Your Rhythm

by Katia Rose

  “Or I could go to Lily’s place and kick the nineteen year-old out.”

  Matt’s already walking away.

  “Or you could follow me one block up the street,” he calls, “and have a whole room to yourself. Come on.”

  By the time we make it to the hotel and up to the fifth floor, I’m still refusing to take the room. Matt just forges on ahead, swiping his key card at a door down the hall and peering inside.

  “Yeah, no sign of Ace. He had a girl in his lap when I left the pub, so I’m pretty sure he’ll be occupied until morning. I’ll text him and tell him I need the room.” He steps back and sweeps his hand towards the doorway. “All yours.”

  “Matt...”

  I’ve finally caught up to him. We stand on either side of the door. His face is flushed from the cold outside and I know mine must be too. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears as the space between us narrows and the smell of him, sharp and masculine, seems like something solid, wrapping itself around me and pulling me closer.

  I break away, turning to step into the room.

  “Just take the other fucking bed.”

  It’s past two in the morning when I’m finally settled into one of the double beds, wearing a tank top of Matt’s that fits me like a dress. I’m sitting with my back against the headboard, blankets pulled up to my chest as I wait for him to come out of the bathroom and get into bed.

  This was necessary, I tell myself. It was unprofessional, but necessary. I had nowhere else to sleep.

  I repeat that over and over again, trying to drown out the fact that I know I could have chased after Lily at the bar and made her keep her promise.

  Totally, totally necessary.

  Matt steps out of the bathroom, still in his jeans and t-shirt. I pretend to be reading something on my phone as I listen to him unbuckle his belt and drop the jeans on the floor before pulling back the crisp hotel sheets.

  “Been wondering what that was.”

  I look up and see him sitting up against the headboard like me, pointing over at my shoulder. I follow his gaze to my tattoo, exposed except for the strap of the tank top. A black ink drawing of a round shield covers the front of my shoulder, crossed by a sword whose tip ends just beneath my collar bone.

  “It’s nice,” Matt says. “Really well done.”

  “I got it in Hamilton,” I tell him. “That’s where I’m from.”

  He doesn’t push for any more information about the design.

  “Hamilton, eh?” He stretches his arms up in the air, and I make myself look away from the muscles rolling under his own ink. “I’m from Sudbury. Moved to Montreal to go to McGill.”

  “And that’s how you met Ace,” I add.

  “Yeah,” Matt agrees. “Until he flunked out.”

  “And then you travelled Europe together for a summer and realized how much you wanted to start a band. You saw JP perform at an open mic one night and asked him to join you. Ace already knew Cole through friends of friends and offered him a spot as your bassist. Your first gig was a house party. You recorded your debut EP in JP’s uncle’s basement.”

  Matt gawks at me and I smirk. “I read your Wikipedia page. It’s kind of my job.”

  He recovers himself after a moment and shakes his head. “Pretty good, but you’re missing some details. For example, Ace actually found Cole through his weed dealer, but we like to keep that off Wikipedia.”

  I laugh and tilt my head to the side. “Should you really be confiding in a journalist?”

  “Maybe not.” He reaches for the lamp on the table between us. “But I have this weird feeling I can trust you.”

  I feel my heartbeat quicken. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

  The light clicks off and we’re both hidden in shadow. I hear Matt shifting around in bed and lay back on my pillow, after setting my glasses down on the nightstand. I know I should be sleeping like the dead right now, after getting up so early to catch the bus to Ottawa, but my breath seems to be getting faster, not slower, as I lie in the dark next to Matt’s bed. It would be so easy to whisper his name, to pull back the blankets and slip in beside him, let him lift his tank top up over my head...

  “Did you like the show?”

  I go completely still. I thought he’d be asleep by now.

  “I—I did,” I stammer. “I think you already know it wasn’t flawless, but I mean, the energy...The crowd was just...I haven’t felt anything like that in a while.”

  For some reason, it’s easier to be honest with the light off.

  “You play like it’s everything you have.”

  “I told you,” he answers, “it is.”

  “It really means that much to you, doesn’t it?”

  “I think it means that much to you too, Kay. I read some of your articles”—my heart starts hammering as I wait for him to tell me he knows everything about Last Bastion—“in La Gare.”

  I try not to let out a sigh of relief as he continues.

  “I wish I could talk about music like you do. You just seem to really get it. The things you say in your articles, I feel them all when I’m playing. Music, it...it has this power, you know? You said something in your article about that Yann Tiersen show. I forget what it was exactly...”

  He trails off to think for a moment.

  “Music,” I whisper into the darkness, quoting my own article, “is the most beautiful and dangerous kind of seduction.”

  Our breathing fills the silence.

  “Yeah,” he whispers back, “that was it.”

  8 Hey! Ya, You || The Elwins

  MATT

  I wake up with a hard-on. I lay there blinking at the muffled glow of sunlight streaming in behind yellow curtains and try to work out where I am and why I all I can think about right now is jerking off.

  Hotel room... We’re in Ottawa...

  I flip over and see a pile of brown hair splayed out on the pillows of the bed next to mine.

  Right. I just spent the night four feet away from Kay Fischer.

