Page 1 of Banging the Drummer

chapter

one

Mason

I’m the black sheep of my family. Ironic, really, when you think about it. Considering by most people’s standards, I’m a highly accomplished and successful man. But my family of Juilliard graduates and Tony winners still thinks I sold out. Took the easy route.

Bloody hilarious. There was nothing easy about taking five teenage guys—all strangers—then turning them into the hottest, most successful boy band of all time. At our height, Soul Obsession ruled the charts and the radio and sold-out stadiums and arenas around the world.

Ten years ago, we all walked away from that success. From each other. And all the drama and fighting. Not to mention the damned paparazzi constantly hounding us.

We retired, still owing the record label one more album. They’ve called in their chips, as it were, and we’re back in the studio and priming for the reunion tour of a lifetime.

I’m not gonna lie, I’ve missed these fuckers. We’re like a dysfunctional family, a band of wayward musical brothers who grew up together on a tour bus. We might not all get along all the time, but I feel closer to each of these guys than I do my own damn brothers.

I sit at the table, drumming my fingers on the shiny black lacquered tabletop. This rehearsal room is large enough for all of us, including an upright piano and several guitars. The furniture is a black leather-looking material and fairly nondescript.

Jax, our resident bad boy, ambles over to the leather couch, guitar in hand. Asher, our lead singer, stares out the window, looking very much like the weight of all of this rests on his shoulders.

The heartthrob of our group, Crue, stands leaning against the wall. He hasn’t changed much at all, except maybe a few more tattoos. Probably true about all of us. His eyes flick to mine briefly before he continues to scan the room.

The fans all had nicknames for us. Jameson was known as the crooner. He took lead on most of the sultry songs and collected more panties tossed on the stage than the rest of us combined.

When our group first formed, management had us all out front, singing and dancing like a regular boy band. The truth is, though, that as much as I know rhythm, I’m a shite dancer. So eventually I was able to convince everyone I’d do better sitting behind the drums.

Considering I’m a classically trained pianist, it made my composer father nearly disown me when I picked up those drumsticks. But it kept me from having to make a complete ass of myself with the choreography. Needless to say, most fans called me the ’shy one.’

It’s not too far from the truth. I’m much more comfortable with practically anything sitting between me and another person.

Crue clears his throat. “Alright, ladies, gather round,” he says. “We all know why we’re here. One last album, one final tour. Then we’re free. We’ve got a lot to cover before we hit the road again.”

Jax shifts on the couch, his brow set in a frown. “Who put you in charge, Crue? Last I checked, this wasn’t a dictatorship.”

Those two were always at odds. Guess some things never change.

“Fine,” Crue says. “We’ll take a vote. All in favor of me leading this meeting say ‘aye’.”

Asher raises his hand. “Aye.”

“Aye. Let’s just get this over with,” Jameson grumbles.

“Aye,” I say, just to make things official.

Crue rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed we had to go through that pointless vote. “Excellent. Then, by the power vested in me by the band Soul Obsession, I now call this meeting to order.”

“Do you need a gavel there, Judge Crue?” Jax asks sarcastically.

Crue, thankfully, ignores him. Otherwise, they could really get into and we’d be here all day night.

“Alright, first order of business, the setlist,” Crue says. “Management wants us to focus mostly on our old hits, with a couple of new songs sprinkled in. I think we should open with Girlfriend since that always got the crowds pumped up.”

“Agreed,” I say. Maybe I can convince management to let me skip that one even though it was one I used to “dance” to. “Can I sit out for that one this time?” I ask. “I’m really not looking forward to all those synchronized group dances we used to do. Dancing was not in my original job description as the drummer, you know.”

“What exactly was in your original job description, Mase? Sit there and look brooding while hitting stuff with sticks?" Jax asks, turning his ire in my direction.

“That was the dream.” I grin and wink and Jax. “In all fairness, I offered to play any instrument they wanted me to, as long as I could do it without synchronize movements.”

“A proctologist appointment sounds more appealing to me than synchronized dancing,” Asher mutters.