Page 4 of Broken Bridges

My adrenaline kicked in as we transitioned into the second song. I couldn’t contain my grin when they sped up the tempo then slowed it down. Was this a test to see if I was on-point with listening to the rhythm? Letting the drummer set the pace? This wasn’t my first time playing. I never missed a beat.

Flint sang the last note of the song, then muted his strings with his palm. He panted and nodded. “Fuck. That was good. Really good.”

“Thanks.” I puffed my hair off my face, still high on the rush from playing.

“So what’s your story, Lewis?” Slip continued to play a soft tune on his guitar. “What happened to The Saylors?”

Cole leaped from his stool behind the drums and joined us, taking a seat on an amp beside Slip.

I took three steps back and sank onto the stool. Resting my bass across my lap, I sifted through a million memories—the gigs, the travels, the struggles. How could I sum up twelve years of highs and lows?

I glanced at Hayden. He’d been lucky to avoid most of the disaster.

“Once Hayden left, it was never the same. The move we’d made a few years ago to play in Boston didn’t go to plan. Life pulled us in different directions. Our regular gig at a bar became less regular. We fought all the time. Reg, our lead guitarist, knocked up his girlfriend and had to get a day job to pay the bills. Kilt, our lead singer, released another solo single but it flopped. Basil, Kilt’s brother who’d replaced Hayden, spent more time in rehab than playing drums. And me?” An ache shuddered through my chest. “I lived between the two cities. I spent more time back in New York, seeing and making music with my ex who DJ’d. As a band, we lost unity and focus, and fell apart. So after twelve years, we called it quits.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Flint tilted his head toward his bandmates. “We’ve been together since we were nine. That’s sixteen years.” Profound love, gratitude, and respect flooded his eyes as he glanced at Slip and Cole. I used to get nothing but glares of contempt from Kilt. “We’ve certainly had our ups and downs, but we’ve always remained best of friends.”

“That’s cool.” Was he rubbing salt into my wounds?

Slip stopped strumming; his dark brown eyes drilled into me with curiosity and concern. “We listened to some of your demos. They’re good. Do you prefer the DJ scene to playing in a band?”

“Fuck no.” I shook my head. Hadn’t they read my application? Bass was life. Not working with DJs or at random times as a session musician at a local indie studio, nor bartending. “It’s been a hobby that’s helped pay the bills. I’ve licensed a track to a telecom company for an ad campaign, and done some loops and mixes for other DJs, but it’s not where my heart lies. Performing is. Playing bass every day is.”

“What about writing songs?” Cole swiveled a drumstick around in his hands.

“Yeah. I’ve written quite a few tracks over the years. Unfortunately, everything I’ve created since I wrote the hit for The Saylors hasn’t been good enough for Kilt. He is a narcissistic prick who controls everything.” Kilt had squashed so many of my ideas, I’d given up on putting them forward. To keep the peace, I’d just played his music and gone along with his direction. I’d focused on having fun...and prayed for our next break to come. It never had. What a fool I’d been. I’d wasted too much of my life, and I’d been muzzled for way too long.

“You’re not wrong about Kilt,” Hayden mumbled. “I don’t miss him at all.”

“No. Not one bit.” I wouldn’t go down that path again. The embers stirred in my gut as I turned to Flint. “So that’s something I want to be upfront and honest about. If that’s the way you operate, with it’s-my-way-or-the-highway bullshit, I’m not interested in taking this further.” Was I killing my chances? Probably. But I refused to end up in another soul-crushing environment.

“No way.” Cole shook his head. His electric green eyes shimmered as he circled his finger through the air, taking in Slip, Flint, and himself. “We’re a team. Flint used to write all the lyrics with Phil, but for this album, we’ve all pitched in to create the songs and music. We still have some refining to do before we hit the studio next month.”

Nothing like a tight deadline. “I like that. I just wanted you to know I’m more than a bassist. I’d love the opportunity to work with you and add some magic to your tracks.”

“Add magic, huh?” Flint folded his arms. A challenge glinted in his eyes. “Alright then. What do you think of ‘Move Me?’ Any suggestions for improvement?”

The song I’d just played for the audition? Shit. Me and my big mouth, thinking I could make their songs better than what they’d written. This could make or break the deal. “It’s not recorded yet, right?”

“Nope.” Slip took the hairband off his wrist and tied back his sun-bleached dark blond hair. “It’s a potential track for the new album.”

“Honestly?” Should I tell him the truth? Yes. That was why I was here. “The lyrics are great, the overall music composition is good, but the bridge and chorus could do with some work.”

“How so?” Flint narrowed his eyes.

I swallowed hard. He’d written this song. Could he handle constructive criticism?

Was this what Hayden had meant when he’d said I should show them some magic? I had an ear for music. I could hear what a song needed—that little sound or bit of pizzazz to make it unique. Hayden nodded.

Flames flickered to life in my belly and mingled with my wayward nerves. It was now or never. “I’m more of a hands-on guy. Let me show you.” I wriggled on the stool, repositioned my bass against by belly, then strummed the strings. As I played the bridge, the tune morphed inside my mind. New notes and progressions formed. “Rather than quicken the tempo when you transition into the chorus, I’d take advantage of Flint’s vocal range and slow it down, go all swoon-worthy and high, then segue into a vivacious belt. Hammer on the bass, pause, then slap the melody. Like this.” I flew my fingers over the strings, plucked and strummed hard, then muted the sound. “There. Something like that.”

“Holy shit.” Slip’s eyes widened. “That was insane.”

“Um...thanks.” A small smile tugged the corner of my lips.

“Did you just come up with that?” Cole’s brows pinched together.

“Kinda.” I scratched the tip of my chin. “When I was practicing the song for the audition, I just felt like the track could use a twist. It would give it much more of an emotional punch.”

---