Page 14 of Electric Wounds
Eventually, the soundcheck wraps up, and the band gathers backstage for their pre-show ritual. Dylan explained it to me once—something they’ve done for years, a way to ground themselves before going on stage.
“Alright, everyone in,” Marcus says, forming a circle with the rest of the band. They all put their hands in the center, and I hesitate, wondering if I’m supposed to leave. But no one acknowledges me, so I stay where I am, observing. One by one, they each take a moment to express something they’re grateful for, something their music has given them. It’s a quiet, personal tradition, and I feel honored to witness it.
“Electric Wounds on three,” Jax says, his voice strong and commanding. “One, two, three?—”
“Electric Wounds!” the band shouts in unison, their voices echoing off the walls. The energy in the room is palpable, thick with anticipation.
As the guys move toward the stage, I take my place in the wings, making sure I have a clear view of everything. The lights dim, and the crowd’s roar begins to swell, growing louder with each passing second. The arena pulses with excitement, a living, breathing thing.
The first chords of the opening song echo through the arena, and the lights burst to life, illuminating the band in a blaze of color. The audience explodes with cheers, the noise deafening as thousands of voices blend into one collective scream. The energy in the arena is electric, alive. Music continues and the stage transforms into a dazzling display of lights and colors, lasers cutting through the darkness of the audience, illuminating thecrowd. Some of the crowd has signs that bounce in the air, vying for attention despite the distance.
Marcus’s fingers dance over the strings of his guitar, each note pulling the crowd further into a frenzy. Dylan’s drumming is thunderous, setting the rhythm that pulses through the arena like a second heartbeat. Enzo’s bass lines are dark, steady, grounding the music in a way that keeps everything tight.
And Jax… Jax commands the stage like it’s his kingdom. His voice is raw, powerful, soaring over the music, pulling the crowd in with every word. His presence is magnetic, commanding attention as he moves, every gesture perfectly in sync with the beat.
During the chorus, Jax holds the mic out to the crowd, and the sound of thousands of voices singing in unison fills the space. The connection between the band and their fans is tangible, a shared experience that transcends the music itself.
The setlist flows seamlessly from song to song, each one building on the energy of the last. The lighting shifts with each track, creating different moods—soft and ethereal during the ballads, explosive and bright during the anthems. It’s a visual and auditory experience that leaves me breathless.
The final song is an anthem, a high-energy track that has the entire arena on their feet, jumping and shouting in time with the beat. The lights flash in time with the music, building to a powerful crescendo. As the last note rings out, the crowd erupts into wild applause, their cheers echoing through the arena.
Sweat glistens on their faces as they raise their instruments in the air, saluting the audience. Jax shouts a final thank you before the band walks off the stage, heading in my direction. Jax throws his arm around Marcus, laughing, while Dylan and Enzo exchange high-fives. The bond between them is palpable, stronger than ever.
I watch from the wings, a smile tugging at my lips. This—this is why they do it. The chaos of the road, the late nights, the exhaustion—it all melts away in these moments. It’s about the music, the connection with the crowd, the feeling of being alive.
As I’m lost in my thoughts, a hand gently touches my shoulder. I turn, startled, to find Jax standing behind me. His expression is unreadable, his eyes searching mine. “Great job tonight, Lily,” he says, his voice low, soft. There’s a sincerity in his tone that catches me off guard.
“Thanks,” I reply, keeping my eyes averted. “You guys were incredible.”
He nods, but his eyes linger on me for a moment longer before he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, conflicted. I watch him go, a swirl of emotions bubbling inside me—excitement, confusion, frustration.
The band heads backstage and I busy myself with wrapping things up, trying to stay in the background while the guys revel in the post-show high. The dressing room is alive with energy, a palpable buzz. Marcus is the first to speak, his grin wide as he wipes the sweat from his brow with a towel. “Man, that was awesome! The crowd was unbelievable tonight.” His voice carries a mix of exhilaration and satisfaction, and I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.
Dylan, ever the life of the party, cracks open a beer and tosses one to Enzo, who catches it with ease. “Hell yeah,” Dylan agrees, his voice filled with a playful edge. “That’s the kind of show that makes all the bullshit worth it.” He takes a long swig, his eyes sparkling.
Enzo nods, his usual brooding expression softened by a rare smile. “We were tight tonight,” he says, taking a sip of his beer. “Everything fucking clicked.”
I watch them from the sidelines, my hands busy with packing up equipment and ensuring everything is in order for the nextleg of the tour. The guys are riding high on adrenaline, their laughter and camaraderie filling the room. It’s a side of them I’m not used to seeing—relaxed, happy, united. It’s infectious, and despite my best efforts to remain focused on my tasks, I find myself drawn into their energy.
Jax walks in from the hall, his hair damp with sweat, his shirt clinging to his body in a way that’s impossible to ignore. His presence commands attention, even in a room full of people, and I feel my heart skip a beat as his gaze lands on me. “Thanks for keeping everything running smoothly, Lily,” he says, his voice low and sincere as he doubles down on the same compliment from earlier, but in front of the band this time. “We couldn’t do it without you.”
I can’t help but feel a flush of pride at his words, though I know he’s trying to draw me out, to engage me in conversation. There’s a part of me that wants to respond, to let down my guard, but the other part—the one that knows how easily I could get hurt—keeps me cautious. I glance away, not trusting myself to meet his eyes without giving away too much. “Just doing my job,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper as I focus on the floor.
Dylan claps me on the back with a grin. “You’re more than just doing your job, Lily,” he says, his tone warm and teasing. “You’re part of the team now.”
The chilly reception I received at the start, the initial awkwardness—all of it feels like a distant memory compared to the acceptance and camaraderie I’m beginning to experience. I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me that for once has nothing to do with attraction or embarrassment.
Marcus takes a seat next to me, his presence a calming force in the whirlwind of post-show activity. He leans back, letting out a contented sigh. “You did great tonight, sweetheart” he says. “We really appreciate everything you’re doing for us.”
“Thanks, Marcus,” I reply, my voice soft. “I can already tell that being on this tour is going to be a crazy ride, but I’m glad to be here.”
He nods, his gaze holding mine for a moment longer than necessary, as if he’s trying to convey something deeper than words. “We’re lucky to have you,” he says, his tone serious. “It’s not easy adjusting to life on the road, but you handle it like a pro.”
His words send a blush creeping up my neck, and I duck my head to hide it. These men are trouble—gorgeous, talented, and far too good at making me feel things I’m not sure I’m ready to feel. I remind myself that I’m here to work, not to get caught up in their charm. But it’s harder than I thought to keep my distance when they keep pulling me in, especially Marcus. There’s something about his steady presence, his quiet strength, that makes me want to let my guard down, to trust him. But I can’t afford to let myself get too close, not when I know how easily things could get complicated.
Eventually, the adrenaline from the performance starts to fade, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that seeps into my muscles. We all need rest before the next show, and I can feel the weight of the day settling on my shoulders.
As we make our way out of the venue and back toward the bus, Jax catches up to me, his expression serious. “Lily, can we talk?” he asks, his voice low, almost hesitant.
