Page 1 of Taming His Rockstar

Chapter 1

There is something electrifying about standing in front of several thousand people, all of them looking up at me as if I hold an answer they so desperately want. One of my legs resting on the speaker that moments ago blasted my voice out to the arena but now stays silent as I hold the mic without speaking. My guitar hangs on my back, and I can almost imagine myself in magazines the next day. A long time ago, I would’ve worried about if I was striking the right tone between smug and confident, would’ve hoped my cocky pose was sexy and not awkward, and would’ve prayed I didn’t fumble or take a dive over the side of the stage. Now, I’m way past all of that. I know what they see without having to look at the screens on either side of me. The smug grin. Smoky eyes that scream sex and power. The cocky tilt of my head that proclaims to the world I don’t give a fuck. If rock and roll is a religion, then I’m its goddess, and the people gathered before me are my humble devotees. I know that sounds like I’m bragging, and it would be if those were my words. They are not. And the screams of the thousands of fans that come to catch the final act of my tour is a testament to that fact.

“KD! KD! KD! KD! KD! KD! KD!” they shout, the screams of it reverberating all around the arena. There is no music more compelling than hearing that outpouring of love, and I bask in it. Breathe it in like it’s a drug I’m dying for, and in some ways, maybe it is. They scream so loud it’s a wonder they don’t go deaf from the noise they make. They jump up and down, some of them even crying as they lift their hands. And I bask in it, milking the moment of every inch of dramatic effect I can get from it. Everything I know about showmanship I learned on the job, on stages like this, only smaller, with a lot less people. From seedy cafés and bars where I had to carry my instruments myself, to the small halls I managed to fill after signing my first record deal, and now to the world stages where tickets for my shows sold out hours after they went on sale. I learned when to whisper, when to scream, and when to wait and watch like I’m doing now. I work the crowd every second until I just stand, the energy ramped up in the stadium to unbelievable proportions. The crowd went from thunderous applause and screaming to a deadly quiet that was no less potent in the energy it dispensed. And I bask in it, feed on that energy until it fills me, amps me even higher. This is not just music. It ‘s art. It’s life. It’s my fucking soul. And when I know they are ready for it, I give it back to them. I grab the mic, caressing it like I would a lover, and lean in toward it as I launch into the intro for my latest hit.

Tell me what happened to us

Why you had to go in and give in to the lovers’ curse

Tell me why you still shed those tears

When it was you who tore what we had to shreds

If it’s as painful for you as it is for me

Then you’ll understand why I need you to let me be . . .

Back when I first started, I was told my voice wasn’t a good fit for a female rock chick. Not that any of that matters now. A critic once described my voice as sultry with a hint of whiskey and sex.

“To hear her talk, you’d tell yourself it would never work. Then you hear her sing, and it doesn’t matter what she is saying; you just want to drop to your knees and say, ‘Yes, Mistress.’”

But today, I sang of broken hearts and lost dreams. Only my voice filling the stadium as I told a story of a girl who learned to live with a broken heart. As with most of my songs, these were not just words, but my reality spoken to the tune of a guitar string. My voice rang with the emotions I always keep for my music, hitting every note perfectly and doing what it was meant to do. Move the crowd. They swayed. They shed tears, and when the lead guitar joined me as I sang the chorus, they all sang with me, every single one of them feeling the very emotion I meant to evoke, and that was indeed the power of my voice.

As one critic put it, “What KD’s voice lacks in range, it more than makes up for with an ability to make you feel just what she wants you to. And that’s the true power of a rock star. It doesn’t matter how loud you scream or that you can play a solo riff long enough to make your hands bleed. At the end, the question to be asked is, did you make us feel anything?”

I hope I answered that question. I hope the tears I saw, the voices raised alongside mine and the thunderous applause that followed that performance answered that question. Because in the end, it is why I do this.

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