Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty 3)

“Still is,” Billy told him. “Only worse, I bet. If you actually come see us, you can check the place out for yourself.”

“You’re right.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, pulled up the calendar app Jared was constantly jawing at him about using. “What day next week?”

“Friday,” Dylan answered. “We start playing around nine.”

He entered the information, only fucking up the time twice. “Cool. I’ll drop by.”

“I can’t believe this!” Billy shouted, his voice echoing off the cement walls of the garage. “I can’t fucking believe this!”

“You’re the best, man,” Dylan gushed. “Seriously. The best, ever.”

“I’m really not,” he told them. “You’ve seen me play. I figure it’s only fair that I see you.”

“You’re not really coming.” For the first time, Jace was looking him square in the face.

“What the fuck, man?” Dylan asked, elbowing him. “He said he’d come.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of us, right?” Jace asked. “You don’t really mean it. You’re not actually coming.”

Wyatt might have taken offense at the kid’s words if he hadn’t sounded so desperate. So lost. So much like he was trying to convince himself not to get his hopes up because he couldn’t stand the disappointment if it didn’t pan out. It was just one more way Wyatt saw himself in the skinny teenager standing in front of him.

“Jace!” Billy hissed. “What are you doing? He—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wyatt interrupted as he stepped closer to Jace, getting in his face until the kid had no choice but to look at him. “You don’t know me, so I get it. Why should you trust me, especially considering when I first r

ealized you’d spotted me, I thought seriously about sprinting for my car to get away from you?” Dylan squawked a little, and he shrugged. “What can I say? It’s been a rough morning.”

He turned back to Jace. “But I don’t say things unless I mean them. That’s not the kind of guy I am. And I don’t promise to do something if I’m not going to do it.” He’d broken enough promises when he was using. It was a matter of honor to him that he wasn’t going to do that anymore. “I’m going to be at your show next Friday, and I’m going to listen to you drum. So you better be prepared to rip my fucking head off with your fills. You got that?”

Jace turned white—pure, blank-sheet-of-paper white—and for a second Wyatt thought the kid was actually going to pass out. But then he nodded said, “Yeah. I can do that.”

Wyatt grinned at him. “I figured you could. Now, I need to get going. So if you guys want a picture—”

“That’s okay,” Jace said, cutting off his friends even as they reached for their cameras. “We don’t need one.”

“Uh, yeah we do,” Dylan said, looking at him like he was insane. “‘Receipts or it didn’t happen.’”

“It happened,” Jace said softly. “Besides, when he comes to the show Friday night, you can take a picture with us.”

“The fuck?” Billy demanded, turning almost as white as Jace had. “He didn’t mean it, Wyatt. He’s just insane or something.”

Wyatt was laughing too hard to answer him. When he could finally speak, he nodded at Jace. “Okay. That seems fair. I show up to hear you play and you take a picture with me that I can post on Twitter and shit and tell everybody that I got to meet the guys from Big Bad Wolf.”

Billy elbowed Dylan, whispered loudly, “He remembered our name.” Dylan nodded like a crazy man, and Jace just stood there grinning.

“It was nice meeting you guys. Have a good day.” He gave them a little salute, then headed up the ramp toward his car.

About a minute later, he heard feet pounding up the ramp after him. He turned to find Jace running full out in an effort to catch up to him.

“What’s up, Jace?” he asked as the kid finally stopped a couple of feet from him.

It took him a couple of seconds to catch his breath, but then he said, “I really do think you’re the greatest drummer ever. I’ve listened to everybody—Dave Grohl, Keith Moon, Phil Collins. They’re great. I mean, some of them are really phenomenal. But you’re better.”

“Dude.” Wyatt reared back a little, humbled by this kid’s support. “That’s pretty serious company you’ve got me in. I mean, I appreciate the compliment—”

“No. You are. I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass. Your drum fills are genius. Pure genius. They make the whole fucking song, set the whole thing up. Because they don’t just fill, don’t just keep the beat. They get inside the song, mirror the emotions and the tension of it so perfectly. Believe me, I know—I’ve spent years watching you, learning from you, trying to do what you do. It’s the hardest fucking thing in the world, and you make it look effortless.”

“It’s not effortless—”