despite my wounded

Despite my wounded pride at being told to butt out, I was soon captivated by the jam session. In total, they worked on three songs I’d never heard before. Each one was better than the last; the final one could have been good enough to be a single on the radio, even in its rough state.

I kept that opinion to myself, though.

Two hours passed, and suddenly Miles walked in. “Twenty minutes. In twenty minutes, you’re on the bus or my foot is up your arse.”

The band members put up their stuff and retreated to their separate rooms. Derek slipped out before I could say anything to him.

“He just hates criticism in any way, shape, or form,” a voice said behind me. “Can’t stand it.”

I looked back. Ryan was standing in the doorway of one of the bedrooms.

“It was actually pretty good, though,” I protested.

“Yeah, well, for Derek, telling him he’s ‘pretty good’ is a half step above saying he’s awful. It’s amazing – the guy can handle all sorts of stuff getting thrown at him, but he gets bent out of