Rooster’s eyes narrow, and I tug on his hand. “You’re with me.”
The usual nerves that leave my stomach fluttering before a show seem to have taken a vacation with Rooster here. Hand in hand, we stroll toward the loading dock and climb the stairs to the backstage area. A gentle breeze blowing through the open structure keeps the summer heat bearable.
“I want to do whatever I can to help you out,” Rooster says.
“You already are.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “You can play bodyguard if it makes you feel better.”
His protective, growly expression returns. “Do you need a bodyguard?”
Am I going to tell him about the guys who get too handsy night after night? Nope. He already had a taste of that mayhem in Texas and ended up getting into a brawl over it. “I’m fine.”
“That didn’t really answer my question.”
His concern wraps around me like a warm security blanket. More often than not I’ve felt like a petal tossed in the wind on this tour. My emotions twist and tangle. Should I share some of my fears and doubts with Rooster? Or pretend it’s all roses?
“Everything’s perfectly peachy.” I smile up at him. There’s no reason to dwell on negative things he can’t help me fix.
Because one thing I know for sure.
Our time together always has an expiration date.Chapter FiveRooster
I’ve never been a master at keeping my hands to myself. With Shelby so close, it’s damn near impossible. But I didn’t show up today to distract her or jack up her pre-show anxiety.
After her concert? Game on.
“Shelby! You ready for soundcheck?” Someone calls out.
“Yup! Coming.” She jogs down the long corridor toward the stage, hair bouncing around her shoulders and down her back. I have to quit gawking at her and pick up the pace, she’s moving so fast.
“Here.” Greg stops me with a hand on my chest—a hand he’s dangerously close to losing. I open my mouth to issue a warning, when he offers a shiny laminated rectangle with the name of the festival and VIP: All Access in big black letters across the bottom, strung on a black lanyard. “You need to wear this so no one hassles you backstage.”
Well, now I almost feel bad for wanting to break his arms. “Thanks.” I sling it around my neck and search the area for Shelby.
“She’ll be out onstage.” Greg points to a stack of amps a few feet away, near what looks like an entrance to the stage. “You can watch from there.”
“Okay.” I wander over to the spot. My gaze lands on Shelby standing in the center of the scuffed stage testing her earpiece and mumbling a few things into a microphone. She taps it with her palm a few times. “Where’s my rhythm section?” she hollers.
A few guys I recognize as her band members, as well as a few I don’t recognize, push past me. They carefully set up their gear and play a few experimental notes.
“Y’all wanna do ‘Big Lies?’” Shelby waves her hand out toward the rows and rows of currently empty seats and the rolling lawns outside the pavilion.
Instead of answering, the guy on the drums taps the cymbals a few times. They start up with a melody I recognize. For the last few months it’s been playing roughly every ninety minutes on the satellite country music station I listen to for the sole purpose of catching one of Shelby’s songs or the rare after-concert interview.
It’s an upbeat song. Heidi calls this one a boot-stomper—and yeah, she’s caught me tapping my toes along to it more times than I care to admit.My heart burns,
From the lies you tell me
Your tongue twists,
Empty words you feed meThe speakers let out an ear-splitting screech. Shelby stops singing and waves her arms in the air.
“Try it again, Shelby!” someone calls out from the upper-level balcony of the pavilion.
The band starts but Shelby waits, listening for a few seconds before jumping into the song.Big lies
Small truths
Fake promises
Her mouth twists in frustration as she stops to send another round of hand signals to the other guy working the soundboard in the middle of the venue.Crying empty tears,
From the lies you tell me
Your lips move,
Empty words you feed me“Again!” the guy in the balcony claps his hands.Big lies
Small truths
Fake promisesShelby’s mouth twists with frustration. I search the area for Greg. Shouldn’t he do something to fix whatever’s wrong?
Finally, she makes it through the chorus without stopping and flashes a thumbs-up. As the song winds down, people from the lawn cheer and wave. With a big grin stretched across her face, Shelby waves back. “How y’all doing?” she says into the microphone.
They scream declarations of love but can’t get past the locked gate or grouchy security guards.
Shelby’s pretty face is a mask of tension as she walks off the stage toward me. “How’d that sound?” she asks.