On this tour the band often played two or three nights in the same town, which made for a less hectic schedule and also gave them more chances to meet people. Leo had a family now, but everyone else took advantage of their private hotel rooms and the many interested women who found their way back behind the stage after a show.

Emmett had always been friendly and charismatic but in the past he'd kept some distance from the women; this time he turned on his charm with them as well. Luke watched him in the greenrooms and dressing rooms backstage, and saw he had no trouble making connections or finding someone to join him back at the hotel later.

Of course, Luke had no trouble with that either; he'd been meeting women at shows for years. For him, the process had lost its novelty, and he no longer had any expectation of meeting the right person this way, if he ever had. Even for short-term companionship, the soft skin and small, delicate features that used to enthrall him in women now seemed strangely boring and lacklustre.

Some nights Luke would sit in his dressing room, chatting with fans and groupies, listening to the low intimate rumble of Emmett's voice from the room next door, and tell himself he should try harder. If Emmett was looking for the love of his life, shouldn't he be too?

It was hard to work up the enthusiasm, but he could never begrudge Emmett his new-found freedom. Luke promised himself that he'd back off, give Emmett every chance to find what he was looking for. Who, after all, deserved happiness more?

So Luke spent post-show evenings hanging out with fans or local musicians, talking shop and sharing stories. Outside of performing or playing, that was his favourite way to spend time anyway, and it seemed like another way to give back to his supporters. Once in a while he'd bring a girl back to his room, if only to keep the worst cravings at bay. On free days, he often stayed in his room with his guitar writing new songs, or met with Jerry to take care of business.

The rest of the team tended to hang out together on off days, when they weren’t meeting with locals, and Emmett's hotel room soon became the centre of social activity; not so much because he was the most gregarious but because he naturally drew people to him. Band and crew members would gather in his room on free afternoons or evenings, to drink, talk, play cards or jam. Even Eddie preferred to join the gang rather than hole up with Luke to work on new material. Luke couldn't resist dropping by occasionally for a game of Hearts or a rehash of the previous day's show, but he tried not to do it too often these days.

At every major city on the tour, an industry event of some kind would be held in Luke's honour. While the facilities and catering were substantially better this time around, the events themselves continued to bore him. He did his duty, allowing himself to be paraded around and introduced to hordes of faceless functionaries, shaking hands and making polite small talk. Even the suits were different this time – less condescending, more fawning. Sometimes he'd meet local musicians – often ones he knew and admired – and the chance to talk shop and perhaps find opportunities to work together was the only good part of these evenings.

As he'd promised – or perhaps threatened – Luke began asking Emmett to join him for these events, along with Eddie and Jerry. On nights with no one interesting to distract him, Luke would stand with a beer, nodding along to whoever was bending his ear, and watch Emmett interact with the grey-suited execs and media personalities across the room.

It reminded him of that first night they'd met. Emmett had the same warm, open candour, though now it was mixed with a certain authority and presence that had been toned down before he joined this band. Watching him, Luke could see the suits respond, charmed and captivated, much as he had been that first night. It gave him an odd feeling – half jealousy at the idea of Emmett's charm bestowed on someone other than himself, and half pride in the knowledge that Emmett was his discovery, had chosen to join his band. Then he'd tell himself again that Emmett did not belong to him. If anything, maybe he belonged to Emmett.

In any case, Emmett seemed to benefit from the connections, picking up occasional invites for side projects or guest appearances on late night talk shows. By now he'd taken Luke's advice and contracted his own manager, but he never accepted a gig without asking Luke’s permission first.

“It'll just be a day's work,” he'd say eagerly. “They'll fly me out to the studio and back on Monday when we don’t have a show.”

“Sounds good, Mountain,” Luke would say, shrugging. “Long as it don't interfere with a show, you ain't gotta ask me.”

But privately he knew how irate he’d be if anyone accepted work outside the band without checking first; he just kept up more of a pretense with Emmett.

In truth, Luke loved how much control he had over every aspect of the band's work, since the success of Saving Grace. He'd always had ideas, a vision, but in the past it had been a struggle to execute them. He'd been constantly thwarted and frustrated, required to compromise or concede to someone who held the power or the purse strings. Forming the non-democratic band, the band he hired and controlled, had been a start, but up till now money or business or everyday reality had limited him; he'd had to fight or negotiate for everything he wanted.

Now, everyone deferred to him about everything – not just the band but the record company, the money guys, the lawyers. No one made decisions without consulting him, not even Jerry or the label execs. It was a new kind of responsibility – sometimes even an annoyance – but being the captain of his own ship, directing everything around him, for the first time, was a thrill for Luke.

“The piano needs to go further to the right,” he'd say, standing on the middle of the stage before soundcheck. “And why ain't my mic stand bolted down? What, Jer? No, I want a second date added in Tampa, if it sold out that far in advance we need a second night…Leo, man, what are you wearing tonight? I ain't done your wardrobe check yet. José, you make a note about that second spot on Em? I want the orange and amber on him, I don't like the white. Yes, man, we want catering ready by six…the band's gotta eat!”

