Page 38 of 12 Months of Mayhem

The crowd hasn’t noticed, too wrapped up in their holiday cheer, but I’m not about to miss a word. “Hold it down!” I call out, but my voice barely registers above the din. Grabbing the remote, I crank up the volume, letting Brandy’s voice cut through the noise.

“… and we’re just so thrilled to be here, honestly. This record deal is a dream come true,” she says, her voice full of energy. She leans in, talking about the band’s upcoming tour, the dates, the cities. She’s smiling so wide it almost hurts to watch, knowing I’m not the one beside her.

Around me, a few heads turn, eyes shifting between the screen and me, with a few chuckles rumbling through the crowd.

Tracker elbows me, a smirk tugging at his lips as he serves the customers I’m neglecting. “Hell of a Christmas surprise, huh?”

“Didn’t expect to see her,” I admit, keeping my gaze on Brandy’s face, the spark in her eyes as she talks about the future. “Least of all tonight.”

I’m not the only one who is paying attention now. The MC brothers have quieted down, and even the drunk at the end of the bar stops singing for a moment, glancing up at the screen. For a brief second, it feels like Brandy is right here in the room, her voice carrying over the sound system, filling the bar with a bit of that Christmas magic I didn’t think I’d feel this year.

I shake my head, forcing a smile. “Let’s give her a toast.” I raise my glass, and the guys around me follow suit, a few clinking their glasses against mine.

“To Brandy,” I say, my voice steady, though I feel the sting of the words. “May she break every stage she sets foot on.”

“Brandy!” they echo, knocking back their drinks, their voices lifting in cheers.

***

It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m already late getting back to the bar. Gamble booked a band for tonight, so it’s going to be chaos, packed to the walls with people trying to close out the year with a bang. Gamble and Tracker have been covering the place for me between Christmas and now so I could catch my breath, but of course, they forgot one thing—our famous chili-coated popcorn. We put it out on the tables and bar, a little trick that keeps people munching and reaching for drinks. More drinks means more cash. It’s as simple as that.

The usual place we get it from? Closed for the holidays. So, here I am, driving clear across town to get my hands on some, and between the packed roads and the wall of headlights stretching out before me, I’m at least an hour late.

When I finally pull into the bar’s lot, I can already feel the beat of the music thrumming through the walls. Inside, the sound slams into me, a deep, driving rhythm that I recognize immediately, though I haven’t heard it in person for months. Brandy. Her voice carries above the instruments, wild and raw, reaching every corner of the packed room.

I stop dead, staring at the stage where Brandy and her band, the Steel Outlaws, are tearing through a song, her voice hitting every note with a fire I remember all too well. She’s alive up there, her eyes flashing with the thrill of the crowd, her voice weaving through the guitar riffs like she was born for this moment. The crowd is eating it up, drawn in like moths to a flame.

Gamble spots me by the door and gives me a smug grin, mouthing, Surprise. So that’s why he kept it quiet. I guess I know why he picked this band. Although, I have no idea how we can afford them. Their record went platinum and had three top-ten hits.

I make my way through the crowd, dropping the bags of popcorn behind the bar.

Tracker glances back at me, nodding as he sees I’ve finally arrived. “Nice of you to join us,” he shouts over the music, laughing as he fills bowls with popcorn.

I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes away from Brandy. She’s right in front of me, commanding the room like she owns it. Her gaze sweeps over the crowd, and for a split second, I think our eyes meet. She doesn’t miss a beat, just lifts the mic a little closer and throws herself deeper into the song.

“Well, isn’t this something?” I mutter to myself as I settle in behind the bar, trying to focus on the job.

I reach for a glass, pour a shot, and toss it back, letting the burn ground me as I watch her perform. It’s like she’s a storm, her presence filling the bar with an electric charge, and the band behind her is just as fierce, hammering out a sound that pulses through the crowd.

Tracker leans over, chuckling. “Not the welcome back you were expecting, huh?”

“No,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper under the roar of the music. “But damn if it isn’t the best one.”

The song hits its final note, and the bar erupts in cheers and applause. Brandy grins, glancing at her bandmates, and I see that spark in her eyes that tells me she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.

“How much is this costing us?” I ask, keeping my voice low, though I can barely hear myself over the cheers and applause still ringing through the bar.

Gamble chuckles, leaning against the bar with a smug grin. “Nothing.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

“She said she’d do it for free beer… and you.”

I blink, processing his words as Brandy exchanges a few words with her bandmates on stage, laughing and brushing her hair back. Her eyes drift toward the bar, her gaze finding me like a magnet. There’s that smirk, subtle but unmistakable, lighting up her face as she heads over, weaving through the crowd with that easy confidence I remember all too well.

“Well…” Gamble says with a satisfied grin. “I’d say you’re getting one hell of a deal.”

I don’t answer. I just watch as Brandy reaches the bar, slipping onto the stool in front of me. She looks at me, her eyes alight with a spark that makes me wonder if I’ve got more to handle tonight than I bargained for.

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