Page 39 of Dark Verse

“Knox, can we talk for a minute?”

I look over my shoulder and see Raven standing in the doorway of the office. I glance over at Cash, Zeke, and Via, but they are all suddenly very busy.

“Sure, boss. What’s up?”

She gestures with her head to come into the office before disappearing herself. I glance down at my watch, and it reads 11:01. Seeing that confirms I’m late, but only technically. Still, my heart rate spikes a little, reminding me that I’ve never grown out of the unsettled feeling of being called to the principal’s office, even into adulthood.

I jump off the stage and cross the floor, joining her in the room.

The space is small, the lights low. I see a desktop with two screens and a laptop. All three have a different contract or spreadsheet pulled up. Raven clicks around for a moment before the three screens all change to her screen saver. I study the first image for a moment. It’s a candid photo of Raven with a man. They are both dressed in Halloween costumes, and it only takes me a moment to realize it’s a coordinated couple’s costume. Something unhappy moves around in my gut, the pinprick of jealousy. That jealousy almost immediately morphs into images of me ripping off the head of whoever is in that mask next to her.

Okay, that’s new. And not exactly a healthy reaction.

The lights from the computer screen flash across her glasses for a moment, making her eyes impossible to see until she looks directly at me.

“We’ve got rehearsal starting right now, and the rest of the band’s already been here warming up for the last fifteen minutes. You’re just walking in. Again.”

I hold up my hands.

“I know, I know. Traffic was crazy, and I had to grab strings, and—”

“Knox.”

The way she says my name stops my next excuse before I can even begin forming it.

“Every day can’t be an emergency. If it’s not traffic or instrument problems, it’s oversleeping or forgetting your music or the coffee maker attacking you. I need you here on time. Our first show is right around the corner, and we’re behind because we keep waiting on you.”

That pinprick of jealousy I felt shifts into a low tide of irritation. Even though I’m the one in the wrong here, I nevertheless feel defensive.

“Ven, I play everything well, I memorize faster than anyone, and I kill on stage. You know that. One late arrival isn’t going to blow it.”

“It’s not one late arrival. It’s a pattern. I’ve known you for how many weeks, and you have yet to be consistently on time for your own band’s rehearsal. Being talented doesn’t excuse unreliability, Knox. Being good isn’t enough if the rest of the band has to compensate for you or stand in for part of a gig,” she adds pointedly.

Damn, she is never going to let that go, is she? I’m not proud that Zeke had to play the last twenty minutes at her sister’s reception, and I know Ray’s right. But I still feel under attack.

“So I’m the problem now?” I huff.

She shrugs, looking thoughtful.

“When it comes to consistency—yes. You are. I’m saying this because I actually believe in you. If you didn’t bring something important to this group, this conversation would be a lot shorter. After all, I’ve heard the Nightshades as a trio, and they are solid.”

I sigh, crossing my arms defensively.

“I feel like you’re always on me. You never say anything when I nail a solo or rearrange a harmony when you give us a new standard to practice.”

Raven’s expression, unreadable at first, begins to soften.

“I do notice those things. You’re extremely gifted, Knox. And the band undoubtedly sounds better because of you. But showing up late, missing a run-through—that overshadows what you bring musically.”

“My process just isn’t as rigid as yours, Ven. You’re…” I search for the right word. “You’re intense. Everything’s schedules and spreadsheets with you. Music isn’t like that for me. I need to feel it in my body or hear it in my ear.”

“Music on stage during a performance can be spontaneous. But music in rehearsal cannot. Not when it’s people’s income. My intensity is what keeps this venue booked, and all my artists, yourself included, paid.”

I nod, trying to take a mental step back. I get that. I do.

“You’re right,” I finally say, “I just… burn out fast when it feels like the pressure is too much. I love music and performing. I just haven’t been asked to do it at this level, not in years, honestly. ”

“Then tell me that instead of disappearing or sliding in late. I’m not asking for military-level discipline here. I’m asking for communication and respect for everyone else’s time. If this is going to work for the rest of this season, I need you to show up on time and be accountable. If something’s off, bring it up early, not at the last minute. If you’re running late, send a message. We cannot run on Knox Standard Time anymore if we are going to be a successful team.”