Every decision, big or small, was his to make, and no one questioned it. After so many years of settling and accepting, Luke relished being the organization's dictator. Between that and the fan adulation, he almost felt like a real rock star these days. Sometimes he remembered what he once told Emmett – that he wanted his life to be a party future generations would envy – and thought his vow had come true.

But of course, the true highlight of Luke's life was, and always would be, playing live. And the live shows on this tour were better than ever. It wasn't just the bigger venues, better sound quality, and more professional crew. The band sounded tighter than ever, and audiences reacted powerfully to the new set list and songs. Luke had found his groove by now and started to loosen up, confident enough in the show and the band to shake things up as they went along. Though his performance was always physically draining he hated for the night to end, so concerts started to grow longer and longer, often clocking in at close to four hours.

“I know we done this a hundred times before,” he'd say to the band, his mantra before each show, “but for some folks in the audience, this might be the one and only time they ever see us play. We owe it to them to make it feel like the best concert we ever done.”

Luke could hardly believe this was his life – that after all those years of striving, he'd reached the promised land he'd dreamed of, where his one and only job was to create, record and perform his music for people who wanted to hear it. The thought often almost overwhelmed him with a surge of gratitude to the fans who made this life possible, an intense desire to repay them through a kind of service; a commitment to be the performer, the artist, the man they wanted him to be. Sometimes he wondered if he would always have this feeling, or if many more years of the same thing might leave him jaded and unmoved.

Stolen story; please report.

Onstage, he forgot everything he’d told himself about giving Emmett space; concerts felt like another dimension where nothing counted except the moment they were in. When Emmett blew his trumpet, Luke's whole body responded; he couldn't keep himself away. He'd sing with Eddie into their shared microphone, then run to the other side of the stage to throw himself onto Emmett – hanging over his shoulder, dancing at his side, leaning against his back, striking a dramatic pose, pressing their foreheads together.

Emmett always welcomed him with unabashed enjoyment, responding with equally frenetic moves of his own, or by blowing out his solos with exaggerated stoicism from within the circle of Luke's hyper-focused attention. Sometimes he'd scoop Luke up at the end of the night – or even mid-show – cradling him like a baby or lifting him triumphantly aloft. Luke loved those moments the best; being nestled in the safety of Emmett's arms even in the midst of a thousand clamouring fans. Every interaction with Emmett drew frenzied shouts and applause from the audience, and Luke knew he was, in some way, living their fantasies.

***

“Hey Em, 'member how you tried adding maracas in 'Blue Steel', back when we were in the studio?”

“Sure.”

“Well I was thinkin' I wanna try that again. If Mark can find some, you think you could try it on stage?”

“Course. If he gets them before sound-check tomorrow we can try it out then.”

“Seems like you can play anything, man. How'd you get so good at so many instruments?”

“I told you, musical family. We all played something different and some days we'd switch around so we all got to try something new. Plus there was church. We all played in the church band.”

“Did you sing in church as well?”

“Everyone sings in our church. But no, not in the choir or anything. Why do you ask?”

“Cause you have a nice voice.”

Emmett laughed. “Not like yours.”

“I dunno, mine's nothin' special really.” Luke shrugged. Tonight he sat shoulder to shoulder with Emmett instead of propped against him, and braced his knees on the seat back in front of them. “I just learned how to use it better.”

“Yeah, I've never had any voice training or anything.”

“You never had any musical training, did you? I thought you were all self-taught.”

“I had a few piano lessons when I was a kid. The piano didn't stick, but I learned to read music and some basic stuff.”

“What do you think about doin' some more vocals with me?”

Emmett raised his eyebrows. “Don't you have Eddie for that?”

“Eddie ain't gonna be around forever. Anyways, I don't mean replacing him – not yet at least. I was thinkin' more like extra backup vocals.”

“I already do backup vocals.”

“Yeah but more. I want a richer sound on some of the upbeat songs, more harmonies and extra layers in the chorus, y'know, like those girl groups had, like Motown acts.”

“Huh.” Emmett considered that. “I don't know much about harmonies.”

“I been thinkin' about it, maybe bringin' in a girl just to have someone on it full-time. But maybe we could use you instead.”

“I can give it a shot if you want me to. Is there someone I can work with on it?”

“Maybe Gordie can help you, I think he has the most training out of all of us. Ask him to help you work somethin' out for the chorus in ‘Flaming Up’, okay?”

“Sure. But you know, it's not such a bad idea to bring a woman into the band. That could change things up a bit.”

“Yeah, I might still. But let's see how you do for now.”

***

“Take a seat, babe. We gotta talk.”

Luke hated when Jerry started conversations that way. He pulled up a chair in the makeshift production office backstage and waited.

“We got some bad news.”

Like that wasn't obvious. “Get to the point, Jer.”

