Page 11

something bent the rules

KIERAN

T he buzz of the crowd outside The Foundry is nearly louder than the hum of our amps. It’s always like this, those first few minutes on the edge. I’m already wired, the bass thrumming under my fingertips, sending sparks up my spine.

There’s something in the air tonight. Something electric. And my gut says this one’s going to be special.

The stage lights cast a hazy glow over the room.

Luca’s off to the side, noodling through some lazy melodies, looking cool as hell, but his tapping foot gives him away.

Ryder’s hunched over his keyboard, fingers flying like he’s hacking some secret code.

And Theo, he’s going at the drums like he’s summoning a thunderstorm, sweat already rolling down his neck, grinning like noise is his love language.

“All right, lads, focus!” Luca calls, flashing that easy smirk. “Let’s not blow our eardrums before the gig starts, yeah?

I exhale, only just realising I’ve been holding my breath, and I roll my shoulders back, stepping up to the mic as we dive into soundcheck.

The sound engineer’s voice cuts through the monitors. “Kick drum, please!”

Theo practically bounces on his stool and starts hammering the kick like his life depends on it, sending vibrations through the stage.

“Snare!”

CRACK.

“Easy, Animal,” I call, wincing. “We’re checking levels, not starting a bar fight.”

Theo just grins like a kid hyped on sugar.

“Lead guitar.”

Luca sends a low, smooth riff through the system. Fingers sure and steady.

“Second guitar.”

I adjust the strap across my shoulder, fingers gliding automatically over the strings. The minute I hit the first chord, the nerves rattling in my chest settle, just a scratch.

“Keys.”

Without missing a beat, Ryder launches into the cheesiest pop riff he could find, something electronic and obscene.

“Full band!” the engineer calls.

We kick into something from the set list and play half a verse just to check the mix. As soon as Theo settles into the beat, Ryder’s keys cut in. I layer my guitar over Luca’s, and something in my chest unlocks. Even at half-speed, even for soundcheck, it feels good.

The song wraps, and the engineer gives us a thumbs-up from the back.

“We good?” I call out, voice carrying just enough edge to hide the nerves chewing at my insides.

“All good,” he replies.

“Right, hydrate, then beers,” Luca announces, rolling up his cable with military precision.

“Hydrate with beers,” Theo counters, hopping off his kit.

Ryder drapes an arm around my shoulders as we head offstage. “You’re feeling it tonight, Hayes. I can tell. You’ve got that sparkle in your eye.”

“Just nerves, mate.”

Backstage, the air hums with breathless anticipation. We’re all crammed onto the battered old sofa in the green room, beers in hand, legs tangled, half our gear still scattered across the floor. Theo clinked the neck of his bottle against mine, a grin stretched wide across his face.

“Tonight’s gonna be a good one, boys,” he said, eyes bright and buzzing. “And I’m telling you now, if I fall off my stool mid-song, it’s from adrenaline, not booze.”

“Or both,” Luca muttered, deadpan, though even he couldn’t fight the grin tugging at his mouth.

“Cheers to chaos,” Ryder said, tipping his bottle in a lazy salute, legs draped over the arm of the sofa like he had not a care in the world.

We’re halfway through the world’s worst toast when Nick barrels in, the door banging against the wall so hard it makes us all jump.

“Oi, rockstars!” Nick grins, arms flung wide, dark hair already shoved back like he’s been pacing the venue all afternoon. “Thought I’d find you back here.”

He drags a chair into the middle of the room, spins it backward, and drops onto it, all wired up with energy.

“Sold out,” he says, practically vibrating.

“Did you hear me? Sold out. A thousand bodies lined up round the bloody street. Crowd’s already going wild.

Security’s pushed ‘em back from the doors twice.”

Theo lets out a low whistle. “Nice.”

“And the new song,” Nick goes on, grinning like an idiot, “it’s magic, lads.

You know it, I know it. You just have to go out there and play it like you own the damn place.

South Havens is about to put you on the map.

This is it. This is the moment they’ll talk about when they say they saw you before you blew up .

So…” he points a finger at each of us, sharp as a shot.

“Go out there, melt some faces, make ‘em sweat, and for God’s sake, Kieran, smile once in a while. It won’t kill you. ”

I huff a laugh, tipping my head back against the sofa, eyes slipping shut for half a second. My heart hammers now, double-time. Part nerves, part anticipation crawling under my skin, tightening and coiling until I’m not sure whether I need to throw up.

This isn’t just another gig. This is the gig.

