Page 50 of Mic Drop (Passionate Beats #3)

W ant all the tea about the rockumentary that showcased Untamed Coaster’s return to the top? Read about the band, as experienced through the eyes of the movie’s producer and one of their biggest fans from Scotland!

The line between secrets and sins can be razor thin…

Quinn

I want to make movies that document drama. But in my personal life? I have zero tolerance for it.

So, I intend to keep my gnarly family history to myself. Forever.

Besides, my dream job—making a rockumentary about Untamed Coaster—just fell into my lap and nothing is going to distract me.

Not even my alarmingly sexy Scottish neighbor…

Callum

Gold diggers are everywhere. I learned this lesson the hard way and now keep my family’s fortunes hidden.

So, love and romance aren’t for me. Not anymore.

My brand and upcoming launch party are what matter now. I can’t let anything ruin them.

Not even my very inconvenient (and damn near overwhelming) attraction to the girl next door.

As our relationship intensifies and the launch approaches, I have to divulge my truths. But it’s never the right time. When the beats leading up to discovery run out, our pasts collide in a shocking way.

Chapter 1 - Quinn

River “Río” Sullivan points his drumstick at Pierce DeLuca. “You missed your intro, 007.”

The normally reticent bassist grumbles, “I was waiting for Coop’s riff.”

“Well, the keys should’ve been playing before me.” The guitarist, whose given name is Cooper O’Shea, turns toward the newest member of the band, Tristan Lambert. The keyboardist lifts his hands as if in surrender.

I slam my eyes shut. How on earth will I ever complete my documentary in thirty days if these guys can’t get it together? This gig will make or break them. My eyes fling open. Gig ? I’ve been hanging with Untamed Coaster for too long.

They need a reset, and I need some usable footage. Abandoning my role as director, I ask, “Why don’t you try something different?”

My question brings ten eyes to me, causing me to stand straighter. I tuck my hair behind my ear and continue, “How about pretending like you’re about to take the stage at the Moray Distillery launch party. How does that go?”

The wall of rockers standing before me are members of one of the most famous bands on earth, but they’ve lost their mojo.

Rather, their keyboardist, may he rest in peace.

Hence the reason for my being with them over the past five months.

At least we relocated from LA to my adopted hometown for this last month in order to better prepare for the party.

That’s what Luke Allen, their manager, told them.

He wasn’t about to say he hoped the change of scenery would inspire them.

Or at least turn them into a functioning band again.

“I guess we could try it,” Bennett Hardy replies, the group’s lead singer and from what I’ve learned over the past months of shooting, its alpha. “Can’t be any worse than the shit we’ve been playing.”

Men. They have some way of communicating with each other.

One by one, the band places their instruments onto their stands—River pockets his sticks and Tristan steps away from the keyboard, sinking his hands into his pockets.

He’s the one to whom my heart reaches out the most. The newcomer.

The very talented musician who was tapped to take Darren Hilliard’s place following his sudden death.

Poor guy. He’s super talented and is trying to fit into the band, but it’s hard given they’ve been playing together for a decade and were friends for many more years before then.

I can sympathize. I spent my entire life longing to be part of the Hansen family and now they’ve begrudgingly acknowledged me as one of them, it’s awkward to say the least. I met everyone—except Daddy’s other wife—at Paige and Jesse’s wedding reception, yet felt like an outsider.

Of course, the couple of the hour were amazing to me, like usual.

The rest seemed nice enough, but I wasn’t welcomed with open arms. Or at all. Like Tristan, here with the band.

I snap myself out of my own family’s drama when the guys congregate off to one side.

Ensuring the cameras are capturing this moment, I direct, “Go on. Do the pre-show ritual you do before heading out to the stage.” I have no idea what this ritual could be, but all bands have one. Or so my research indicates.

The four original members of Untamed Coaster glance among themselves.

Shrugging, Bennett says, “Sure. Why not.” His tenor voice is pure gold, making women faint.

Other women, that is. Not me. Although I work in the industry, I have zero desire ever to be linked with such a high-profile guy.

Spent my life forced to the sidelines of the spotlight cast by my top-secret father, thank you very much.

