by Amy Brent
I just chalked it up to shyness, but after playing with him for over a year, I still didn’t know much about him. He had cropped blond hair and pale features that spoke to his Danish background, but he never really talked about himself. Hell, he never really talked at all.
I shrugged it off. He was reliable and a killer bassist. That was good enough for me. Maybe one day he would relax enough around us to open up. I glanced over at Tyler, and he immediately looked away, fiddling with the cords in his hands. Or maybe not.
Mickey waved at me from behind the counter, and I gave him an odd look but complied after he shot me a glare.
“Come on, girlie. Don’t take all day. You’ve got a phone call. They’ve called three times already trying to get a hold of you.”
“Who?” I mumbled, ignoring Mickey’s surly look as I wondered who it could be. Whoever it was, they knew about the band’s policy to keep our cell phones packed away back stage. We’d been doing that ever since Casey’s piercing ringtone had interrupted our set onstage a few years ago.
“She says it’s a fairy or some such nonsense.” Mickey grumbled, and I swallowed a chuckle.
“Faye?” Faye Donnelly was the band’s agent. It was mostly because of her that we’d been doing so well over the past year. She’d been able to book us amazing gigs that we never would have gotten on our own.
“Yeah, that’s it. Oh, just take your call. The boys can finish the heavy lifting.”
I rolled my eyes at his outdated thinking but didn’t say anything else as I picked up the old, beige landline plugged in behind the counter.
“Faye? It’s Alice.”
“Al, thank god. I’ve been trying to reach you for forever!” Faye’s familiar nickname had me smiling. She was the only one in the world who called me that.
“What’s up, Faye? We were just finishing up a set at Lunar.”
“Ugh, that rundown café? I could have you headlining at the Showbox.”
“I know, but—”
“You owe Mickey everything and you always play there whenever he asks because you’re loyal and far too kind of a person.”
“Well, I—”
“But that’s not what I’m calling about,” Faye said hurriedly, and I had to grit my teeth at the second interruption. She meant well, but Faye was like a steamroller. Nothing stood in the way of her and something she wanted. “I have news.”
“Good news?”
“The best news!” Faye’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement, and I felt an answering flutter in the vicinity of my solar plexus.
“Well? What is it? Tell me already.”
“I just got off the line with Max Entertainment Management.” I held my breath, recognizing the name. It was one of the biggest tour management agencies in Seattle. “You’re in.”
My mind blanked as those two words rattled around in my head. “We…we’re in?”
“The Nomad tour. You’re in. Moon is co-headlining!”
“Oh my god. Oh my god. OH MY GOD! ARE YOU SERIOUS?” I was shouting. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t hear over the sudden ringing in my ears. The Nomad tour was one of the biggest indie tours playing in some of the most well-known venues across the nation.
“Yes! Yes, I’m serious.” Faye was laughing in delight as she spoke, and I felt a chuckle escape my own lips. I was numb, overloaded with excitement and joy and a fierce pride because we’d worked our asses off over the past five years and, damn it, we deserved this.
I glanced up to see Sam, Casey, and Tyler all circled around me and looking decidedly concerned. They had been drawn over by my yelling. I grinned at them, unable to keep the news from tumbling out.
“We just booked the Nomad tour!”
There was a moment of stunned silence from the rest of the band, but it broke when Sam let out an ecstatic yelp. They all jumped around, celebrating like a bunch of fools. Even Tyler had a goofy grin on his face. I knew I had one to match.
“Holy shit,” I finally managed to mumble into the receiver, still on top of the world. Then some of Faye’s words came back in a rush. “Wait, co-headlining? Who are we touring with?”
“Obsidian.”
“What!?”
“I know! Isn’t that incredible? They’re a major catch for this tour. Tell me you’ve heard of them.”
“Yeah,” I muttered softly, crashing back to the ground with a bang, “I’ve heard of them.” I’d more than heard of them. Obsidian was a rival, pure and simple, another Seattle-based band that had started about the same time as Moon. Even worse, though, I knew the front man, Connor Evans, personally, and I hated him just as personally. He was the chauvinistic, egomaniac bad boy of the Seattle music scene who had more woman panting after him than he could count. Not that he could count very high, I was pretty sure.
But none of that compared to the one thing he’d done that I could never forgive. He’d hurt someone I cared about. He’d broken Lori’s heart. And now I had to spend the next six months with him on tour. Just freakin’ great.
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Copyright © 2018 Amy Brent – All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on life experiences and conclusions drawn from research, all names, characters, places and specific instances are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No actual reference to any real person, living or dead, is intended or inferred.