  She’s facing away from me, the blankets pulled up so high they’re almost covering her head. I smile and for some reason get even harder when I hear that she’s quietly snoring. Lifting my head up, I see the clock says it’s already nine. We’re supposed to be on the road back by ten so we can make it to a meeting with Atlas.

  The thought at least takes care of my boner situation. I get out of bed and grab some clothes from my bag as quietly as I can before heading into the bathroom. After stripping out of my boxers and t-shirt, I set the shower as hot as it will go and try to burn away the brain fog. I’m not hungover, but I can already tell that getting only five hours of sleep after a show is going to hit me hard today. I can’t even imagine what a European tour will do to me.

  The room is so steamed up I can barely see myself in the mirror, so I crack the door open an inch to air things out before getting dressed. I look into the room as I do and freeze.

  Kay’s standing by the window, peering through the gap in the curtains. She’s barefooted, the pale skin of her long legs naked until they hit the hem of my shirt and just a hint of her black underwear underneath it. I can’t tear my eyes away from the curve of her ass.

  She turns at the sound of the door and I jump away before she sees me, lunging for my toothbrush and turning on the sink full blast, like that’ll convince her I wasn’t looking. I get ready quickly, still picturing her hair all tangled from sleep, tumbling down her back in the sunlight. She looked like a fucking goddess.

  Get it together, man.

  I drum my hands on the bathroom counter, trying to drown out the image with a beat, but that just makes the picture clearer. When I open the door all the way she’s fully dressed, coat and all, and sitting on the edge of the bed. My shirt is folded up and lying near my pillow.

  “Sleep well?” I greet her.

  “Not really.”

  “Me neither,” I admit. “They have free breakfast here, if you want it.”

  “I’m goo
d. I’ve got to get my stuff at Lily’s and then catch my bus. Besides”—she shrugs her shoulders and glances at the bedside table—“I kind of just ate all of those.”

  I look at the pile of wrappers from the little packs of hotel room chocolates.

  “Didn’t know you had a sweet tooth, Kay.”

  “Maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  I start throwing things into my bag. “I’m sure that’s true, but there are also a lot of things you don’t know about me, Miss Wikipedia.”

  I offer to drive her to wherever Lily’s place is even though I don’t really have time, but she turns me down, saying it’s an easy bus ride. We leave the room together, her heading for the lobby and me to the hotel restaurant. We’re two steps out the door when I spot a guy lying face down on the hallway floor.

  “Jesus Christ!” I shout. “Ace?”

  There’s a moan in response.

  “Oh my god.” Kay’s already rushing to crouch down beside him. “Ace, are you okay?”

  “So fucking loud,” he groans. “It’s so fucking bright.”

  He rolls over and sits up, letting out a gasp and clutching his head as soon as he does. That’s when I’m sure he’s fine; I’m pretty familiar with what hungover Ace Turner looks like. I let myself breathe again.

  “You son of a bitch. What the fuck are you doing in the hallway?”

  “I got back this morning. I saw the sock, man.” His voice is hoarse.

  “The sock?” Kay repeats, twisting to look at me.

  I walk backwards to the door of my room and pull the sock I stretched over the handle off, tucking it into my back pocket.

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “You put a sock on the door?”

  She looks like she’s about to explode.

  I lift my hands up in surrender. “I didn’t want one of the guys barging in and waking you up. They’re not really good at privacy.”

  Ace lets out a chuckle that sounds like a dying cat. “Knew you guys were banging.”

  “We are not banging!” Kay and I shout at the exact same time.

  Ace just keeps rubbing his head.

  “Why didn’t you just go to JP and Cole’s room?” I demand.

  “Didn’t know where it was,” he grumbles. “I was drunk, man. The floor seemed like a good place to be.”

  Kay and I share a look.

  “Do you still have your key?” I ask him. He pulls it out of his pocket in response. “Good. Go in the room and get cleaned up. Checkout is in half an hour. You can sleep in the van.”

  I don’t wait for an answer as I step past him and walk over to the elevators. Kay follows, and we ride down to the main floor. I stay silent, fists balled at my sides, foot tapping rapidly against the carpeted floor.

  “I’m surprised security didn’t wake him up,” Kay ventures.

  “I’m surprised he’s not in fucking jail,” I spit through clenched teeth.

  I want to say more, but I stop myself. I’ll vent to Cole and JP later. I might feel like I can trust Kay, but Ace is family. I’m not about to spill all his faults to someone who’s still technically not much more than a stranger.

  The doors open at the lobby and we get out, pausing in the middle of the room.

  “When do I see you next?” I ask.

  “They’re sending me to the Trois-Rivières show.”

  “Oh, you’re in for a treat. It’s JP’s hometown. They go fucking nuts over us there.”

  She hefts her purse onto her shoulder and I can’t stop myself from asking before she goes.

  “We’ll be in Montreal for a week. Maybe you and I could hang out?”

  She looks at her feet. “I don’t know if that would be—”

  “That’s him! That’s the drummer!”

  A group of five people with cameras around their necks are charging towards us. One of them has a microphone.

  “Matt! Matt Pearson!”

