Page 44 of How Good It Was (Excess All Areas 3)

Matt grinned. “Not going to lie, this might be the coolest thing I’ve seen since we signed the recording contract. How do the economics work?”

Yeah, the money. Luke had been thinking the same thing.

“Bigger tours like this run a little different to the gigs you are used to setting up by yourself. Obviously, the ticket sales provider takes nine percent and credit card sales two percent. Then, there’s the venue and promoter that take over half. But if we assume the seventy percent sell through, and merchandise at an average three pounds a head, the thirteen-date gig will make you between seventy to eighty grand each across the month. Pretty much double it at twenty-five concerts.”

“Fuck me,” Alex muttered.

“Yeah.” That kind of money would pay off his credit cards, upgrade the van. Wait, they wouldn’t need the van anymore. Someone else would be responsible for hauling their shit on tour.

And the album release would hopefully boost interest in the back catalogue of their work that they’d independently released, which would tide them over until they broke even on the album, and then, the tour earnings would kick in.

“We’ll need to talk more about the set and setlist obviously,” Parker said, closing his laptop. “But those are the bones of the tour. The good news is your fans are not expecting a major production, which means we can adapt quickly. We’ll focus on the music and not high-tech sets.”

By the end of the day, they’d nailed down a shedload more details. Some things he gave a shit about ... song choices and playlist order. Media days versus performance days. Days off. Some things he should give a shit about, like merchandising order timelines. And some shit he had no opinion on at all, like what should be in their rider for every gig.

Hours later, when the band was halfway through their fourth beer of the night, Luke glanced at the others. “Do you ever wonder how you go from a band like us—pulling up at a gig and carrying our kit out of the back of the van, showing up and playing music—to the kind of person who needs a rider to dictate there should be five candles from a specific brand, in a specific scent, lit no more than one hour before arrival? Like, what steps do you go through before you become that precious of a twat?”

Alex shrugged. “I don’t think you lose your sense of perspective overnight. We’ve gone from having to do this all by ourselves, sharing Premier Inn hotel rooms or booking Airbnbs, to having a record label book them for us. And I’m sure, for a while, it’ll feel like an upgrade to be in a hotel where you can get room service, and never having to share rooms. And maybe, as the hotel gets better, and the sheet thread count goes higher, and the taste buds grow richer, it just becomes normal. So then, you want to level up again.”

Was that all it was? A slow and steady erosion of being happy with what you’ve got and climbing the ladder of having shit that was once out of reach.

“If I become that guy, shoot me,” Ben said.

Alex shook his head. “It’ll be Jase that gets there first, not you.”

Jase almost choked on his beer. “Why me?”

“You’ve always wanted better things,” Alex said.

Matt laughed. “Then we can all kick the shit out of you and bring you back down to earth.”

“I’ll look forward to the day you try.” Jase gulped down more of his beer.

“How are things with you and Willow?” Ben asked. “You think any more about our conversation?”

Luke took a large gulp of beer. “You were all right. It still feels a bit of a fucked-up mess to be honest. But this morning, we were talking in the kitchen about these posts she made about us, and it felt normal. Hard to look at her and not think about that night.”

Jase placed his elbows on the table. “What night?”

“That night in Detroit.”

“Good I take it?” Alex asked.

Luke grinned. “The fucking best.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

Luke shoulder-checked Alex gently. “I’m not feeding your voyeuristic tendencies.”

“Not about your fucking sex life, you donkey. About your feelings for her.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s just confusing. My head’s reminding me about the contract, and my dick just remembers how good it was. It’s like a diving rod sensing water, jumping to attention whenever she comes too close.”

“What about your heart?” Ben asked.

“Shut up, Ben.”

Ben’s eyes were earnest. “I’m serious. If the contract and the baby didn’t exist, what would she mean to you?”

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