Page 92 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

As the lights went down, I unhooked from the platform and ran over to the god-mic, which had a direct link to the stage manager, to let the crew know we were going to go with the audible tonight. The show was going extra well and the new number Teagan and Oz had put together would be perfect for the mood of the night.

This crowd would appreciate the special flavor of the song. And by some miracle my voice was doing well through the show.

Teagan’s voice came through my monitors. “We’re doing this?”

“Yes, girl, you got this.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to play the lead?”

“Nope, it’s your idea and your composition. I’ll follow your lead.”

“Oh, God.”

I laughed. “You got this.”

Teagan was a natural born musician. She didn’t have the confidence quite yet, but she was already blasting past all the boundaries she’d had when we first added her to the band. Even Jamie had accepted her with little fanfare, and she was our biggest gatekeeper.

This was her family.

Just like family, we all fought sometimes. But once you were Jamie’s, you were hers for life. The strain of our little fight was still sitting on my chest. I’d have to clear it with her tonight after the show.

I would tell her about Nash.

I was almost positive.

The opening strains of the slowed down version of “Dream On” floated into the venue. Nash and this song would forever overlap. Even the slower version. The sweeter opening was gentle and airy.

My voice rose out of the night.

The arena was a mass of flashlights from cell phones, as well as a few old-school lighters. The stage was dark save for Teagan’s piano under an ethereal purple light.

I rose out of the stage from the trapdoor we used for encores.

The piano soared and my heart raced as the build of the song rose to a fevered pitch. Jamie came in with Zane in a guitar duel that buzzed through my body just like that night.

Memories of Nash’s dominant touch and discordant playing juxtaposed over the full accompaniment version of the song slaying the audience. It seemed like I was out of my own body. I belted out the last verse and somehow the extended version poured out of me.

My band knew just how to follow me. I layered in one of our songs—an old one that I ended up singing alone for a moment before Jamie joined in. As she always did. We were one during a show. Even in the middle of a fight, we always bonded again over the music.

I crossed to her side and draped my arm over her shoulder. We touched foreheads as “Stardust”, one of our first songs we wrote together, seamlessly flowed back into the end of “Dream On” with our voices carrying into the night together. Hers sultry and husky, and mine rising to an octave I hadn’t tried for in ages. I hit it and the crowd lost their mind. I leaned in and hugged Jamie and she crushed me hard to her chest. My back screamed from the sunburn, but it didn’t matter.

She was my best friend and I’d inadvertently hurt her. And now I was forgiven.

We both backed up to the middle of the stage and huddled with Zane and Oz.

“Got another in you?” I asked them.

“Always.” Zane’s blue eyes were bright with mischief. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, we are in Chicago.”

“Aww, shit.” Zane chest bumped with Oz, bouncing back a little simply with their size difference.

“Think the little one is ready for this?” Oz asked with a wicked grin.

Jamie laughed. “Probably not. We’ll tell Teagan last then.” She ran over to Cooper and hopped up on his drum riser. She whispered in his ear and he laughed, twirling his sticks into the air.

Guess that was a yes from him too.

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