Bittersweet lyrics ripped from Lucas's throat, echoing from the microphone to fill the Irish pub with a heavy, seductive murmur.  His vocals were perfection but the musical accompaniment of his band behind him lacked muscle. His fingertips slipped from the strings angrily, silencing the music. “What the hell was that?”

Jeremy, the band’s drummer with his shaggy hair of bleach-blonde and face full of scruff offered a halfhearted shrug. Beneath the bang that swept to one side, his eyes were puffy and red, lined with bags from lack of sleep. His pupils dilated from too much weed.

He twirled his drumsticks absently.  They faltered in his hand and fell to the floor. Jeremy tumbled off the stool after them, toppling the drummer’s throne and landing with a heavy thud.

The band burst into laughter. “Screw you,” Jeremy mused.

Lucas was far from amused. This was the third time this week Jeremy had been too high or too drunk or both to manage to practice. They had the gig of their life coming up in a few weeks and at this point Lucas was pretty sure his best friend wouldn’t make it past one set. Screwed was right, because that’s exactly what they were going to be if they couldn’t get their shit together… screwed.

Jeremy jumped up in a dramatic gesture. He thrust the drumsticks into the air as if they were a trophy. “It’s all good!”

“Jesus Christ, Jer, you’re drunk.”

A guilty smile tipped Jeremy’s crooked smile. He had certainly never been an alter boy, but over the years Jeremy had slid farther down that slippery slope. Lucas wasn’t sure how much further his friend could fall before he hit rock bottom. And he wasn’t sure if their friendship, or the band, could survive it when he did. “It's ten o'clock in the morning, what the hell is the matter with you?”

“Just needed a little pick me-up,” Jeremy said as he scrambled back onto his stool.

“What you need is a swift kick in the ass.”

The back door of the pub swung open, banging against the wall with an angry thump, drawing Lucas’s attention.

A sturdy Irishman in his late fifties, George Callaghan had a head full of thick dark hair, deep wrinkles etching his tired face and a hard line drawn across his brow. It was that line as much as the heavy thud of his footfall that told Lucas his father was toting another chip upon his shoulder.

George crossed to the stage prominently displayed along the back wall where the band had set up rehearsal. His hard gaze narrowed on Lucas as he shoved a newspaper at his son’s chest. “Just what in bloody hell are you boys doing out there?”

Lucas's brow dipped in question as he took the paper and scanned the article. Before he could read the stark black print, his father snatched it back, flipped it around and read it aloud. “'Lifetap' delivered a lush soundscape in the spirit of 'Coldplay'.  Until the lulling calm of 'Numb', a ballad that should have provided a breather between the unbridled energy of 'More Time' and 'Slick'.  While the group seems to understand the logistics of a moving rock ballad, the performance was all together disconnected."

Alex, the bassist and last remaining member of the original band he and Jeremy had started nearly ten years ago in Jeremy’s garage, shot a glance at his band-mates. “Disconnected?”

Ignoring the question, George kept his gaze centered on Lucas alone. “Is that what you want people writing about you? Is that what we’ve worked so hard for?”

“It’s just one review,” Lucas shot back. Although it certainly hadn’t been the first. The reviews, not to mention ticket sales had been quickly declining ever since Jeremy had taken up drinking. They were just starting to grab the attention of venues beyond the local Seattle scene but it seemed like each time they took a step forward, something like this would happen and they’d be forced to take two steps back. The problem was he didn’t know what to do about it. It was hard enough managing the band, writing the materials and booking the gigs, not to mention performing night after night without adding playing babysitter and nurse-maid to his drummer. There were only so many hours in the day and frankly Lucas was just fucking tired at the end of them.

Some days it seemed like more of a hassle than it was worth. He knew going into it that fame was going to have a price, he just wasn’t sure it was one that he was willing to pay in friendships and personal sacrifice.

“One review is all it takes,” his father reminded him though he certainly didn’t need the reminder. He knew all too well what one bad review could mean for them. George’s gaze swept across the band, that fatherly scowl of disappointment Lucas knew only too well etched into the deep lines of his face. “I suggest you boys get to work because if that’s the kinda shit I hear tonight, you’ll be looking for a new job. You got that?”

His father didn’t wait for an answer as he turned and stormed across the bar and barged through the back door.

Just fucking wonderful, Lucas thought. What a brilliant start to another day in dreary Seattle.