Page 83 of Reverb
She did. Adrian might demur, but David wouldn’t lie. Every day they got closer, their relationship firmer, and Mish fell more for the man. If she were honest with herself, she liked that he was there, at her back, watching out for her. Sure, Twisted watched out for each other, but no one had her back like David did.
It should’ve made her relax. But that horrible sensation she’d had during the radio show hadn’t let up. Somewhere out there was a man obsessed with her. She’d heard his voice and still couldn’t place it. Many voices sounded familiar, but this one had made her stomach tumble and her anxiety soar. She shivered in the heat of the day.
Gregor must have noticed, because he sauntered over. “Hey, lady. How’re you doing?”
She wasn’t in the mood to lie, even if Gregor had helped them find a kick-ass lawyer during their scare with Ray. “I’ve been a lot fucking better, to be honest.”
“I heard scuttlebutt about an abusive caller. The shitty assholes will get to you every time.”
She couldn’t help a small smile. “Yeah, well.” She gestured at herself. “Hence the mood.”
“Fucking world. You play harder and better than pretty much all the men out here, and you get crap for it.” He grunted. “And here I am telling you what you already know.”
His words unlocked something in her chest and lifted her spirits. “That acknowledgment is nice. Thanks, Gregor.” Mish held out her hand, and he clasped it and pulled her into one of those backslap hugs she’d seen him give other band members.
At least some folks treated her like an equal and not a piece of meat or a porcelain doll.
“You take care, Mish. And don’t let the jackasses get you down, as my grandpap used to say.”
She laughed. “He give you any advice on how to handle them?”
“Oh yeah, but I don’t recommend what he said to anyone.” He shook his head. “Pappy’s advice consisted of a shotgun, the backwoods, and the fear of god.”
She couldn’t help her bark of laughter. “Yeah, not my style.” Even though a part of her wanted to strangle the unknown dude.
Gregor gave her shoulder a squeeze. “We gotta get ready, but we’re gonna watch you play, for old times’ sake.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I hope we still live up to the hype.”
“Of course you guys do.”
He and Five Asylum filtered out, and Twisted Wishes got down to business. There was no fan encounter at this event—no time between their warmups, sound checks, dressing, the show, and all the other acts. Plus the general chaos of the festival crowd was intense enough without all the extra bits.
Juggling all the sets and bands and sound checks was hard on the techs and venue staff, yet somehow the crews made it work. Twisted Wishes went on for their sound checks at about the time they’d been told to be ready, got off when asked, and managed to be dressed to play their abbreviated set when they were supposed to. The concert even started reasonably on time.
The vibe of the afternoon crowd went a long way to settling Mish’s nerves. The throb of the audience, the vibrations of their instruments magnified by the huge speakers. The music played down in her bones. Zavier’s drumming, Domino’s screaming guitar, and Ray’s voice were inside her, part of her movements and her own soul.
Wasn’t anything better than being on stage. Not a fucking thing in the world. She danced and played with Domino, sang with Ray, and flirted with Zavier, and her heart soared. Unfettered, she was giddy with excitement and pleasure.
Music relaxed her more than sex did, though it was a close contest—both were intense. But when it came to playing in front of fans in tears because Twisted Wishes wasthere, right in front of them—that was something she never wanted to get used to.Thatwas love.
They gave the fans joy and pain and anger and hope, all tossed out on a messy but perfect string of notes and beats, twined around Ray’s words and his voice, and then it was all thrown back at them, through screams and singing and the sparkling of tears and sweat and smiles on a sea of faces. Love returned in outstretched hands and shouts of their names.
What could be better than that?
In the moment when they’d finished playing “Lightning” and before they launched into “White Hot Midnight,” Mish spied David in his black T-shirt and jeans, a smile on his face and his gaze fixed on her as if she were the only one that mattered in the universe.
That look wasn’t part of his job at all. Mish’s chest ached even as her heart screamed upward like the opening notes of Domino’s guitar. She closed her eyes and let her fingers and her bass answer what she’d seen in David’s eyes.
The hope and fear there. The love neither of them wanted to admit they felt.
Mish looked over to Ray, then spun close to the mic to lend her voice to his. This was the way she knew to express how she felt. Note by note, song by song. She hoped David understood, that he got it.
Mish always performed her best for the fans. They were Twisted Wishes’s lifeblood. But today, she played for David. For their unknown future and their simmering present.
Ray must have noticed, because he gave her such alookwhen they finished, but there was no time to probe. Zavier led them directly into the next song.
Mish threw her heart and soul into that one, too, and the next, until the end, when the crowd screamed and she tossed her pick and blew Adrian a kiss before disappearing back behind the stage with the band.
