Page 1 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

ChapterOne

DAWSON

I followthe festival manager to the side stage, my ragged breaths loud in my throat.

To keep my queasy stomach from turning inside out, I focus on the tap of my boots against the floor, each step taking me closer.

The manager barks an order into his headset while I try not to hurl on his shoes, then the band playing on stage hits their final note.

“Thank you!” the lead singer croons into the mic while the crowd erupts with applause and whistling. When the stage lights go out, the roadies hurry to change out equipment. The musicians coming off stage leave me in a wake of adrenaline and sweat.

I grip my guitar like a lifeline.

It’s time.

The crowd is still screaming when I sling my guitar over my shoulder and take one last steadying breath. Though I’m just another warm-up gig on this tour, I’ll give these good people all of me. Every last drop.

Sweet Lord, am I ready for this?

My fingers itch and my face tingles. I walk across the dark stage to the mic stand, the crowd like thunder. The lights blink on.

“How y’all doing?” Though I manage to sound confident, there’s a panicky hitch to my breaths.

The crowd hoots and hollers, but I can’t see faces. The lights are on me.

“Thanks for comin’ out tonight.” I strum, my fingers taking over. “I’m Dawson James.”

I close my eyes and let the words rise through me. My voice is so big, even in this vast space, the chords ringing pure and clear.

My heart gets hot in my chest, like it’s going to burst. There’s pressure and tension, but not the kind I have to hide. For the first time, this energy has a place to go. A release. So I relinquish my hold on it. Surrender.

Up on stage, my father’s cruelty and what he did to keep me from my dreams melts away. My worries about my mom and sisters doesn’t feel as heavy.

I’m free.

A rush of emotion hits my brain like a drug. I’m riding a freight train at a hundred miles an hour with the wind in my hair and the warm sun on my face.

I’ve wanted this since I was fourteen years old, but it’s never been about fame, or money, or anything like that.

It’s about belonging. It’s about reaching into the ether to find others reaching back.

I strum the opening song’s final chord, my head buzzing.

The crowd erupts, and the weight I’ve been carrying softens a little more. After everything that’s happened, it’s hard to believe I’m here at all. I breathe in gratitude until it filters deep down into my bones.

My next song is about chasing dreams, but only the attentive fan would know that. Some people think it’s a love song. I have plenty of those, but most are too sad for tonight.

The lighting shifts, revealing a glimpse of my audience. A bearded guy in a black hoody. A pair of women in cowboy hats and tight shirts. A young woman with a look of yearning in her bright green eyes, her lips moving to the words. My words.

I open my heart a little more, each verse true and bold in a way that makes me feel brave. With each song I connect more completely, float a little higher, until my throat is raw and my muscles spent. The applause rings in my ears as I bow in gratitude. Still breathing fast, I grip the mic and thank my audience.

I’m empty yet so full.

After another bow, the lights go out.

For one last precious second, I drink in the sense of victory and gratitude, then force my legs to move. After pausing side stage to unhook my equipment with the sound tech, I hurry to the back. Spent adrenaline chatters through me like a winter wind as the crowd’s cheer fades to nothing.

I use the ritual of packing up and loading my gear to downshift from the high, but I can’t turn off the restless energy churning inside me. When I return inside to catch the last of the show, a group of backstage guests are clustered outside the greenroom. As I slip past them, a young woman turns sharply toward me.

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