Page 1 of The Girl with No Name

PROLOGUE - REED

“MARRY BACARDI” - REED WALKER

“One minute to walkout, Walker," my assistant says, her voice steady despite the frenzy around us.

I nod, adjusting my guitar strap and taking a deep breath. The energy backstage is electric, a mix of excitement and nerves. The roar of the crowd seeps through the walls, a constant reminder of the thousands waiting to see us play. I glance around at my bandmates—Nate on bass, Axel on drums, and Casey on keyboard. We've been through countless gigs together over the past couple of years, but tonight at Red Rocks feels different. It’s a milestone.

“Ready to make history?” Nate grins, slapping me on the back. His confidence is infectious.

“You bet,” I reply, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline.

Axel twirls his drumsticks, a ritual he’s perfected over the years. “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”

Casey nods, her fingers dancing over the keys in a silent warm-up. “Time to rock their world.”

The stage manager gives us a thumbs-up. "Thirty seconds."

I take one last look at my guitar, the custom black Fender that’s been with me through every high and low. It’s like an extension of me, and tonight, we’re going to make magic.

“Walker, you got this,” my assistant whispers, a rare moment of encouragement.

“Thanks, Mel,” I say, meeting her eyes. She’s been with us from the start, the backbone of our chaotic world.

The stage lights dim, signaling our imminent arrival. The crowd’s chant grows louder, a pulsating wave of anticipation.

“Alright, let’s do this,” I shout, feeling the surge of energy from my bandmates as we move toward the stage entrance.

The moment we step out, the roar of the crowd hits us like a tidal wave. Red Rocks Amphitheatre, with its natural acoustics and stunning backdrop, stretches out before us, a sea of faces illuminated by the stage lights. The sheer magnitude of it all sends a shiver down my spine.

Nate hits the first note on bass, a deep, resonant thrum that echoes through the amphitheater. Axel follows with a powerful drumroll, and Casey’s keyboard joins in, layering the sound. I step forward, the spotlight catching the gleam of my guitar.

“Good evening, Red Rocks!” I shout into the mic, my voice carried on the wind. “Let’s go! Are y’all ready?”

The crowd’s response is deafening, a wall of sound that reverberates through me. I strum the opening chords of our first song, feeling the music flow through my veins. This is what we live for—moments like these where everything else fades away, and it’s just us and the music.

The show flies by.

The night is a whirlwind, a symphony of power chords and drumbeats, of sweat and raw energy. I look out at the sea of faces. My fans. Every one of them alight with the shared ecstasy of the music. It’s a dream. It doesn’t feel real.

“This is our last song for tonight!” I shout, and the crowd’s roar is a wave crashing over us. “It’s called ‘Marry Bacardi.’”

The crowd goes nuts. This is our classic finisher song.

Nate starts the intro, his bassline a heartbeat that drives the song forward. Axel’s drums join in, a steady, relentless rhythm. Casey’s keys weave through the sound, adding depth and texture.

I step up to the mic, my guitar slung low. The first verse spills out, the words etched into my soul:

She waits for you

To take her by the hand

Take her out on the town

Like a real man

Tell her you love her

Make her understand

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