Page 8 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

“What?” I snarl.

“Try not to get wasted before our set, man,” he chides.

“Whatever,” I growl at him as I set the bottle down and head out to the hallway to join Harry and him in our pre-set ritual. The alcohol quells my thoughts, but not my feelings.

Lark

Two hours later, I’m back on the side stage watching Voltage Drop. Lincoln has just taken off his shirt and tossed it to some lady in the crowd, and the women are going wild. I roll my eyes, but I am also completely transfixed by Lincoln’s body. He’s ripped from all his gym time. And he doesn’t possess that slender running-man look of so many lead vocalists, he’s almost six foot two, and he has broad shoulders and well-muscled arms and legs. He’s a vision, and the crowd knows it.

I’m half paying attention as they wrap up their encore, and I start to step back to clear a path for them to exit when my arm hits something. I try to steady myself, and then everything goes black.

“Lark! Lark!” I hear my name.

“Call a doctor,” I hear. I start to open my eyes, but everything seems so bright. I close them again.

“Hey, Lark, little birdie, wake up.” I hear Lincoln’s obnoxious nickname for me. He heard me whistling a tune in the shower my second week working for him. He said he thought it was a songbird, and since my name is Lark, well, you can guess the rest.

I slowly open my eyes, and all I see is Lincoln’s worried face.

“Hey, are you OK? How does your head feel?” he starts asking me. I blink and try to comprehend his words. I’m confused and reach up to touch my head. I don’t feel my skin at first, and it takes a moment to realize that he’s holding an icepack on it.

“You are one lucky lady,” a second voice says. It has a thick accent.

I try to get up, but Lincoln presses a palm on my stomach. “Oh no, we are waiting for the doctor. This medic, Juan, was here and helped me get you backstage, but I want you properly examined.”

“Why? Did I fall?” I ask, trying to remember.

“You don’t remember?” Lincoln asks.

I shake my head slowly.

“Your arm knocked into a bracket on the side of the stage that helped hold up a speaker. It was not properly secured, and a metal rod fell right on your head,” he says.

“Oh?” I answer.

“How many fingers am I holding up, Miss Lark?” the medic asks.

“Two,” I say.

He pinches my fingers and feet. “Can you feel this?” he asks.

I nod.

“I think she can sit up,” he says to Lincoln.

It’s then that I realize I am in Lincoln’s arms.

“I’d rather we wait for the doctor,” Lincoln says, grasping me tighter. He’s sweaty and has a new t-shirt on, but I don’t mind being in his arms, not one little bit.

“Hey, the doctor’s here,” Kade says as he rushes in the room with an older woman behind him.

She kneels down and gives me a warm smile. “I’m Anna,” she says. “I heard you got quite a bump on your head. I’d like to examine you if you don’t mind.”

Lincoln finally lets me sit up, and Anna does a thorough examination. “She’s fine. I don’t necessarily think it’s wise to fly tonight, but if you have anyone trained in first aid on board to watch her, it should be alright,” she says hesitantly.

“I’m trained,” Lincoln mutters.

Everyone turns and stares at him. “I may have started training to become a paramedic prior to the whole band thing,” he says.

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