Page 28 of Wildfire (Owl Creek #1)

I've only been gone a few hours and already want to text Cole to check-in.

We arrive at our first gig. We're playing at a bar on the water in a small city I've never been to, even though it's only a few hour's drive away. I snap a picture of the bay to send him and try to focus on what's about to happen.

We pull into the parking lot and start to unload our gear.

There's an electric current in the air, a palpable excitement.

I try to tune into that as I let Trevor lead the way into the back of the bar.

We meet the manager and he shows us where to put our stuff.

They've got a big party this weekend, and we're the opening act.

I put my guitar on the stand and set the microphone to the right height. Jordy and Trevor set up their gear, and we start the sound check.

My first sound check as a touring musician.

I need someone to pinch me as we check the guitar and mic levels. The sound guy seems pretty nice, but a couple of times, I catch him looking at my boobs instead of my face when he is talking to me, and I haven't even changed into my sexy outfit yet.

The crowd expects Georgia up here, so I need to put on a great show. But I start to get nervous as I change in the bathroom. What if I'm not as good a performer as her?

My vocals and playing are good, but they don't come just for that. I saw how she moved on the stage and worked the audience. I'm applying more eyeliner, and it is finally dawning on me that I have to not just play well but put on a killer show.

I grab my phone and shoot off a text to Zoe.

Me: I think I'm in over my head.

Zoe: What the hell are you talking about?

Me: Performing in half an hour, I don't know if I can do it like Georgia.

Zoe: You don't have to. You have to do it like Renée.

Me: What is that? How do I do it?

Zoe: This seems like a longer convo but basically let yourself be moved. I saw you perform last week. You got this babe.

Me: Fuuuuuuck

Zoe: Just close your eyes and let the rhythm take you.

Me: What if I fall on my face?

Zoe: They'll probably love it. You know, rock star antics.

Me: HA! I'm so screwed.

Zoe: I have faith in you. Just picture me out there and pretend we're dancing like we used to in my room.

Me: K. I think I can do that.

Zoe: I know you can. If not, pretend you're being sexy for Cole

Me: This isn't a strip tease

Zoe: They don't need to know that

Me: Byeeee. Love you forever

Zoe: Love you always

I dip out of the women's toilet and head back behind the stage in my full makeup and clothes.

"Damn, Renée. You look… don't take this the wrong way, but you look hot."

"Jordy, how would I take that the wrong way?"

"I don't want you to think I'm hitting on you. You know, being the Chief's girl and all. Besides, I have a girlfriend."

I blush, thinking about Cole. "The Chief's girl. Yeah."

A waiter brings us a tray of beers on the house, and I slam mine to soothe my nerves. We chat for a few minutes, and then they let us know it's time to start.

I bounce on my heels like a runner about to get on the starting blocks, and then follow my bandmates on stage.

The lights in the bar are low, with a few big ones pointed at us, so I can barely see any of their faces.

I feel my body relax, and pick up my guitar to prepare for Jordy's countdown.

I catch his eye, we nod, and then it happens.

"One, two, three, four."

My body starts moving without me thinking about it.

The groove takes over as the bass and drums lead us into the first song, and I join them on rhythm.

I am transported when I open my mouth to sing the opening words.

I'm flying high on adrenaline and all the other feel-good hormones that course through your body when you're happy.

I don't remember much after that. The crowd loves us, and I walk off the stage, covered in sweat and feeling like I'd just come down off the best drug possible.

The guys pat me on the back, and we hurry to get our gear off the stage so the next band can start. I hoped to have another beer to wind down, but Trevor insists we load up and hit the road.

"Gotta get to the next city. We'll grab a motel when we get there."

I am exhausted, and luckily, it isn't my turn to drive because I pass out as soon as we hit the road.

A few hours later, I wake up as we pull into a dark, deserted-looking motel parking lot.

We get one room with two double beds, and I help the guys load all our gear and bags into the room before I pass out again.

The nice thing about being the only woman on tour is getting a bed to myself, even if I'm not going to get my own room.

We play our gig the next night and do the whole thing all over again. And again. And again. Drive, sleep, drive, set up, play. In between, we manage to eat and shower, but sometimes, there isn't much time for that.

I chat with Cole as much as possible when I'm not driving or sleeping. Still, I get very little privacy, so our conversations feel distant and hurried.

By the fourth night, I am already sick of take-out food. I miss my home-cooked dinners with him, and I miss waking up in bed with him. But getting to play in front of audiences and sing these soulful songs is giving me what I need to keep going. I feel alive when I'm on stage.

That is, until we hit Nadir. Zoe can't believe someone named a town Nadir, but they did, and we have a gig here. I looked the word up and agree with her. It should have been a blazing neon sign to Trevor when he planned the tour to not stop here.

We pull up to the bar, and no one seems to know we are supposed to play tonight. There is no sound guy, and the patrons all look like they are growing cobwebs because they've been sitting in the same spot for so long.

Trevor convinces the bartender to let him do the sound check so he can get the levels right, and while he is doing it, a couple of rough-looking guys come in. They sit at a table near the stage, and after a round of shots, they start saying shit to me while we are warming up.

"You gonna show us something more, pretty lady?"

"When's the wet T-shirt contest?"

"I got a twenty in my pocket. Wanna show me what else that mouth can do?"

After that last comment, I hurl myself off the stage— boots first. I kick one guy in the nuts before Trevor and Jordy jump in and shove the guys away from me.

But then the bartender comes out from behind the bar swinging a baseball bat and starts threatening us, telling us to get our shit and leave.

Real rock and fucking roll.

Needless to say, we not only don't play that gig, but we also lose any money we would have made and have to sleep in the van because money is tight and merchandise sales aren't as good as they need to be.

To top it all off, the next two gigs are hundreds of miles apart from each other, and Jordy has come down with some food poisoning so we stop to let him out to hurl on the side of the road every hour or so.

Yup. Rock and roll.