Page 27 of Reverb
David rocked his head ever so slightly, a gesture Mish had learned to interpret as him having an opinion or suggestion. She wasn’t disappointed. “You could go watch toward the end. Wouldn’t throw them off, and would show support.”
“Someone give that man a job,” Marcella muttered. “He’s smart.”
A burst of heat swept through Mish, coupled with something that felt like possessiveness. “He has a job.”
David held up he hands. “I do. And I’m going to go do it. I’ll scope out a spot good for viewing.”
“As out of sight of the audience as you can get it,” Ray said.
David waved a hand above his shoulder on the way out of the room. When the door clicked shut, Mish let out a breath. “He fits in too well.”
“He fits in just fine,” Zavier said. He was wearing lipstick—violet to her blue—and his lips were curved into a knowing smile. “You know it.
Yeah, she did. She decided that wasn’t a problem.
After putting a few finishing touches on her makeup and waiting for the rest of the band to get their act together, they made their way to the back of the stage. Two Times Strong was ripping through one of their better-known songs, taking it to a higher level.
Their lead singer, Lane, was genderfluid and had one of those voices that was like honey and light itself. It wasn’t any wonder Ray enjoyed listening to the band, given the tones and timber of the words when they danced with the music. Two Times Strong’s style was a little different from Twisted Wishes—lighter and more airy—but having them open made so much sense. Another band not afraid to be who they were. Another singer who defined the sound.
Except tonight, on the stage, Mish would be lending her voice to Ray’s vision. More than lending. She took a pull of water from a bottle one of the crew had handed her earlier.
The rest of Twisted Wishes was focused on Two Times Strong, so none of them saw her press her palm to her chest and whisper a little prayer up to any force that might be listening.
Fingers brushed her elbow, and she turned. There was David, by her side. He gestured for her to lean down, probably wanting to speak into her ear, so she did.
“I’ve heard you. I’ve seen you. I believe in you. You’re gonna slay them tonight, Mish.” His voice was like a caress.
His voice saying her name, right into her ear, sent a shiver down her back and woke a heat in her core that chased away all her fear. In the dim light behind the stage, his eyes were so dark—yet so warm, shining and reflecting the color of the stage beyond.
God, the need to kiss him burned through her. Her expression must have given that away, because his smile deepened into something more private. He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “Still owe me a beer, darling.”
Just then, Two Times Strong finished their song, and the audience roared, jerking Mish and David back from their too-close, too-private conversation. Two Times Strong’s crew flew out onto the stage as Lane said goodnight.
Moments later, Two Times Strong was backstage, and Ray was shaking Lane’s hand and patting them on the back. “Fucking awesome set. You guys are fantastic.”
Their band was high on the music and the crowd. Seeing Twisted Wishes seemed only to push them up higher. It was a whirlwind of conversations and thank-yous and praise, then the other band was bouncing off like they’d won the jackpot of feelings and emotions.
Which they had. A grin stretched Mish’s mouth until it hurt. She remembered that rush and high. Hell, she still got that every fucking concert.
And this one? She’dsingat this one.
They headed back to the greenroom while the crews pulled Two Times Strong’s equipment off the stage and into the waiting truck, and set up for Twisted Wishes. Tension filled the air—the anticipatory kind. The whole area was filled with it.
When Marcella gave them a nod, they whirled through the dressing room one last time to check themselves, then they were back in the wings. This time, the butterflies in her stomach were large and happy, and Mish couldn’t stop smiling.
Ray caught her look in the dim light. “Can you believe our life?”
She would have answered, but the house lights flicked off and the audience went wild. Screams and cheers and stomping.
Sometimes shedidbelieve their life. This was one of those times, the noise from the crowd a physical hum in her bones. Ray bounced on his toes in that way he always did before he ran out on stage, and Mish’s heart leapt. Then they were off, Ray in the lead, onto the stage and the screams fell over them like waves crashing on a beach.
“Yo, Jersey!” Ray shouted into the mic, his own New Jersey accent thick. “How you doing?”
Hard to believe those screams could get louder. They always did, especially near where Ray, Dom, and Zavier had grown up.
Ray tossed a look over his shoulder at Zavier—and with the beat clicking off on those sticks—they spun headlong into their first song. It was fucking glorious. The sound, the rhythm, Ray’s voice rising and Dom’s guitar following. Mish’s bass anchored them as they flew into the chaos and emotion they were so known for.
One song led into another, and she danced across the stage, flirting shamelessly with the fans in the pit, then with both Domino and Ray. Everything was music and the throbbing beats she understood better than her own pulse.
