Page 11 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Too many memories bombarded me.

I slid around to Teagan’s set-up and touched her shoulder, then sat next to her on the bench. “Hey, girl.”

Bluebell eyes met mine with surprise. “Hey.” Her voice was still a little tentative in the mic. She’d been touring with us for a little while now, but she still wasn’t completely at ease with the craziness of our life.

“Mind if I sit a spell while you play?”

Her fingers immediately rested on the keys. “My piano bench is yours.”

I touched my temple to hers, our curls blending—the fire of her red and the sunshine of mine.

The song was a happy one. An early one before complications had invaded my brain. We sang in sweet harmony to combat the darkness of the song that had come before.

Though no one really knew about the darkness. Just me.

Just my way to deal with it.

It was always music that saved me, even after him. Especially before him.

Music was my one constant and would always be my salvation.

As I drifted from Teagan to Oz to Zane and back to Cooper to finish out the night, we hammered our way through the setlist. I smiled and laughed and pushed “Ruin” further back into the little box it usually stayed in.

By the end of the show, there were only smiles and banter. Tonight was the last show for a week, and we were all ready for a bit of a break.

Like always, I poured myself into the encore. Jamie and I rocked out back to back as we had since the beginning. The screams of the crowd had grown, but Jamie had always been the one to hold me up.

I grinned over my shoulder at her as the last notes of “Black Magic” echoed into the night.

The rest of our band came up and met us for the final bows. We soaked up the screams, and they waved back at our raised hands. It was tempting to give them one more song, but we were all due to get on a plane.

Our opening act—Warning Sign—had a celebration planned. A wedding for two of the most colorful members of their extended family. People we’d grown close to in a very short time.

As we walked off stage, “Hurricane” from Thirty Seconds to Mars gave the crowd the signal that the night was over.

We walked down the ramp to the under stage. I plucked out my monitors and couldn’t stop the laugh as Lauren Bryant, the bride, galloped by with sparkly Converse sneakers, white jeans, and a white T-shirt with a unicorn on the front. Oh, and couldn’t forget the veil she had pinned to her wild blond hair.

West Reynolds, the groom of course, was chasing after her.

Never a dull moment with Warning Sign on the bill with us.

“I’m getting married.” Lauren’s off-key singsong voice echoed down the hall. “Hurry up. We have to get on the plane. I don’t want to miss my wedding.”

“Babe, you’re not going to miss the wedding. We have to be present for the whole thing to happen.”

“But I want it to be now.” She twirled around and spotted us. “Finally! I didn’t think you guys were ever going to stop playing.”

Jamie sighed. “Do I really have to go?”

“Yes.”

“Why? They don’t care about me going to their stupid institutionalized form of torture.”

“Tell us really how you feel about marriage, James.” Oz twisted his long hair up into a manbun. “I, for one, am looking forward to a week in fucking Hawaii.”

“I’m looking forward to fucking in Hawaii, does that count?” Jamie batted her lashes up at Oz before hanging a left down toward the showers.

Oz shook his head with a sigh. “Getting married isn’t torture.”

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