun her around before kissing her. “It was a compliment, sunshine. They’ve grown on me. Just like you have.”

“Let’s start getting you guys ready to go on,” Jimmy said, gathering the band together. “The place is already at capacity.”

Luke cricked his neck from left to right, rolling his shoulders in circles to loosen them. He just wanted to get onstage and play. Studio life got to him. Too constrained. Too manicured to grab the best track. Luke liked music raw, anticipated, spontaneous.

The same way he liked sex.

“Sad Fridays.” A scrawny man dressed in double denim wearing a red-and-white kerchief as a bandana approached them. “I’m Darrin, Willow Warner’s dad and manager.”

The woman on the app.

Matt held out his hand. “Matt Palmer. It’s great to meet you. This is my brother, Jase and our drummer—”

“Glad we could help you guys out on Willow’s platform. She’s one of Shamaze’s top ten influencersbecause we’ve curated her content so carefully. You’re lucky we picked you. Let me go grab her and introduce you.” Without any further conversation, he walked away from them.

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