  “Shit!” Kay hisses. She pulls her scarf up and the hood of her coat down before I even have time to realize what’s going on.

  “Matt, tell us about Ace Turner. He was seen being kicked out of the Heart and Crown last night before vomiting in the street.”

  “This is the third incident of the kind this month, Matt.”

  “Are you really ready for an international tour?”

  “Where is Ace now?”

  “Who’s this, Matt? Is this your girlfriend?”

  “Tell us, Matt!”

  I feel like I’m being suffocated, like the walls are pressing in around me. Kay’s backing away, still hiding her face, but for every step she takes the reporters just move closer.

  “Back off!” I roar. “You all need to back the fuck off!”

  As quickly as the reporters arrived, a team of hotel security steps in and starts herding them towards the door. A tiny guy in a suit behind the huge guards is screaming at them.

  “For the last time, this is private property! We will be contacting the police!”

  I watch, stunned, as the reporters give in and slink away. The suit guy turns around and smoothes his hair, striding towards me and Kay.

  “I am so, so sorry for the disturbance.”

  He goes into a rambling apology and starts offering me things like a free night’s stay and a late check out for today.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I cut in. “That’s great. Just keep those assholes out, please.”

  “Absolutely, sir. The authorities are being involved as we speak.”

  He heads off and I turn to Kay. She still looks wide-eyed and panicked.

  “Does that—Does that happen a lot?” she stammers.

  “It’s never happened before,” I answer truthfully. “With fans every now and then sure, but never the press. You okay? You look really freaked out.”

  “I shouldn’t be here,” she mutters, glancing around the room like she’s expects more cameras to pop up.

  “Kay, it’s not a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal!” she snaps. “Of course it’s a big deal if pictures of us together get leaked. If they see that before my article gets published they’ll know exactly who I am and—”

  She cuts herself off.

  “And what, Kay? Who’s ‘they’?”

  “Look, I have to go. This was a bad idea.” She whirls around to where the guy in a suit is still talking to his security team. “Does this place have a back door?” she demands.

  “Absolutely, Miss. I’ll have a security agent see you out. Or I could call you a cab?”

  “It’s fine. Just show me the door.”

  She doesn’t even look back at me as she goes.

  “So,” JP reaches over to the passenger seat and claps me on the shoulder, “we saw the sock, man. C’était qui?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Pourquoi?” he demands. “Whiskey dick?”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it. Just pay attention to the road.”

  He shrugs and keeps driving, turning up Les Cowboys Fringants on the stereo. We spend the rest of the ride to Montreal in silence, Ace snoring in the back as he tries to sleep off his hangover. We’re so late we have to go straight to the meeting with Atlas.

  Shayla meets us outside the building with an expression like a storm cloud.

  “Congratulations, boys,” she says caustically, as JP jogs up after parking The Chick Magnet. “You’ve made the news.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  She hands me her ever-present tablet and I look down to see it open to an article on a tabloid site. The headline reads, ‘Sherbrooke Station, Montreal Sensation: Are They Ready for Fame?’

  Underneath there’s a picture of Ace outside the pub we were at last night, puking into a trash can.

  “Shayla, come on,” I plead. I pass the tablet off to the guys. “This is some stupid gossip site nobody even reads. You know as well as I do we’re not big enough for shit like this to matter yet.”


  “This only went up three hours ago, and your fans have already been tweeting it and posting it at all over your Facebook page,” she answers flatly. “And that’s just one article. The concert reviews weren’t great. I’ve had the Atlas PR team jumping down my throat, asking me to explain myself. They’re saying I don’t know how to manage you. This is getting bad, guys.”

  “Jesus, Matt.” Cole looks up from the article. “You hired a hooker?”

  “What?” I grab the tablet out of his hands and scroll down. There’s a photo of me and Kay in the lobby, her face obscured by her scarf as security guards swarm around her. I zoom in on the text:

  Matthew Pearson, Sherbrooke Station’s charismatic drummer, was seen entering the hotel lobby with an unidentified woman shortly after 9AM. It appears the man fellow band member Jean-Paul Bouchard-Guindon has described as, “just a straight up, all around good guy,” might be anything but. Hotel security surrounded Pearson’s companion within seconds of her arrival in the lobby as she attempted to conceal herself. She was later seen being escorted from the building by a guard. An exclusive source within the hotel staff has suggested Pearson may have been engaged with an escort.

  “The fuck?” I roar. “Security showed up because of the journalists, and they’re saying Kay is a hooker?”

  “I knew you were banging her!” JP crows.

  “We are not banging, and this is not the time!”

  Shayla stares us all down. “Agreed. Now is not the time for any of this. I don’t know what we’re walking into right now, but brace yourselves, because it isn’t going to be pretty.”

  With that, she turns and pushes through the revolving glass doors, and we follow after her into the chrome and concrete lobby of Atlas Records. Weird, giant lights that look like UFOs are suspended over us, making everything blindingly bright as we cross over to the elevators.

  Shayla leads us to a room filled with a few classy grey couches and steel tables, the floor to ceiling windows giving a view of the slush-filled streets in Montreal’s downtown core. None of us actually sit, choosing instead to lean against the couch arms or the walls.