Page 3 of Love Songs (Harmony Lake #3)

I RAISED AN eyebrow when Brian stepped back inside the bus. His lips pursed tight.

He was filling in for our full-time road manager, who was on a much-needed sabbatical because he worked too much, took everything to heart, and the stress had been taking a toll on his health.

Brian Lawton had come well recommended as a man with an attention to detail who got things done, but I’d yet to see that, seeing as I was the one who “got things done”, especially for our pyro permit.

One small show I already had concerns about Brian staying on staff when we got back to arena tours.

“That was Lieutenant Holliston from the fire department,” Brian said. Irritation rang in his voice as he correctly read my silent question. “Making sure we’re set with the pyro this afternoon.”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes, saying what I thought about that pain in the ass without speaking.

I would have had a lot of words to share about how the small-town fire department lieutenant seemed to go out of his way to restrict our show, but I needed to conserve my voice for the stage later.

“How’s the voice?” Brian asked, giving me a look that reminded me of my late grandmother, with her head tipped down, glaring at me over the top of her bifocals, whenever I did something she didn’t approve of.

I shrugged and held my hand up, rocking it in a see-saw motion. My voice was probably doing better than I was, as I fought a rare case of stage fright at being able to perform to a level our fans expected.

He watched me for a second, his gaze assessing, and with a quick nod, he sat back down at the small table he’d claimed as his office desk and returned to his concert day checklist. A lot of work went into a show, even for a small town, seven-song gig.

I looked outside. Thick green trees blocked the view of the band shell, birds sang and fluttered about, and the sky was spotless blue. For a second, I imagined I was camping somewhere magical, far off the grid.

A woman with long dark hair jumped out of the driver’s seat of a white van painted with red polka dots that pulled into the lot and met a tall man at the back door.

They began unloading musical equipment from the vehicle.

The polka band, I deduced. They were the first act in today’s lineup.

My band was the headline act, which, given we’d been headlining stadiums for well over a decade, I should not be feeling this nervous.

I caught myself gnawing on my lower lip in my reflection in the one-way window and sighed.

I couldn’t just sit here, but I didn’t want to get out and wander around.

Someone would inevitably recognize me and force me to talk.

And if I didn’t, they’d think I was an entitled asshole.

So instead, I pulled my acoustic guitar onto my lap and plucked the strings in search of a new melody while my mind wandered.

It had been three months since the surgery—the second surgery—for vocal nodules, polyps, and this time a small tear, and today would be my first time singing since.

Aside from regular vocal exercises and reduced rehearsals, that was.

This show was another rehearsal of sorts.

A test to see how my voice held up. If it would hold up and I’d still have a career.

I’d been singing all my life and started my first band with some high school buddies.

We were your typical teenage garage band with dreams of grandeur, playing parties and the occasional talent night, but that was as far as we’d got.

When half the band left town for college, me and Kirk, my best friend and lead guitarist from the beginning, formed the band as it is today.

We got our big break when I was only eighteen years old, and we haven’t stopped since.

Well, until my voice, my instrument, gave out.

Twice.

My voice had changed since the surgeries, too.

I wasn’t entirely sure I was happy with the deeper, raspier sound it produced now.

I couldn’t hit the high notes quite as well, either.

Okay, I hadn’t tried to hit them. I’d never tell anyone, not even Kirk, but the thought of singing our older songs made my heart pound and sent shivers down my spine.

What if I’d never be able to hit those notes again?

What if I’d lost half my octave range, which was four.

What if my voice wouldn’t last a full set, day after day? What if my career was over?

What if it’s better than before ?

What I needed was to stop what-iffing myself into circles.

I’d deliberately left songs off the playlist that called for my full range and high notes, and luckily, no one questioned me on it.

Maybe because the band thought a small, low-key show would be a good test for my voice, and my confidence, and Brian had agreed.

Luna, my bass player, had come across this small Founders Day Fair in Caldwell Crossing, New Hampshire—only a three-hour drive from Albany, New York, where I called home during my vocal recovery—and I’d jumped on it.