“Anyone else suddenly need to pee?” Theo mutters, and the room cracks up.

Nick pushes to his feet, claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got this, kid. All of you.”

I look up, meet his eyes, and nod. That knot in my chest, the one that’s been pulling tighter all day, loosens.

Ryder raises his bottle, grin lazy and sharp. “To wild crowds and impending stardom, boys.”

We clink our bottles together, and the sound of our laughter bounces off the battered walls.

South Havens is waiting. And for the first time all day, I feel ready to meet them.

The hallway to the stage is narrow and dimly lit, the walls lined with battered old posters of bands who’ve passed through before us. My boots scuff against the concrete floor, each step rattling up my legs, and my heart hammers hard and fast, like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest.

The closer we get, the louder it gets—a low, rising roar, like the whole place is charging up. It’s not just noise—it’s a weight pressing against my skin, crawling up the back of my neck, sinking into my ribs until I can feel it deep in my bones.

Theo bounces at my side, drumsticks flipping between his fingers like some magician warming up for a trick.

Ryder slides his sunglasses down and wiggles his eyebrows at me, all swagger and sharp edges, but even he can’t hide the flush creeping high on his cheeks.

Luca walks steadily at my side, jaw set, guitar slung across his back, cool as a cucumber.

But I know him too well to miss the pulse ticking hard at his temple.

We hit the side of the stage, and the lights bleed through the curtains in shards of colour, the heat rolling in waves thick enough to choke on.

I sneak a look, just once, and the crowd is there.

Packed in tight, shoulder to shoulder. Faces tipped toward the stage, a sea of movement, sweat, and sound, ready to eat us alive.

Jesus. My throat goes dry. My fingers twitch around the neck of my guitar, and for half a second, I wonder if I’ll remember how to play a single damn note.

Without a word, we move, slipping into our usual huddle just off-stage.

Arms slung over shoulders, foreheads pressed close, the four of us wound tight in a circle we’ve formed a hundred times before.

And just like that, the noise fades. Not because the crowd gets quieter, but because this, right here, is ours.

No words. We never need them. This is the quiet before the storm, the breath before the dive, the only moment that belongs to just us before we hand everything over to them.

I shut my eyes, feel Luca’s arm heavy across my back, Theo’s fingers tapping a restless rhythm against my shoulder, Ryder’s low chuckle under his breath as he rocks on his heels. My heart slams so hard it rattles my ribs, and for a second, I wonder if they can feel it thundering through the huddle.

When we break apart, no one says good luck, or we’ve got this . We don’t have to. We just nod, eyes locking—one, two, three, four—and then we’re moving, stepping into the light as the house drops and the crowd explodes.

This is it. Our moment. The biggest crowd we’ve ever played to, packed into a venue known for launching the best in the indie scene. The Foundry doesn’t just host gigs—it makes careers. And tonight, the label’s in the room. Watching. Waiting.

No turning back now.

I drag in one sharp, electric breath and step onto the stage, and the noise swallows me whole.

By the halfway mark, I’m drenched, lungs burning, adrenaline on a knife-edge. The room’s vibrating. Every chord, every lyric, echoes back louder, wilder.

Ryder steps forward, smooth as ever, mic in hand. “South Havens, you still with us?”

The crowd explodes. I rake a hand through my hair, laughing. “Before we kick off the second half,” Ryder says, “just gonna say… this?” He gestures at the crowd. “This means everything.”

I step forward, glancing at the boys. My brothers in all but blood.

“I don’t say this enough,” I begin, voice steady, chest tight.

“But, these guys? They’re my life. This band, this music, you lot, it’s what gets me out of bed in the morning.

We’ve taken knocks. Got back up. But this…

” I sweep my hand across the stage, the crowd, the moment wrapped around us like lightning. “This is why we keep going.”

Luca claps my back, then pulls me in and plants a quick, exaggerated kiss on my forehead. “Proud of you, mate,” he grins, easy and genuine. Ryder throws his arms wide, stoking the crowd, and Theo crashes a cymbal dramatically.

I scan the sea of faces in the crowd. And then?—

Fuck.

Honey-brown eyes. A punch to the chest.

Ellie.

At first, I think I’m seeing things. But no, it’s her. So undeniably her. Hair curled softly over her shoulders, glass in hand, eyes locked on mine.

Like a tidal wave, every memory slams into me at once.

Dancing in the rain outside the acoustic tent, shoes forgotten, mascara smudged, her laughter louder than the storm.

Sharing chips at midnight, salt on our fingers, her knee knocking into mine as we talked for hours.