“The label's suing us.”

“What? What for? Which one?”

“The first one, man. That's the point. They think we have to stay with them.”

“I thought you said we could get a better deal with the other guys.”

“We can, we did. But I warned you they might say your original contract gives them right of first refusal on your next album.”

“You told me to sign that contract.”

Jerry waved a hand. “It was a good deal, back then. I just figure we can get a better one now by shopping around.”

“So then…”

“Remember we got Nate's advice before I started shopping, he said there was a risk. He warned us.”

That was true. Jerry had dutifully consulted Luke on every step of the contract renegotiation process with the record label, including input from their lawyer, Nate. Luke was the one who told him to go ahead and take the risk.

“So what now? They're suing us – can't we countersue or something?”

“We can, sure. But there's something else.”

Of course. Luke realized abruptly that what he'd heard so far wasn't actually the bad news; that was about to come. He sank further down in the chair and braced himself. “What is it?”

“They got an injunction.”

“A what? What the fuck is that?”

“An injunction. It's a legal thing, you get it from a judge. Stops you from recording your next album.”

“What? They can't do that. How can they stop me?”

“They got a thing from a judge. You set foot into any recording studio, you go to jail.”

“Gimme a break, Jer! They can't do that.”

“Yeah, they can. They call the judge, he says it's contempt of court cause you're breaking his order. You go to jail.”

Luke sat in stunned silence, staring at Jerry, who looked back at him evenly.

“Well…for how long? Can't we get Nate to break the injunction?”

“Not till the court case is over. Or cases, if we wanna countersue.”

“Jesus. That could take years.”

“Yeah. Let's set up some time next week to meet with Nate and go over the legal strategy.”

Luke stared at Jerry again. Legal strategy? Who cared about that? The tour was almost over, he had at least twenty new songs ready to go, and his last album was already a year old. He'd been counting the minutes till he could start working on the next one.

“But what about recording?”

“You aren't going to be recording anything any time soon.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

Jerry leaned back in his chair. “We can ask Nate if it's best to settle in advance or go to court, maybe we can get them to meet the offer I got from – ”

“Not about that!” Luke jumped to his feet and started pacing around the office. “What do I do? The tour ends in a month – if I'm not recording, what am I going to do?”

Jerry eyed him from behind the desk. “Take a break?”

“For how long? I can't just wait around for years. What do I even live on? It's not like I got savings coming out of this tour.” Luke stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, hands over his face. “What am I gonna do?”

Jerry thought for a moment. “Another tour?”

In the end, that seemed like the best idea. Luke had no ongoing source of income; Saving Grace was selling respectably but he still hadn't earned back the advance. Income from the current tour was divided equally between the whole band, after expenses, and most of Luke's share went to pay off previous debts. Without another advance on his next record, he had nothing to live on.

In November, with less than a month left in the tour, Luke called a meeting of the full team after a sound check, and waited nervously while everyone gathered. For the first time, it occurred to him that there might be such a thing as having too much control. Not only did he have to meet with Nate and Jerry next week to talk about legal strategy, but now he had to convince this large group of colleagues to give up another year or so of their lives to spend on an uncomfortable bus and a hundred different hotel rooms.

He explained the situation as well as he could, trying to sound more confident than he felt. When he stopped talking the group was quiet. He saw their frowns and furrowed brows and braced himself for a mutiny. What if the guys refused? What could he do, fire them?

“But how long is it gonna take to set up a whole new tour?” Leo asked finally.

“Jerry's workin' on it right now. We don't need to have everything final at the start, he'll just keep adding more dates as we go along.”

“But for another year? You really think there's enough demand?”

“He says he's got no problem booking shows so far.”

Pete jumped to his feet. “How long before we gotta leave again? How much time off?”

“A couple of months. The first shows he got lined up are for the new year, so we'll be off over the holidays and leave sometime in early ’77.”

“Do we have to spend the whole time off rehearsing, man?” Gordon asked a bit peevishly.

Luke was eager to offer a concession. “Naw, no rehearsals, I promise. Just one or two right before we start again to get back in the swing.”

He saw them glancing back and forth, exchanging looks with each other, and held his breath. As the silence lingered his gaze found Emmett, sitting alone near the back of the room with an unreadable expression, and for an instant he felt forlorn and alone. If even Emmett was against him, he might as well throw in the towel.

Then he realized Emmett had met his eyes and was smiling slightly. He smiled back instinctively, and the next thing he knew Emmett was standing up.

“Guess I'll go call my mama then,” Emmett said, “and tell her the good news. Think I can bring the boys out for a couple of dates in the summer?”

And suddenly the rest of them were nodding and smiling and getting to their feet as well, exchanging plans and making arrangements – if not exactly excited, at least agreeable and without complaint. Some of them even looked happy.

Luke leaned against the wall behind him as the adrenaline drained out of his body and left him limp. He shut his eyes to say a silent prayer of thanks. When he opened them again and looked around, Emmett was gone.