Page 16 of Rocked: The Price of Dreams

A crazed, oh-my-goodness applause erupted behind me.

Slapping my hand over the strings to kill the lingering sound, I spun around. Mrs. McIntyre stood at the bottom of the steps.

“I’m sorry.” My pulse still pounded in my head. “Were we too loud?”

“No. Not at all.” She fidgeted with the scarf around her neck, then splayed her hands across her chest. “When did you three get so good?”

“We’ve always been good.” Hunter zipped his fingers over the frets and strummed the body’s strings hard.

“So true.” She gave him the most heartfelt, warming smile I’d ever seen. “And Kyle, you were brilliant on the drums. Perfect timing.”

“Thanks, Mom.” He spun a drumstick in the air, then caught it.

“Gemma?” She took a step toward me. “You have an incredible voice, but you need training. You’re too much in your head, not in your chest. You’re not engaging your diaphragm enough.”

Hunter had given me some pointers on singing, but I hadn’t perfected controlling my breath. I was gasping for air after one song. “Um...thanks, Mrs. McIntyre. But...I can’t afford lessons.”

“I know.” She rubbed my arm. “But it is very rare I see such raw talent. I would be honored if you’d let me teach you. For free. As Kyle’s friend.”

My heart swelled. I didn’t deserve such kindness. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No need. I want to help you. Your voice, if trained, could be on par with, if not better than, Kyle’s and Hunter’s.”

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Hold on there, Mrs. Mac.” Hunter held out his hand, but the biggest grin curled across his lips. “Let’s not get carried away.”

“Hunter.” She dipped her chin and gave him a be-serious smile. “You can hear it in her voice, can’t you? You, of all people, with your ear, can’t deny it.”

He leaned against his mic. “That’s why we’ve been teaching her.”

Excitement jumped in Mrs. McIntyre’s eyes. “The three of you together are charismatic. Your energy and vibe are electric. With a few tweaks and training, you guys could enter some contests.”

“We’re not that good. Are we, Mrs. McIntyre?” The more I played, the more I knew this was what I wanted to do. Music was the only thing that made me feel alive. Happy. Content. But were we anything special?

“Please, call me Claire.” She fanned her hand over her heart. “And yes, you’re that good. You harmonize perfectly. We’ll have to work on that as the guys’ voices deepen. But you...you have a gift I haven’t seen in a long time. Please, let me teach you?”

Wow! To have professional lessons? From a trained vocalist? I’d be crazy not to jump at the chance. But I didn’t want to take advantage of Kyle’s mom. “Mrs. McIntyre. that’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t. Not for free.”

“It’s Claire.” She folded her arms and arched one slender eyebrow. “How about a deal then? If you bring me a batch of those brownies you made the boys the other day, I’ll take that as payment each week.”

“Really? Some brownies?” Tears welled in my eyes.

“Yes. Or cake, or muffins. I have a sweet tooth. So do the boys.”

I swung my guitar around behind me and threw my arms around her shoulders. “You’re the best. Thank you. I’d love some lessons.”

She wrapped her arms around me and stroked and smoothed the back of my hair. As I inhaled the scent of her honey perfume, a rush of warmth flooded over me. With my cheek resting against her shoulder, I sobbed. I’d never been hugged by my mom. I’d never been cared for like this. Kyle’s mom was the most remarkable woman I’d ever met.

“Now.” She kissed my head then stepped back, rubbing my arms. “There is something else I want to show you. Come.”

The three of us followed Claire upstairs and out into the double garage that was used for storage, not cars. The cruiser and van were left outside underneath a carport.

As we stepped into the space, I wrinkled my nose at the smell of dank dust, oil, and gas. The concrete floor was scattered with old boxes, a broken washing machine, and a cracked TV. In one car bay stood Kyle’s dad’s workout bench and boxing bag. Old car tires were piled in the corner by the busted roller door. The shelves that ran the length of the far wall were lined with cans of oil, lawn mower gas, and tins of paint, along with crates overflowing with power tools and cables.

Claire fidgeted with the fringe on her scarf. “I managed to talk William into letting you have this space. He hates you in the basement. If you clean this up, move his exercise equipment downstairs, throw out the old broken appliances and soundproof the walls...it’s yours for band rehearsal.”

“Band?” I pinched my brows together.

“Yes.” Carol drew her shoulders back. “That’s what you are, aren’t you?”

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