Page 5 of Electric Wounds
“Let’s do this,” I mutter under my breath, grabbing my jacket from the hook by my bunk. I make my way to the front of the bus, glancing out the window at the venue looming just ahead—a hulking mass of concrete and steel, casting long shadows as the sun dips below the horizon. The place looks like a fortress. I can feel the energy already building, like a storm gathering in the distance.
Stepping off the bus, I’m immediately thrown into the pre-show chaos. Roadies rush back and forth, sweating and cursing under their breath as they haul amps, drums, and cases ofequipment toward the stage. The air is thick with the smell of grease, sweat, and faint hints of stale beer. Every time we roll up to a new venue, it feels like a battlefield, and I love it. This mess, this chaos—it’s where I feel most at home. It’s where I thrive.
“Hey, Rossi,” Jake, one of the roadies, calls out as he lugs a speaker toward the back entrance.
“Sup, Jake,” I reply, not even looking at him as I stride toward the dressing room. I don’t have time for small talk. I’m focused—laser-focused—on the night ahead.
Inside, the dressing room is exactly what I expect—a total wreck. Instruments are scattered haphazardly across the floor, clothes strewn about, and empty bottles are piled in the corners. It’s a familiar scene, one that repeats in every city. Groupies have probably been here already, or maybe it’s my bandmates that got in ahead of me. Either way, it’s a disaster, but it feels like home. Marcus is already in the corner, tuning his guitar, his fingers flying over the strings with practiced ease. He’s meticulous about it, always chasing that perfect sound. Dylan, on the other hand, is slouched on a chair, tapping out a rhythm on his practice pad, his focus so intense it’s like the world around him doesn’t exist. Jax is pacing, his eyes distant, probably already in his head, preparing for the show in his usual brooding way.
And then there’s Lily.
She’s standing off to the side, clipboard in hand, dressed like she’s going to a board meeting instead of a rock show. Her blonde hair is pulled back into that neat ponytail she seems to favor, and she’s wearing a fitted black blazer over a white blouse, her skinny jeans tucked into ankle boots. She looks like she belongs in a glossy magazine ad, not backstage at a gritty venue. It’s her first show with us, and she’s already checking things off her list, making sure everything’s in order. I don’t know how she keeps that cool, professional vibe in this chaos, but I can’t deny I respect it, even if I’ll never admit it.
“Enzo,” she calls out, catching my eye. “Sound check in twenty minutes. Everything’s ready to go.”
“Thanks, Lily,” I say, my tone sharp even though I don’t mean it to be. There’s something about her that gets under my skin, and I don’t know why.
She nods, her face calm, but I catch the brief flicker of doubt in her eyes. That brief moment of uncertainty makes me want to push her buttons even more. Part of me wants to shake her up, to get her out of that perfect shell she’s got around herself. Part of me wants to get in her space, mess with her, add some color to her cheeks, maybe bite those plush lips, rough her up until she looks like she belongs here. Make her see that this world is rough and dirty, that nothing here stays pretty for long. I wonder what it would take to get her riled up, to mess up that neat little ponytail.
Our eyes lock for a second longer than necessary, and I quickly look away, feeling like an idiot for even thinking about her like that.
I’m acting fucking stupid.
“Alright, boys,” Jax says, clapping his hands together, pulling me back to the present. “Let’s do this.”
Our pre-show ritual kicks in, something we started before we made it big. Even now, with thousands of people waiting outside, it feels like we need this to ground ourselves. I join the others in a circle, each of us placing a hand in the center, stating why we’re here. It’s more than just a tradition—it’s a reminder of why we gave up everything else for this. For the music.
“Electric Wounds!” we shout in unison once we finish, our voices echoing off the walls of the dressing room.
I glance over at Lily, and she’s watching us with a small smile tugging at her lips. I can tell she’s trying to figure us out, trying to find her place in this world. The fact that she hasn’t tried tocome in and change how we do things earns her some respect. She hasn’t tried to control us. Not yet, at least.
The minutes crawl by as we wait for our soundcheck. The tension builds. We move as a group, leaving the dressing room behind, weaving through the backstage area as the crew makes final adjustments. Cables are coiled, amps are tested, and lights flicker on and off in preparation. Lily follows us, her eyes wide, absorbing everything. She’s trying to look calm, but I can tell she’s nervous, the way her fingers tap against her clipboard, the way her eyes dart around as if she’s afraid she’s missed something.
“Stay close,” I tell her as we walk. “It can get wild out here.”
She nods, her expression serious. “Got it.”
The sound check is smooth. We run through a few songs, testing the acoustics, making sure everything sounds right. The venue’s perfect—tight, echoing, loud. The kind of place that’ll amplify everything we throw at it. As we finish, I spot Lily off to the side, still checking her clipboard, talking to the crew, making sure every detail is in place. I don’t know why, but seeing her in control like that... it’s impressive. It makes her stand out even more. She doesn’t belong here, but somehow, she’s making it work. It only makes her more attractive, and I hate that I can’t stop staring.
We stay in the wings as the opening act takes the stage, the crowd already screaming and restless. Marcus is still fiddling with his guitar, adjusting strings that don’t need adjusting because he’s a perfectionist. Dylan’s tapping his leg in time with the music, his mind already on stage, while Jax stands apart, quiet, brooding, probably running through the setlist in his head. Or maybe he’s praying. Who fucking knows with that dude.
I grab a bottle of water and take a long swig, my eyes drifting to Lily again. She’s still checking her clipboard, her pentapping nervously against it like she’s wound too tight. She keeps checking her watch, glancing at the stage, clearly trying to make sure nothing goes wrong.
“Need help?” I ask, stepping closer to her. Not because I actually want to help, but because I want to be near her. I want to mess with her a little, see how far I can push before she cracks.
She looks up, surprised. “No, I think I’ve got it. Just making sure everything’s on schedule.”
I smirk. “Not easy keeping up with us, huh? The road’s not for everyone.”
She laughs softly, but I can see the tension in her eyes. “I’m trying my best.”
Before I can respond, Jax calls us over, pulling me away from the conversation. We gather around him one last time before the show. Even Lily drifts closer, watching us with that same curious expression. I wonder what she’s thinking. Why she took this job. Is she here for the music, or is she just another fangirl trying to get close to Jax? The thought pisses me off for reasons I can’t explain.
“All right, guys,” Jax says, his voice steady, but there’s something edgy about him tonight. “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”
We step out onto the stage, and the lights hit the me like a tidal wave. The crowd explodes, their cheers so loud it feels like the ground is shaking. This... this is where I belong. This is the only place that makes sense.
I sling my bass over my shoulder, feeling the familiar weight, the rush starting to build in my veins. The first notes hit the air, and the crowd roars in response. That surge of energy—the connection, the adrenaline—it’s like a drug. There’s nothing else like it. One wrong move, and everything could crash down, but that’s part of the thrill. It’s the knife edge we walk every night.
