"You’ll have to wait and see," is her answer.
"Is that a yes, then?" I say and jump off stage and meet her face-to-face.
"Callum’s been tweeting about a secret gig the whole day," Benji says.
"We know secret gigs are your forte," I quip.
"Ah yes," she says, and signals Eric to follow her. "By the way, great melody, Cameron." She leaves us to finish tuning the rest of the gear, but calls out, "Is it your song?"
"We were playing around," I say.
"Finish it," she says, turning towards the back door.
My jaw drops. Benji’s eyes go wide. I turn to Eric, who follows Cassie.
"So are you going to say yes to that bassist that asked you out earlier?" Eric asks her. "Are you? Are you?" He looks like an energetic puppy following her.
"Right after you left, I politely declined."
"Ouch. That poor lad— " Eric says, pushing the door open. I don’t hear the rest of their conversation, but her words echo in my head.
I glance at Benji, who shrugs. We head back to the dressing room.
Before I’m able to say anything to Benji about Cassie telling us to finish the song, another familiar voice booms through the archways. "—managed to book us in. Did you hear that The Gramophones might be playing? We’ll be opening for them if what they say is true."
I would recognise that raspy voice anywhere.
His grey eyes turn into perfect orbs as soon as he catches me looking at him.
I stare him down, feeling every bit like Captain Cold. Elliot’s new band mate winces, seeing my glare. The git said his wife wanted him to settle down; that it was time to trade it in for a real job in Beverley. What the hell is he doing here?
"Hey, Cameron!" Elliot calls out.
Benji curses at the sight of Elliot.
First Elliot and then a week later Lewis, but here was Elliot apparently still in the music scene.
"How’s your new job coming along?" I grit my teeth.
"Whatever you do, don’t pick a fight with him," Benji warns me. He grips my shoulder back, restraining me.
"The Mrs. changed her mind." Elliot shrugs.
The cool air in the bright, fluorescent hallway has no effect on my rising temperature. The dark maroon walls swirl and blur around me. Elliot’s bulging face is the only thing that is in focus. My hand shakes.
I slam my fist into an amplifier beside me. It hardly moves since it’s so huge, but a surging pain shoots through my knuckles. I don’t care. The pain only makes me want to hit the damn amplifier again.
Elliot takes a step back as I walk towards him. His friend cowers beside him and says, "I’m going to step outside."
Benji slaps my back. "It’s not worth it."
"Elliot," I say, nonchalant. "You should have told me you wanted out because you didn’t want to work with me anymore. You didn’t need to make up some story about settling down and getting a proper job."
"Sorry, mate. I thought you’d take it better if I told you I wanted to give it up completely." But he doesn’t sound apologetic.
"You didn’t think I’d find out? Especially if your gig was at The Verve?"
He shrugs.
"Good luck," I say and walk past him, bumping his shoulder.
"Oi, my shoulder!" he says.
"Fucking drama queen," I curse under my breath, and head towards the dressing room.
Benji says something to Elliot, but I don’t hear a word.
I grind my teeth and slam the door to the dressing room shut.
CHAPTER SIX
I don’t know what upsets me more—Elliot lying to my face, or replacing me only to debut at The Hush Society.
If Elliot had lied his way out, did Lewis do the same?
As my anger dissipates, I think about why he would rather lie to me than tell me the truth. Did he think I couldn’t handle it? It’s not like I haven’t been through this sort of thing before.
Five times, to be exact.
I stare at the cracks on the dirty ceiling with the weight of five rejections hitting me.
I’m just not good enough, am I?
Cameron, get your act together. It’s the people who’ve let you down, who’ve made you feel like a prat for trying again and again. The music never let you down.
The door bursts open—and none other than Callum Ford stumbles in. "Who are you?" he asks.
"Cameron Evans," I say and snap upright.
CALLUM FORD OF THE GRAMOPHONES!
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"A fan told me about The Hush Society. Proper chuffed to hear our secret gigs inspired someone to turn it into a full-blown movement. Came out to show support. About time someone does." He plops down on the couch beside me.
"Any chance…?" I trail off, not wanting to cross any lines.
The look on his face says he’s understood my question this time. "Nah, mate. Afraid it’s just me."
"I had to ask." I smile, drumming my fingers against the armrest.
Look at me, having a proper chat with Callum Ford. If only Benji were here. I make a mental note to introduce them to each other later.
"You part of the line-up?" he asks me.
"No. Came here to support the show, like you. And well…my mates and I were hoping it was a comeback gig," I confess.
He gives me a hopeful smile, but says nothing else about The Gramophones. "So you’re here to listen. But"—he nods at the guitar beside me—"you wish you were…"
Playing. I complete his sentence in my head. My fingers brush against the guitar’s neck.
"Of course, but I was chucked off my last band," I say.
And the one before that.
I withdraw my fingers from the guitar and cross them against my chest.
"That’s terrible. I’ve been there."
"Not five times, I suppose." I don’t know why I told him that. Great. The last thing I need is one of my musical heroes thinking I’m a reject, too.
"Blimey. Not that many times, but hey, if it’s worth anything, don’t give up now. You might be closer to that aha! moment than ever."
I nod. I want to say, Sure, but what
