Rhythm by Marie Lipscomb
Étienne
Awkward doesn’t cover it.
Étienne stands, surrounded by complete strangers, all dressed up in his best suit and left alone. Like an abandoned dog tied up outside a store. A very sparkly, extravagant store.
The same unwelcome thought that’s been milling through his head all day pushes to the forefront of his mind. Getting stood up always sucks, but when your date ducks on her own cousin’s wedding to avoid seeing you, it’s pretty mortifying.
As a wedding singer—or rather former wedding singer—he’s used to the environment, but of course, in the past he was always invited to be there. He doesn’t know the bride or groom at this one, and he doubts they even noticed him. He was supposed to be a plus one. Now, he’s a lonely loser trespassing on these strangers’ special day.
He shifts his weight as he stands behind the groom, waiting for him to finish speaking to a table of guests. Every minute he stands there feels like an eternity.
God, he hopes the guy is the gentle sort of giant. He’s almost a foot taller than Étienne and built like a slab of granite, but he has to say something. For goodness’ sake, he was dragged into the group photos after the ceremony, placed on the front row since at five foot five he’s considerably shorter than the groom’s family of colossi.
Étienne’s gaze trails across the party, overwhelmed by the mass of strangers. There isn’t a single familiar face in the crowd. Not one.
Some of the guests glance over at him, and a few of them look again. He basks in the boost to his temporarily wounded self-esteem. Years of performing on stage have taught him how to hold himself, how to project confidence and sex appeal. It helps that he’s fully aware of how handsome he is; the way his dark lashes frame his blue-grey eyes, the way he’s completely comfortable with his height and his sturdy, heavyset body. Étienne is used to being watched and wanted.
But his breath catches as one particular woman works her way across the room, sidling past the tables and chattering guests. Her full, curvaceous figure is wrapped in green velvet, and her lavender hair tumbles down her back in shimmering waves. She looks up, and his stomach flutters.
For a moment he thinks her eyes are on him, but no. It’s the groom she’s looking at as she takes her seat and sips a glass of water. Interesting. It seems like there’s history there, but he has never really been one for drama.
He turns away and resumes his watch of the big man’s back.
At last, the groom turns and looks down at Étienne. His welcoming smile falters as his eyes narrow at the intruder. “Hi. Sorry, I don’t think I know you.”
Clearing his throat, Étienne feels his blood run cold. “Ah, no. Um, I was supposed to be Krista’s date—”
“Beth’s cousin?”
“Right. Only she hasn’t shown up, so I’m just, you know…”
The groom’s eyebrows raise a little as he inflates his massive chest with a long breath.
Étienne braces himself. “I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell Beth, you know, just in case she’s upset over Krista.” He pauses a second, waiting for the groom’s reaction. The man’s eyes flicker over to his new wife, before he gives a gentle nod. Okay, good, that was the right decision. Étienne clears his throat. “Anyway, I just came over to apologize for intruding and wish you a happy marriage.”
The groom laughs a little, running his hands over the coarse hair of his beard. “That sucks man, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Étienne sighs, giving a little breathless laugh of his own. “To be honest, I feel like a complete loser.”
He feels worse than that, honestly. The week started out with the catastrophic implosion of his band, his life’s meaning for almost six years. Things had been a little rocky over the past few months, but he’d hoped they could work it out. They were good, really good, but personalities weren’t compatible, especially not with his guitarist.
Getting the date with Krista was the light at the end of a very bleak tunnel, but now…he’s dateless and bandless. “I’m going to head on home, but I hope you all have a great evening.”
“You can stay if you want?” The groom shrugs and chuckles. “Your food and drinks are already paid for and I’m sure Beth isn’t going to mind. Hell, you can eat Krista’s too.”
It’s Étienne’s turn to laugh as he scans the room. The other guests are chatting, smiling, and sipping free wine. He has nothing else planned. “It wouldn’t be weird?”
The groom scoffs lightheartedly. “Not at all, the more the merrier. Fill your boots.”
It’s easy to like this guy. Right away Étienne can tell he’s one of those people with the ability to make anyone feel instantly welcome, like they’ve been friends for years.
“Alright, thank you.”
