Page 74 of Broken Bridges

picking up where we left off.

Chuckling, I replied:

okay. that works.

“Dude, are you okay?” Cole questioned me as he put his foot up on the coffee table and double-knotted his combat boots. “Two minutes ago, you looked like you wanted to throw up; now you’ve got a goofy smile on your face. Who are you texting?”

I tucked my cell phone into my jacket pocket. I didn’t need him reading the texts from his sister. “Just a friend.” That wasn’t a lie. “It helps calm my nerves. I don’t want to fuck up playing for one of the biggest late shows in LA.”

“Stop stressing. We all get nervous. We’ve all screwed up on stage.” Flint sat on the arm of the sofa and took a sip of his water. “One time in Salt Lake City, Cole’s snare drum fell over. He kept playing until it was reset by our stagehand. Slip has jumped around so much he’s ripped the cable out of his guitar. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve knocked over my mic. If something goes wrong, just keep playing. Fix the issue. Act like it wasn’t a problem.”

All those things or similar had happened to me and the guys in my former band when we’d started out. I just strived for perfection in performances and hated it when things went wrong.

Slip slapped his hand on my thigh. “Each show will get easier. So will the interviews and photoshoots and dealing with the fans. This is just the warmup for the next promo, and the one after that, and then the tour.”

If I make it that far.

“Your life is now on show.” Flint twisted the lid back onto his water bottle. “You’ll get used to every tiny slip-up, trip, fart, scratch of your nose, and adjustment of your balls being posted online by someone.”

“I’m getting there.” Gossip didn’t bother me. I knew most of it wasn’t true and was clickbait, revenue raising fodder. But shit. How was I going to date Tia, an A-list TV star, without being caught? Ergh! We’d deal with that issue later.

Cole hooked his arm along the back of the sofa. “Just have fun. When I get nervous, I think about sex. You should try it. Every time you have a camera pointed at you, picture the person you last fucked. Stare down that lens like you want to give it to them again. The audience eats that shit up.”

I lowered my chin and laughed. Oh, if he knew that person was Tia. “Okay. I’ll try that.”

“You’ll be fine,” Flint said. “Just watch your tempo on ‘Changes.’ You’re coming in a beat too late in the chorus. Focus on that, not whoever you last banged.”

Easier said than done.

Funny thing was...Cole’s advice worked.

Images of Tia had flickered through my mind when we’d hit the set and TV cameras loomed in front of me. But even with pinpoint focus and controlled nerves when we hit ‘Changes’, I’d still missed the chorus change. I’d copped an evil glare from Flint on that one. Fuck. These guys played next level. I needed to pick up my game. Practice more. Be better...no...be perfect.

After LA, we traveled to Las Vegas, Houston, Atlanta, and Miami. From sunup to near midnight, we never had a break. If we weren’t performing or greeting the fans, we were eating, sleeping, traveling, and on vocal rest. I loved singing backup with Slip. With our scheduled visit to San Francisco behind us, we landed in Seattle two and a half weeks after leaving LA.

We took to the stage at The Quarry Lounge, a huge live music venue in the center of the city. Dotted throughout the overzealous crowd, fans waved signs decorated with birthday wishes for Cole.

With a day off tomorrow, the guys and I looked forward to a few drinks after this show to celebrate Cole’s twenty-fifth birthday. But until then, we had to give these partygoers one hell of a performance. As we hit the first track, I scanned the venue to find my focal point. Hot guys danced on the floor before me. Girls screamed in front of Flint. Through the flashing stage lights, I struggled to see Gena and Tristan at the control panels beyond the crowd. But shit! My heart skipped a beat. Was I seeing things? The lights blinked again. The girl standing behind Gena looked like Tia. But that wasn’t possible. Tia was in LA.

Was I missing her? Yeah. We’d texted every day. We talked when we could, often late at night. It was hard to have private conversations when I shared a room with Slip.

Focus. Play. By our second song, Flint had the audience in a frenzy, dancing and singing along to one of The Flintlocks’ former hits. As we played “Changes,” a spotlight pierced my eye. I glanced at Tristan and swiped my eyebrow, our signal to let him know I was being blinded. What the fuck? I’d have words with him after the show.

But just as I went to turn away, the spotlight died. My heart jumped an octave. I swore it was Tia. Ergh. I’d never been this messed up over someone before. No, wait. Yes, I had. And that had ended badly.

Fuck. Concentrate.

With steel-like determination, I strummed out “Changes.” As I closed my eyes, images of Tia naked filled my head. Think of notes...not her sexy body. Smirking, I pummeled energy into every raw progression.

I hit the chorus perfectly.

Nailed it. Yeah!

After thundering out two more songs, we hit our final track. Cole hammered out one last booming gallop across his drums and smashed down hard on his cymbals to end the show. The crowd erupted with cheers and applause. I yanked my bass strap over my head, placed my guitar on its stand, and joined the guys near Flint’s mic. We bowed and waved to the audience, then rushed off the stage. Every time we played, I thanked God I’d landed this gig. I relished every performance. Loved playing with these three men. I was in my element again. I never wanted to lose sight of how lucky I’d been or take this opportunity for granted. I prayed being with Tia never jeopardized that.

As we passed the curtain, Flint let out an almighty roar and charged past our entourage and stage crew. He picked up Sutton and spun her around. “Argh! You’re here.” He rained down kisses on her lips.

“Tia?” Cole held his arms wide and shot forward to hug her standing beside Sutton. “What are you doing here?”

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