“Hello, hello,” Emily called through her mic as she slung her guitar strap over her shoulder. “We are Carolina George, and we are thrilled to be here in Alabama tonight.”
A roar of energy exploded.
Leif drummed his sticks in the air, and Richard drove into the chords of one of their most popular songs. Rhys stepped forward into a blue spotlight as he played the bassline, and Emily stood in the middle of it all.
She wasn’t just standing in a spotlight.
She was the light.
A motherfucking star.
This . . .
This was where music came alive.
Where it was breathed to life.
Where everyday people got the chance to touch on something extraordinary.
Where true talent was exposed.
I stood there watching.
Itching in belief and discomfort and the hatred that ran fast in my blood.
Knowing exactly what it was that I was missing.
Carolina George played. Their style was a cross of country and indie rock.
Sweet.
Sultry.
Soulful.
Richard, Rhys, and Leif entranced the audience.
But it was Emily who owned them.
Looking at her, it wasn’t hard to see how obsessions were born.
Hatred bled free at the thought that anyone would seek to dim this light. Anger booming in my blood like a gunshot. Fast and furious. There before I knew what hit me.
Maybe it was right then that I knew I’d never allow anyone to hurt her.
Not ever again.NineEmilyI belted the lyrics to the crowd that was held in rapture.
My heart overflowing.
It was insane to think how thousands of strangers could gather in the same place and feel the same thing.
Music making us one.
Connecting us in a way that I was certain nothing else in the world could.
It was an upbeat song we were playing. One that shouldn’t hold the power to bring tears to my eyes. But emotion was riding high. A feeling coming over me that I hadn’t felt in so long as I sang into the mic.
My feet might be walking these city streets
I’m sure I’ve never been so alone
I might be surrounded
But I’m wonderin’ if it’s ever gonna feel like home
Because baby . . . baby, I’ll always be country at heart
Baby . . . baby, I’ll always be country at heartWhen I stepped back and started to clap to the beat, Richard drove into the guitar solo, his fingers flying across the frets. My brother had the entire crowd going wild. Riding a high unlike any other.
I stepped back up to the mic, and I gave the final lines my all.
Because, baby . . . baby I’ll always be country at heart
And this country heart will always belong to you
I’ll always belong to youI held the last note, my chest tight as my voice soared to the ceiling.
Joy bloomed as bright as the flashes of lights that strobed in my eyes. The last of the song trailed off, and a roar of applause took its place.
An overwhelming thunder.
Shock blistered through my being.
I did it.
Oh my god, I did it.
I nearly slumped forward with the magnitude of the relief that I felt. It was the first show I’d played in three months that I didn’t feel as if I might fall apart. Break down in front of the world with nothing left to give.
I dipped down in the deepest bow. Gratitude poured off me in waves.
The roar of the crowd only grew.
“Birmingham, you are beautiful. Thank you for welcoming us tonight. We will never forget you!” I was smiling as I issued the statement under the shimmer of stage lights, my breaths still short and choppy from the performance.
My brother moved to the edge of the stage, and he reached down to touch the hands that were lifted high, stretching out, as if they were begging for just a moment more.
He stepped back and tossed his guitar pick into the crowd. “I love you, Birmingham! Goodnight!”
His small token incited a scramble of flailing arms and diving bodies vying to catch it. It was funny how one little piece of plastic could almost cause a riot. But the real riot broke out when Rhys peeled off his sweaty tee, the way he did night after night, revealing his carved, chiseled body.
“You are the fuckin’ best! Thanks for an amazing show!” Screams erupted from below, a slew of bleeding hearts begging for his attention. The boy was as sexy as they came, and he knew it, too, a showman all the way down to the marrow. He twirled the shirt above his head before he sent it sailing into the tumult roiling at the foot of the stage.
It was a crush of diving women and whipping hair.
Our own, personal pot stirrer. Always lookin’ for trouble. If he couldn’t find it, he was always happy to cause it.
He just grinned, chuckled into the mic attached to his ear, not saying another word as he sauntered off the stage.
The cockiest boy with the biggest heart.