All the guys raise their fists into the air, with Tristan last to the party.

The lead singer locks his gaze with each of them.

“Strapped, locked, and loaded, are you ready to roll with Untamed Coaster?” A collective whoop goes up from the four original band members.

They nod at each other and walk toward their instruments.

Tristan appears dumbfounded, then takes a step toward his keyboard.

I clear my throat. “Guys, that was cool.” The band stops and turns toward me. I can play this in one of two ways, either calling them out on Tristan’s behalf or pleading ignorance. I decide to go with the latter. “Where did you get the saying?”

Río taps his drumsticks on his thigh. “When we were working at the theme park, Bennett said it before every ride was sent off.”

It’s well known that the original members of the band met when they worked at an amusement park, on a rollercoaster called Untamed Coaster. Hence their name—UC for short. “And the raised fist beforehand?”

“A raised fist was our signal to Bennett that everyone was safely in their seats,” their guitarist replies.

I study Tristan, who absorbs their responses and does a mini-fist bump into the air.

At least he now knows this ritual and the reason behind it.

“I love it. And I bet your fans will appreciate this inside scoop. Would you mind doing it again, and this time I promise not to ruin the shot by keeping my mouth shut.” I offer a grin.

The guys return to the pretend backstage area, and I count them off.

Bennett takes a deep breath and glances at every person in the group, Tristan included.

One by one, their fists go into the air.

With the first genuine smile I’ve seen on Bennett’s face, he yells, “Strapped, locked, and loaded, are you ready to roll with Untamed Coaster?” This time, the whoop is louder, followed by something new—clapping.

They approach their instruments, followed by the sound of strumming and pounding and hitting the keys. Bennett runs a couple of scales to warm up his voice again. 007 strums his bass and suggests, “Let’s play ‘Crushing Blow.’”

Tension fills the room as all other discordant noises cease. They haven’t played this song since I’ve been with them. It’s the band’s last number one before they lost Darren who, I’ve learned, wrote almost all of its lyrics and melody.

Bennett’s fingers tighten around the microphone to the point they turn white. I hold my breath, waiting for the group’s response. After a minute, the singer pulls the microphone off its stand. “Good idea. We need to practice this one.” He takes a big breath. “Let’s do it.”

I sag as air enters my body again. They’re professionals.

They know they have to get it together. Plus, I’m getting this all down on film for the rockumentary, which will provide great footage.

My first film ever. I went to school to make documentaries, and I’m finally getting to do one.

My time as a director over at Renovation TV was fun, but reality shows aren’t my passion.

Too much drama. Lies. Secrets. Putting together a coherent film about a slice of life jazzes me. It’s what I was born to do.

The music starts and I pause from taking notes, instead enjoying how these guys play together.

If I wasn’t looking at them, I would swear someone was playing their song off the radio, it sounds so good.

Tristan’s fingers play like Darren’s did.

It doesn’t seem to matter the band hasn’t played this song in a year.

Not that I’m an Untamed Coaster fan. But I did my homework and listened to way too many hours of their tracks so I would be familiar with my subjects. Have to admit, I’ve come to enjoy many of their songs, but “Crushing Blow” is my favorite.

When Barrett joins the song with his signature sound, I stop examining every single nuance.

I’m transformed into a fan, honored to get a private performance of a song that’s been dormant while the band found their new footing.

My head bobs in time with the beat being kept by Río on the drums when an unusual couple of notes are added into the familiar music.

On keys, Tristan’s fingers introduce a quick riff, adding a special something to the song. I smile.

None of the others do.

Forward momentum ceases as the band stops playing and stares at Tristan with open hostility. Pausing for a moment, he steps back from the keyboard.

“What was that?” Coop’s question is more of an accusation.

Tristan looks down as if his keys played by themselves.

I want to jump in and...say what? His new riff sounded good with the song, but it definitely wasn’t how Darren played it.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past months, it’s Untamed Coaster is having a hard time moving on from his death.

“Hard time” is an understatement. As the director of their documentary, though, I’m here to record and not influence. I bite the inside of my cheeks.

Río’s sticks slam the cymbals. “Dude. That’s not how it goes.”