Unfortunately, while the gig would be perfect for taking my voice out for a test drive, the annoying fire lieutenant had refused to sign off on our permit for full pyrotechnics and stage effects.

It ticked me off that I’d had to personally call the guy myself and persuade him, because Brian couldn’t get the job done, but Lieutenant Holliston eventually relented.

Somewhat. We were allowed a couple of small pyrotechnics on the front of the stage, but nothing else, and only for the last song of our set.

It wouldn’t be the full effects show we were known for, but at least we’d still have something.

My phone, sitting on the table where Brian was working, rang with an incoming video call. I was already shaking my head when he glanced at the screen.

“It’s Jaylin,” he said, grabbing the phone and handing it over to me.

Jaylin was another major change in my life. A teenage daughter I didn’t know about until last year.

I set my guitar aside and accepted the video chat with a smile, because she was a precious gem and I had no choice but to smile in her presence. She had my eyes and her mother’s nose, but the pastel pink streaks in her wavy blonde hair were all Jay.

“Hey, Dad,” she chirped, her voice always so cheery and enthusiastic these days.

That hadn’t been the case when we’d first met.

Not after first losing her mom so young and then discovering who her biological dad was.

“Don’t talk. I know you’re going on stage soon, but I couldn’t let you go without wishing you luck. ”

My heart squeezed. Oh my god, this kid. I placed a hand over my chest and mouthed thank you .

“You’re going to kick butt because you’re the Dallas Blade, and your voice is going to be perfect.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. For Jay, I would speak. “What are you up to?”

“Dad,” she admonished, her delicate eyebrows lowering. “You’re supposed to rest your voice.”

“A few words won’t hurt.”

She stared at me for a second, then raised her brows and grinned.

“Carolyn is taking me to the stables today,” she said, her image jiggling as she bounced in her seat. Or jumped. I couldn’t tell if she was sitting or standing. “She said I can ride Flicker.”

She loved horses and Carolyn, a friend of Jaylin’s mom who she was staying with while I was away, was an equestrian. I’d even gone riding with them occasionally.

“That’s great.”

“Right!” Her eyes, as blue as mine, glittered with delight. “Okay, I gotta go. You have a great show, Dad. Get someone to record it for me so I can watch it later.”

I nodded I would. “I love you.”

“You, too.”

She made a kissy face and then her image froze for a second before the screen went black. I smiled as I put the phone down, feeling like I was missing out by not being there with her.

I’d met a woman in upstate New York named Marley, who I used to hook up with in the early days, whenever the band performed there.

She was wild and sweet, but after the third or fourth tour stop in her town, I never saw her again.

I used to wonder what had happened to her, but she hadn’t crossed my mind in years—not until I’d received a call from a lawyer last year.

Marley had passed away from a rare and aggressive form of cancer, leaving our thirteen-year-old daughter orphaned.

Our daughter.

Kirk, having been through a false accusation of fatherhood in the past, had insisted I get a paternity test to prove she truly was mine, but I’d taken one look at her and known right down to my very core that she was.

I hadn’t wanted to disrupt her life more than it already had been by uprooting her from everything she knew to fit into mine.

Finding out about each other was a big enough disruption for both of us, so she stayed with Carolyn while I finished our last tour.

But after some initial awkwardness and wariness, she took to me as her dad far better than I’d have imagined.

That might have also had something to do with her looking forward to boasting to all her friends about having a famous father.

I was the one who’d struggled.

Now though, I got a giddy feeling in my stomach every time she called me Dad.

But how did I take care of raising a young girl when I spent most of my life touring? I’d never known anything but music and the road. Carolyn was a godsend, but she wasn’t a permanent solution.

I’d spent a lot of time thinking about the recent changes in my life.

I wasn’t getting any younger, either. I’d be turning thirty-five this year and I’d been singing and touring the Dallas Blade Band for going on eighteen years.

Maybe learning that I had a daughter combined with my vocal issues was a sign that I needed to change course.

But where did I even start?