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Prologue
Jesse
Emerald Phoenix brings all their own equipment on tour. As the opening act, we didn’t have that luxury. We’ve been renting equipment at each venue. Jake did bring his guitar. But Cage and Dragon—the first night—both said that the keyboard and drums we rented in the UK were better than the instruments we have at home.
I suppose I have to get used to traveling without my guitar. Feels weird being just a vocalist, but Rory and I singing together was what made Emerald Phoenix first take notice of us, so that’s the way we will do it from now on.
Brock, Rory, David, and Maddie climb into the limo, and then Brianna and I do.
Of course, Cage and Jake are nowhere to be found. Jeez. They clamber out of the venue, both looking a little haggard.
“Hey, you guys—” Then I stop.
They’re here. No reason to give them shit for almost being late.
“What?” Jake darts me a gaze.
“Nothing. So, are you ready to rock Paris?”
“You know it,” Jake says. Then he nudges me. “What’s with David and Maddie?”
“I’m trying not to think about it,” I say back.
We reach the airport, get through security, and head to the gate where the plane is ready.
The plane Emerald Phoenix chartered isn’t overly luxurious. But the seating is all wider than a normal plane, and there’s only one pilot, one copilot, and one flight attendant.
It’s just the band and our guests and significant others.
We get herded on, take our seats, and the flight attendant does her safety spiel. She distributes champagne to anyone who wants it, but Brianna and I just take water.
Ten minutes later, we’re taking off.
Once we’re airborne, Brianna turns to me and smiles. “I love you, Jesse. I’m so happy to be here with you.”
“On such a late flight?” I squeeze her hand.
“On a chartered flight with the man I love. And Emerald Phoenix.”
“I love you too.”
The air is turbulent, and the plane bounces through the sky. I’m not a frequent flyer, so my knuckles go white around Brianna’s hand.
“Easy,” she says. “This is normal.”
“You don’t fly a lot either.”
“Not a lot, but I’ve been on turbulent flights. Going over the Rockies is often like this.”
I draw in a breath and let it out slowly. She’s no doubt right, but I look across from me to where Brock and Rory are sitting. Rory looks a little green.
“You okay, sis?”
She doesn’t reply. Simply nods, her hand clamped onto Brock’s.
The air smooths out after a moment, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“See?” Brianna says. “Everything’s cool. We’re flying over the English Channel, which are some of the roughest waters in the world. The air pressure is probably a mess.”
