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“I think she exists,” Denver argued. “I think it’s about having feelings for a woman you don’t know, a celebrity maybe. There’s a line in the chorus?—”
“Hello?” I waved my hands. “Remember me? Are you going to tell me why you brought him up?”
“Right,” Denver said, running a hand through his hair. “He called me a few days ago.”
I stared at him. “Finn called you? How does he have your phone number? I don’t even have your phone number.”
“I’ve talked to him before.” Denver frowned and took his phone from his back jeans pocket. “I could have sworn I gave you my number, Jules. I’ll add you to the group texts.”
“Not the fucking group texts,” Stone complained.
“Never mind that.” I waved my hand in front of Denver’s face. “Hey, pretty boy. How do you know Finn, and why did he call you?”
“I met him at a party years ago,” Denver said. “We know some of the same people. He’s friends with Travis White.” He shared a We hate that guy glare with Stone and Axel. “Still, he’s all right. We talked for a while. Neither of us parties anymore, as it happens. But it was nice to hear from him.”
I could have shaken him. “What. Did. He. Want.”
“He said that his brother is marrying your sister, so you’ll need a few days off. Next weekend for a rehearsal thing, and then for the wedding in a few months. I told him it was no problem.”
I blinked. “That’s it? You can just rearrange the schedule like that?”
“Why not?” He grinned, a smile that could melt an entire stadium of women. “Who else is going to rearrange it? She’s your only sibling, Jules. Finn explained everything. You need to go. Family comes first.”
Axel raised a hand. “I agree that family comes first, but I’m stuck on the image of Juliet at a wedding. In a dress.”
“Oh, it’s better than that,” Denver said before I could tackle him to shut him up. “She’s the bridesmaid of honor.”
There was a deep, incredulous silence in the room.
I looked around at their faces. “If any of you laugh right now, I will commit triple murder. I don’t care that you’re all hot. I’ll do the time for it. It’ll be worth it.”
The silence lasted for another shocked second before Axel broke it. “A bridesmaid?” he blurted. “You’re going to be a bridesmaid?”
“Shut it, Axel.”
“In a bridesmaid dress?” Stone sounded fascinated. “What does it look like?”
“I don’t know. They did the dress shopping without me.”
“Tell me there will be photos.” Axel clasped his hands like he was praying. “There must be photos. Please.”
The door opened and one of the techs leaned in. “Hey guys. You’re up.”
I didn’t have time to yell at the men in my life for rearranging my schedule for me. For telling me what to do. Right now, I needed to play this show—our first show—flawlessly. It was do or die time.
The club held two hundred people, and we were billed as Ned Zeppelin, the fake name the Road Kings used when they wanted to play incognito. Core Road Kings fans—and there were a lot of them—knew what the fake name meant, and they had showed up. They were packed in and rowdy, chanting and shouting. The lights went down. The energy was so thick I could taste it.
This was nothing like Checkerboard Sadness.
I had finally been given the set list—Neal’s guess was exactly right. When Stone played the opening chords to “Precious Metal,” I was already in the zone. It didn’t matter that the stage lights weren’t very bright and we had almost no room to move around. That Axel was playing on a pared-down drum kit and that I could smell beer. “Precious Metal” was a great song with a killer riff, and it ignited the room. Then we were off.
Denver had sweated through his T-shirt by the fourth song. Lead singers have the devil’s magic, and he whipped up the crowd, his voice owning the room, sucking everyone in. He was outsized in this small space, and the fans ate it up, soaking in the sound and his presence so close to them. My brain turned off and I let the music move through me, from my belly up through my chest. I breathed it and my fingers moved without thought, letting the songs loose as if they were alive. Sweat soaked my scalp and trickled down my back.
We finished the set, as rehearsed, with “All These Things That I’ve Done.” We spun it, let it build in drama as the crowd shouted along, surprised and delighted that we were covering such a classic banger. I felt like I was surfing on Axel’s rhythm, adding to it, weaving it with Stone’s guitar while Denver’s voice soared. This was what it meant to play music, real music, with real musicians, for a real crowd. This was what I had spent my life chasing instead of a job and babies and a paycheck. Just this. Only this. This incredible, unsurpassable feeling.
When we finished, my hands were shaking. I closed them into fists so that no one would see.
I thought, If I can do this, then what is there to be afraid of?
