Later,Sean said.
But later is too soon.
Later is dangerous.
How about never?
CHAPTER TWO
LOU
Idon’t remember the last time I didn’t have a headache. It’s like white noise. Elevator music. Always there, just quiet enough to ignore—until it threatens to explode.
Like right now.
I press my fingers against a pressure point at the base of my hand, willing myself to stay calm as I sit in my F-150, parked in the dirt lot of Donegal’s Bar, halfway between Sugar Maple and Mullet Ridge, South Carolina. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and listen to my tour manager’s latest update.
“I don’t care if my monitor engineer dropped out of the tour three days before the first show,” I say, pinching the pressure point in my hand a little too hard. I shake it out. “I get final approval on anyone we add to the crew.”
“Lucy, it might be in your contract, but I’m juggling a hundred different balls getting ready for the tour. We don’t have time to let you interview every sound tech who applies.”
“A monitor engineer isn’t just some sound tech, Manny,” I say, keeping my voice even. I’ve only been rehearsing for a few weeks, but I’ve already figured out that a monitor engineer is the difference between sounding incredible and sounding like an out-of-tune garage band. And since I’ve never performed for an arena crowd in my life, I need the best.
Manny sighs. “Okay, but you should know there aren’t many people willing to embark on a six-month tour with some of your … stipulations.”
“They’re non-negotiable. No drugs. No distractions. No chaos.”
I can almost hear him slamming his head against whatever wall he’s closest to. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Manny.”
When he hangs up, I pop two Excedrin and breathe slowly, willing the medicine to work faster than humanly possible. This is my last night with my friends before my life completely changes, and I refuse to let pre-show drama ruin it. I channel a smile—a real one, even through the blooming pain—and step out of the truck just as my friends arrive.
“LOU!” Ash cries, tackling me in a hug. Her cinnamon-brown curls smother me as she squeezes tight. “I’m going to miss you so much!”
I laugh. “You have backstage passes to Columbia and Charleston this week.”
“It won’t be the same, and you know it.” She loops her arm through mine as our friends Jane, Millie, and Parker join us, and together, we head inside.
We all share a middle name—Jane—except for Jane herself, who doesn’t have a middle name at all. It’s a strange quirk of fate that bound us together in college. A few years ago, we started our own marketing agency. Well, they started it. As the lawyer, I’ve been the least involved in the agency work, but it gave me time tosecretly build my music career online. And when I say secretly, I meansecretly. I pulled a full-on Hannah Montana—nobody knew who I really was until a few months ago.
I signed a massive record deal before ever playing a live show. Now I’m about to launch a major tour, and it’s all happening so fast, I barely have time to process it.
Lucy Jane, at your service.
But my friends call me Lou.
Donegal’s Bar is dimly lit and decorated with Celtic signage that lets you know it takes its Irish pub aesthetic very seriously. I’ve never been here before, but Ash’s boyfriend is tight with the owners, and she leads us confidently inside.
“What’s past that door?” I ask her, nodding toward a set of interior double doors.
“The lounge,” she says. “A lot of great bands play there. The 77’s did a couple of months ago.”
I look at her in surprise. “They’re opening for me on tour. Why would they play a honky-tonk Irish pub?”
Ash shrugs. “Patty.”
My stomach does an involuntary flip.
