Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
He gave me a once-over and a smile. “You all set, man?”
“Yeah.” Despite my warmup, my voice was tight, and I cleared my throat.
“Awesome.” He pressed the button to his radio, and I heard his voice echo in Erika’s earpiece. “We go in one minute.”
“Oh, fucking shit,” I muttered under my breath. I probably looked pale and clammy, but once I stepped on the stage, I’d be fine.
Erika’s hand squeezed mine. “You’re going to be incredible,” she said. “I’m so happy for you.”
It was hard to focus. Inside, I was being pulled in a million different directions, but at her voice, everything snapped into place. I didn’t want her to be happy for me . . .
I wanted her to be happy for us.
I turned to stare at her. She looked so beautiful tonight. Sexy and powerful, and it wasn’t lost on me that this woman was the entire reason I was here. “This is all because of you.”
She laughed. “You are giving me way too much credit.”
“I’m serious, Erika. I don’t just mean the audition. The whole reason I learned to play was to impress you.”
“House lights down,” the stage manager announced.
My heart continued to beat furiously and blood roared through my ears, but I couldn’t hear it. Only the excitement sweeping through the crowd when the arena suddenly darkened, signaling the concert was about to begin.
A smile grew on Erika’s lips until she was grinning wildly. “Well, then . . . go out there and impress me.”
It was exactly what I needed to hear. “Yes, ma’am.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Erika
Troy took a deep breath, and then he was moving forward in the darkness, carrying his guitar.
Did he know I was right there with him, breath hung painfully in my lungs? I’d done my best to be his strength, and now that he was on stage, the anxiety I’d held at bay ripped through me as an electrical current. It magnetized me in place. I wouldn’t be able to move an inch for the next fifteen minutes.
In the low light, I saw his shadowy figure come to the microphone, put the guitar strap over his head, and settle into playing position. The swell of the crowd had faded, the initial excitement over the lights going down had dwindled nearly to a hush.
Troy struck the opening chord in the dark, and as it reverberated through the arena, the audience rose to their feet. The center spotlight burst onto him, bathing him in silvery light, and illuminated the enormous smile on his face. Gone was the boy who’d been nervous moments ago.
This man was a star.
And for the first time, it looked like he knew it.
His fingers moved deftly against the strings as he began the song that had started it all. His stripped-down version of U2’s ‘Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,’ and as soon as the crowd recognized the song, they roared their approval.
God, the sound of it.
The way his rich voice rang through the space, rebounding off the balcony level. He crooned into the microphone, singing and playing as if it were the sole purpose he’d been put on this earth to do. But I wasn’t sure if that was true.
Maybe his purpose was to be the man I fell in love with.
It wasn’t until he finished the last note that I came out of my trance. One song down, two to go.
But this was the part he’d confessed he was most nervous about. Warming up the crowd and showing off his personality.
“How y’all doing tonight, Nashville?” he said.
I’d snuck a peek at the crowd when we’d first gotten backstage. Most of the floor seats were full and the rest of the seats in the arena were dotted with people, and it sounded like every one of them answered his question with a scream of excitement.
“My name’s Troy Osbourne, and I’m a local boy from right here in the Music City. For those of you who don’t know, Stella gave me this amazing opportunity to come out and perform for y’all. Tonight’s a special night, and not just for me. It’s the last night of her tour, so I want make sure I do both her and our hometown proud.” He had the pick in his hand, and it glinted as he used the back of his palm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “So, what do you say we kick it up a notch? Sing along if you know it. This is ‘Midnight Train to Memphis.’”
The song seized me in its grip like the first time I’d heard him preform. The gravel in his low notes was perfectly juxtaposed against the clear beauty on the high ones. His fingers flowed perfectly against the fretboard, and although I could only see a sliver of the audience, the people in it were moving to his music. He easily won them over.