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“What’s your name?” The guy on the end—who I recognized as the drummer of the band, Kam—didn’t even look up as he spoke to me. His scruffy, dark hair hung around his shoulders, and it looked like it hadn’t met a brush in years. He also sported a beard almost the same length.
“Micah,” I replied, flicking my dark hair back behind my shoulders. I ran my hands down the sides of my thighs, the sweat that had built up on my palms seeping into my skinny jeans. God, I’m shaking. I was so nervous. What if I made a fool out of myself?
Music was everything to me. It was the one thing in my life that hadn’t let me down. It was one of the few memories I had with my father, a small-time musician who had been killed in a car crash when I was four. It’s funny, some days I struggled to remember what he looked like, but I could close my eyes and still hear his voice, singing me to sleep. It was weird how the mind worked.
“When you’re ready, Micah.”
I looked up and into the eyes of Harry Cunningham. He gave me an encouraging smile. At least he was friendly. The others looked uninterested, like they couldn’t care less how badly I wanted this.
defense, I guess they had been there all day, listening to person after person, all just like me, convinced they were perfect for the band. I was the last person to audition, which gave me the opportunity to leave some kind of an impression on them.
This was my chance at being that rich, decadent chocolate mousse that is all you think about for the rest of the night. Because that’s what it came down to: no matter how good the rest of the meal was, it was the dessert you remembered, right?
“Micah?”
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Shit. Right. I was there to sing, not daydream. I took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm the nerves that were threatening to overcome me. I closed my eyes and began to sing “Wonderwall” by Oasis.
It was the worst ninety seconds of my life.
What the hell was that?
I stood there, mortified. My voice had been so pitchy and out of tune it was almost comical—well, it would’ve been funny if it were someone else. It was like an audition right out of American Idol, but not the good kind. The kind where you cringe and feel sorry for the poor idiot making a fool of themselves.
“Uh, okay then.” Harry forced a smile.
The others didn’t even bother trying to be polite. One was snorting back laughter while the others stared down at the table, their shoulders silently shaking. My face went red. I was so embarrassed, that all I wanted to do was run out of the room.
“We’ll talk it over and give you a call. Thanks, Micah,” Harry said. The worst thing was, he looked embarrassed for me.
They weren’t going to call. I could hear it in his voice. I could see it in the way they exchanged ‘that’ look—and, of course, the laughing. The laughter was a bit of a giveaway at how badly things had gone.
Weeks of preparation had led me here, and I’d fucked it up completely. This was not how it was supposed to have gone. I was ready for this. Or at least I thought I had been. They stood up and began shuffling their paperwork together. I bit my lip, trying to come up with a way to fix this. My chance was slipping away. If I was going to do something, it had to be now.
“Wait,” I yelled. My voice echoed through the near empty room, startling even me. The four of them stopped and turned back to me. “Please, I can do so much better than that. Give me another chance. Please.”
Harry sighed, glancing at the sexy, lanky blond guy who stood next to him—Liam Marx, bass guitarist. I saw the slight shake of his head and my heart sank.
“Look, I’m sorry. But if you can’t handle the pressure of a casual audition, how are you going to be performing for a packed club? We need someone with experience. Someone who is going to stop people in their tracks and demand their attention.” Liam shrugged apologetically. “It’s nothing personal. Good luck on your journey.”
Anger surged through me. They could tell during a two-minute audition that I wasn’t the person they were looking for? Okay, I’d fucked up big time, but I wanted this so badly. I clenched my fists as I watched them walk toward the door. Taking a deep breath, I began to sing.
“When there’s nothing to hold onto, and there’s nowhere left to turn…”
I closed my eyes and let the sound float out of my lungs. I was born for this. I needed this. I could do this.
“…even loving hands can’t hold on,
even good intentions tend to burn,
not even hope can be that strong,
I tried to fix you when you hurt
make you feel good when you where low
but even all my dreams and hopes and wishes