The groom shakes his hand and the rough calluses on his palms grate against Étienne’s. He remembers vaguely, Krista telling him her cousin was marrying a drummer. Working with a guy that laid back would be easy. He highly doubts the groom is going to want to talk shop on his wedding day, but putting out some feelers for musicians can’t hurt.
“I’m Étienne, by the way.”
“Finn. It’s good to meet you.”
“Can I get you a drink?” Étienne chuckles. “A drink you’ve already paid for.”
Finn smiles and looks around the room, assessing the guests he hasn’t yet spoke to. He looks happy, but exhausted. His broad shoulders relax. “Yeah, man. A drink sounds great.”
Étienne leads the way, his mind whirring. Good drummers can be hard to find and if he’s to put together a new band, finding his way into Finn’s good books isn’t a bad idea.
“Krista mentioned you’re a drummer.”
“I’m surprised she knows that much,” Finn sighs, relieved as he slides onto a tall wooden stool at the bar. “But yeah.” He glances at the bartender. “Scotch on the rocks please.”
“Same, please,” Étienne nods. He’s not even a whisky drinker, hates the stuff, but he’ll make an exception if endears Finn to him. “Who do you play with?” He tries to sound casual, but his heart picks up its pace as anticipation settles on his chest.
The ideal answer is ‘no one’. He’ll take a ‘yeah but they suck.’ The worst possible answer would be—
“Vixen’s Wail.”
It’s hard not to look crushed as the bartender pours their drinks. He’s heard that name a few times, seen their posters around town. They’re solid. Damn good vocalist too by all accounts. Their logo may as well be a huge no poaching sign.
“What do you do?” Finn asks.
“For a living?”
“Yeah.”
Étienne takes a sip of the bitter, burning liquid. “Right now, not a whole lot. I’m a vocalist, but…you know, hard to be a front man with no band.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, that sucks.”
“This whole week sucks.” Étienne takes another drink and tries not to cough as he swallows. The taste makes his eyes water. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining to you on your wedding day.”
Finn drinks too, tightening his lips over his teeth as he swallows. He frowns a little, milling something over in his mind before he speaks again. “Are you looking for someone to play with?”
A spark of hope begins to smolder in his chest. “You know someone?”
“We’re actually looking for a vocalist to work with us on a few duets. Nothing full-time, but if you want to audition—”
“I do.” Étienne knows he should play it cool, but a chance to work with Vixen’s Wail could be the start of an exciting chapter of his career. His old band never played their own music. As much as he enjoyed those crowd pleasers, singing original songs is his dream.
Finn chuckles. “Hey, that’s the second time someone’s said that to me today.”
It’s impossible not to smile. This big, beautiful bastard is throwing him a lifeline, despite the fact he’s a total stranger who effectively crashed his wedding. He could hug him. “Are you sure? I mean, the type of music I usually sing isn’t exactly… What is it that Vixen’s Wail plays?”
“Symphonic metal.”
“Right…” Étienne nods, but he hasn’t a clue what any of that means. “I’m generally more of an 80s bops kind of guy.”
“Are you good though?”
The question takes him aback. “Well, yeah but—”
“We’re playing a set in about half an hour,” Finn says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens the contacts before handing it to Étienne to add his details. “Take a listen, see if you think it’s something you can do and I’ll text you the time and date and what’s expected. The details are also on our website, you know, in case I forget.” He raises his glass and grins. “To fated meetings.”
Étienne doesn’t want to let this guy see his hands tremble, but he can’t help it. He’s all but vibrating out of his damn skin with excitement as he puts in his number. The biggest gig his band ever played was as a support act for a marginally popular local band, but Vixen’s Wail are on the cusp of a breakthrough. Their fans are loyal, selling out venues. This is big. Raising his glass to clink it against Finn’s, Étienne can’t help but smile. “To whatever comes next.”
They drink together, and Étienne’s body shivers at the bitter taste. When he finally gets about half the drink down, he slams it back on the bar.
Finn grins and shakes his head. “You don’t have to drink it, dude. Let me get you something you actually like.”
Relieved, Étienne sighs and picks up the short and sweet cocktail menu from the bar.