Chapter Eight
felicity
“Cut!Cut.”
I sigh as Francesca’s terse command blasts through the overhead speakers for the third time in the past half hour. Aiden and Lincoln groan behind me in unison — the most they’ve spoken since we started rehearsing, with the exception of the rather lukewarm greeting they gave me when I arrived. I don’t look over at Ryder, but I sense him bracing for the storm along with me as Francesca blows through the door with hurricane force, a displeased expression marring her porcelain features.
“What is going on in here?” She plants her hands on her hips, gaze whipping from one face to the next. “Need I remind you that this rehearsal space, along with these instruments and the sound technicians assisting you today, are costing Route 66 several thousand dollars per hour?”
We’re all silent, staring at her like children chastised by their teacher. There’s nothing we can say to defend ourselves. The last three takes have been abysmal. Lincoln’s beat is so off, we’re playing at twice our normal tempo. Aiden’s stumbled over three separate chord changes. Ryder’s growling the lyrics with such anger,Fadedsounds almost unrecognizable coming from his mouth. And, shameful as it is to admit, I’ve also been operating at half-effort, slugging through the song like a loathsome task on a list of chores.
No one in their right mind would pay money to hear this.
Musical failings aside, our stage presence is in sore need of an adjustment as well, seeing as not one of us has made eye contact or exchanged more than the most basic of pleasantries since we stepped through the door an hour ago — a fact that has not escaped Francesca’s notice, judging by the cold disapproval radiating off her in waves.
“Look,” she says flatly, folding her toned arms across her chest. “I realize things didn’t exactly go as planned last time you tried this—”
Lincoln snorts.
Francesca proceeds as though she hasn’t heard him. “And I know it’s been a while since you last rehearsed together.However,I expect more effort than this rather poor showing. The tour leaves in three weeks. Or, it’s supposed to — right now, sounding the way you do, I’d rather cancel and refund every ticket we’ve sold than send you out on stage together.”
The air goes still.
Despite their sulking, both Linc and Aiden both want this tour to happen far more than they want to punish me for walking out two years ago, or Ryder for… well, I’m not actually sure what they’re mad at Ryder for, but it’s clear the three of them are not getting along. The climate in this room is practically arctic, and only half that chill is directed my way.
“We’re going to break for the day and try again tomorrow. I expect to seevastlydifferent results when I next hear you play.” Her eyes move to mine. “Ryder, Felicity — you’re appearing onThe Eileen Showat the end of the week. Need I remind you how important it is that you act like aconvincingduo when you’re on camera?”
I glower. Thoughts of the interview have been plaguing me since I heard about it. The last thing I want to do is play pretend with Ryder on a talk show set, in front of a live studio audience.
“You know how crucial that interview is, if we want to sell out all your venues. We’ve got the ball rolling with a marketing campaign, but that only goes so far. Your fans want assurances that they’re going to see the musical couple they fell in love with before they buy those tickets. They want the magic they witnessed when you first went viral, at the Fourth of July concert in Nashville. They want the chemistry they felt when you two initially appeared on Eileen’s show, the day your first single dropped. Anything short of that…” She trials off.
“You don’t have to worry, Francesca,” I say, my throat feeling thicker than the memories suddenly crowding into my head. “After all the interviews I did on our last tour, I’m an expert at smiling pretty and sticking to my script. We’ll fake a friendship for the cameras. Tell them all is hunky-dory in the land of Wildwood. Sound good?”
Ryder lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Sounds like bullshit.”
Francesca pinches the bridge of her nose. “Sniping at each other isn’t going to help your image issues. I’m telling you right now, Eileen won’t find it very thrilling if you sit there like stuffy mannequins while she fires questions at you. And, neither will your fans when you’re up onstage. The tension between you is palpable — and not in a good way.” She glances around. “That goes for all four of you, not just Ryder and Felicity.”
“What do you expect us to do, exactly?” Lincoln asks gruffly. “Hug it out? Sing campfire songs and pretend we’re still best friends?”
Francesca turns to examine him, her expression reminiscent of a housewife confronting a cockroach crawling across her immaculate, imported shower tiles. “Frankly, Mr. Travers, I don’t care how you reestablish your group dynamic — justdo it.Or don’t bother coming back. My time is far too valuable to be wasted on musicians who don’t take their craft seriously. Do I make myself clear?”
The boys grumble various agreements under their breath.
“Excellent. Then I will see you all tomorrow.”
She whirls around in a blur of black stilettos and leaves the four of us alone, thoroughly scolded. Silence hangs thick in the air as we avoid each other’s eyes. No one seems to want to speak first. Unsurprisingly, it’s Aiden — the backbone of the band, ever-steady as the bass he plays — who finally steps up to the task.
“Listen. I think we can all agree that things are strained right now…”
Lincoln snorts again.
“But Francesca is right. This tour is never going to work if we’re at each other’s throats or shoving our shit under the rug, pretending it’s not there. So let’s clear the fucking air, all right?” His dark eyes slide to mine first, soft and appealing. “Felicity. I’m sorry if I was cold when you got here, earlier. I’ve been pissed off in general and taking it out on you. That wasn’t right or fair. I’m not looking to rehash the shit that went down two years ago; I’m looking to move forward. We were always friends. I’d like it if we could be again.”
My heart clenches and I give a careful nod. “I’d like that, too.”
“Good.” His eyes slide to my left. “Linc, anything you’d like to add?”
Lincoln is sitting at his drum set with a scowl affixed on his handsome face. He’s gone full-on California since I last saw him — his blond hair is longer, his clothes trendier, his skin tanner. He absently twirls a drumstick between his fingers as he glares my direction.