Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty 3)

“Shit.” Quinn was the first to recover. “Is that from the new song?”

Wyatt grinned, waggled his eyebrows. “Let’s do ‘Pieces of You’ first. That’s got a great base line.” He smirked at Shane as Jared fumbled through some hand-written sheet music before sliding a couple of pieces of paper onto the stand in front of the bassist. “Try to keep up, will you?”

Then, before waiting to see if anyone agreed, he started counting off the time on his hi-hat cymbal. One and two and three and four and—

Jared joined in first, with the powerful set of chords that marked the beginning of Poppy’s favorite love song ever. Quinn dropped in second and then Shane was there, too. He was shaky, nowhere near as confident on the song as the other guys were, but it was new material for him—and obviously a new song for Shaken Dirty to be playing all together. Rumor had it Ryder had written it to win Jamison back after they’d broken up, right around the same time Wyatt went to rehab and Micah got kicked out of the band.

Since Jamison and Ryder were together now, it obviously must have worked. Not that she was surprised. The song was gorgeous, and so full of heart that she didn’t know any woman who could have resisted it.

The song ended in a sophisticated tangle of chords that had Shane scrambling. He didn’t quite pull it off, but he did okay in her opinion. A quick glance at Wyatt’s face told her he felt exactly the same way.

They did four more songs together, all of them big Shaken Dirty hits that anyone who liked rock music should have known like the back of their hand. It was obvious that Shane did know them, but even with the sheet music he struggled to keep up. Struggled to lay down a bass line that the others could work with. And it wasn’t just his fingerings—in most cases, those could be learned. But there was something about the way he played that just didn’t work with Shaken Dirty’s sound. He wasn’t crisp enough, which meant that for most of the songs, his notes kept coming out just a little muddled.

As they finished, she glanced at Wyatt, Jared, Quinn and Ryder. They were all smiling, and with another band she’d take that as a sign they’d liked playing with Shane. But the four of them were usually so polite that it was hard to tell—it wasn’t like they were going to start listing his shortcomings right there in front of him. So instead of worrying needlessly, she decided to just sit back and see how things played out.

Sure enough, a bunch of silent and covert communication went on between the band members as Shane started packing up his bass, and after that, it didn’t take long for Ryder to start moving the bassist toward the door. He was super nice about it, even told the guy that they’d enjoyed jamming with him. But he definitely didn’t mention that they had another anonymous concert scheduled for Antone’s the next night—or invite Shane to play with them.

Which meant that they had to go back to the drawing board to find a bassist, and they had to do it quickly. With Austin City Limits—which was going to serve as the first date of their tour—only a few weeks away, they needed someone, like, yesterday.

She knew a few—actually, she knew dozens—but none that she thought would work who were also available to go on the road with Shaken Dirty. Still, she wracked her brain trying to come up with a solution as the guys’ conversation ebbed and flowed around her.

“What about Deacon Brown?” Quinn tossed out after Shane was gone and they were all settled back with bottles of soda and water.

“His sound isn’t right,” Ryder objected right away. “He’s too pop.”

“Yeah, but he’s a hell of a bass player,” Wyatt said.

“A pop bass player,” Jared told them. “Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s already with a tour right now.”

“How about Jackson Kery, then?” Ryder asked. “He’s good.”

“He’s also a bigger druggie than me,” Wyatt said with a rueful laugh, “so probably not a good idea.”

“No shit, that,” Jared agreed. “Mike James?”

“No!” Quinn barked. “No, no, fuck no!”

“Aww, come on, Quinn. Let bygones be bygones, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Fuck Mike James and his bygones. No fucking way is he joining this band—unless you want to find yourself a new keyboard player, too.”

The guys all laughed at his vehemence, but nobody brought up Mike James again. She made a mental note to ask Wyatt later what had happened between him and Quinn—something told her it was a hell of a story.

They continued to toss out names for the next ten minutes, all to no avail. Most of them were guys she’d thought of herself, then discarded for various reasons—it felt good that her judgment seemed to mirror theirs, made her feel like she really did have her finger on the pulse of what was going on in this industry. Considering how much time her father spent telling her she wouldn’t understand this decision or that one, it was a nice validation.

Eventually, though, they got tired of throwing around names and Jared picked up his guitar and played a few chords that sounded really familiar. She couldn’t place them, but watched as smiles crossed the face of every guy in the place. Seconds later, Quinn was behind his keyboard, and this time when Jared played the notes, he did too.

“Well, are you just going to sit there like a moron, or are you going to play this new song for us?” Ryder jerked his chin toward Wyatt. “I mean, if you’re staying, that is.”

Right. That’s where she’d heard that note arrangement—at the beginning of Wyatt’s drum fill. Shivers worked their way up and down her spine at the thought of actually hearing the song, and she waited, a little breathless, as he pushed himself off the couch and headed toward his drum kit.

“Oh, I’m staying, since it sounds like you’d all be lost without me,” Wyatt teased.

The others didn’t bother to give him shit back—they were all too busy grinning.

Wyatt settled himself on the throne. “I’ll run through it once on my own and then you can join in.” He grinned at Ryder. “And you can just sit there and try to look pretty this time around.”

“Fuck that.” Ryder flipped him off before reaching for one of the acoustic guitars lined up against the wall. “This is history in the making. I want in.”