“I write a lot of my own songs, but I fell in love with her energy. She reminds me so much of my sister, who dances in the shadows regularly when she writes music. I needed to sing this song when I was presented with it, give it the traction to fly the way it’s meant to. But, I want to sing it with her. It’s only right, don’t you think, Detroit?”
The screams that surround me are deafening, and I put my hand to my mouth with trembling fingers, overwhelmed and as grateful as I am terrified. While it’s a smaller venue, there are so many people I could fuck up in front of.
Jack wraps his arms around me, pulling my back to his chest. “Your call, baby girl,” he says in my ear. “Color.”
Bee gives me a wide eyed look, her gorgeous green eyes sparkling with pride and excitement. She thinks I can do this. I can do absolutely anything when I see myself reflected back through her lens.
“Green!” I yell, my lips curling into a smile.
A man with light-brown hair and glasses pushes through people, his arms covered in colorful tattoos.
“Hey, you ready to do this, Dee?” he asks, grinning. “You can be brave for thirty seconds, right?”
I nod, knowing that I can. Looking past him, I place my hand on my stomach, biting my lip.
“I’m three months pregnant, how are we going to get through all of that?” I ask.
“I got you,” he promises, raising his hands to his mouth. “Coming through!”
He’s loud as fuck, and people immediately move as he walks me the fastest way to the stage. Placing his hands on my waist, he says, “I usually introduce myself to people before I boost them onto stage with my girl. I’m Tyler. I’ll make sure you get back safely, okay? Go sing your heart out, Dee.”
Tyler lifts me up onto the stage, and as I turn to stand, a tattooed hand comes into my vision. There are musical notes along his fingers, and I gaze up, giving him my hand. Draven Hendricks smirks at me, helping me stand.
“You’ve got some powerful words in you, girlie,” he says, his accent heavy in his words. “You play the guitar too, right?”
I nod, my own words robbed from me as he walks me to where the band is standing. A chair is brought out and a guitar, and I sit down, taking a deep breath as I keep my eyes on Layla.
Thankfully, the bright lights won’t allow me to see anything else, which is exactly what I need.
“What do you think of when you sing this song?” Layla asks, the mic in front of me.
“Hopelessness, and the way the world can sometimes batter us in the wind,” I say, my voice stronger than I thought it would be. I don’t think about how I probably don’t look stage ready, even though I love these ripped jeans and long vest top.
My hair is a mass of layered curls because I’ve kept it shorter, loving the length, but this is me. I wouldn’t change a single thing about it.
“The only thing to do is wait for a single moment where the silence finds us, where we can think, and hold onto it. The storm can’t last forever, even when it lies to us.”
Layla presses her lips together, blinking furiously, and I worry that I’m going to make her cry. Swallowing hard, she nods.
“It’s funny you say that,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I always hear the rain when I sing this song.”
Turning, she counts off, and I pretend what I always do. I’m having a jam session with one of my favorite artists, there’s no pressure, just the music and us. The world falls away as we sing together, the notes dancing in perfect harmony. It isn’t until the song ends and the words fade away that I hear the roar of the crowd.
Grinning furiously, I look around, feeling as if I’m not too much.
I’m not the sad, emo girl whose emotions are too big. My words have power, movement, and energy. Just like Bronwyn helps people heal in her sessions, maybe my songs can do the same.