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“Hey, sometimes, you have to lie to get ahead. But I know we can do it. Is everyone in?”
“Hell yeah,” we all say in unison.
“Great. We just need a name,” Trent says, and I laugh out loud.
I never thought of the fact that we would need a name.
“How about the Hannah Murphy Band?” Nate suggests.
I immediately speak up. “No way. It’s all of us. Not just me.”
“Why not? Tucker has The Tucker Simms Band.”
“Yeah, but that’s Tucker. This is me. We need something cool, like Lady Antebellum or Little Big Town.”
“Okay, yeah, I see where you’re going with that. It would be cool to have something with Mason Creek, as those band names represent where they came from,” Cole says.
“What about The MC Band?” Trent says.
I pause and think on it. MC … I like the meaning. Mason Creek is our home and always will be.
I nod slowly as I let it sink in. “I like that.”
“Yeah, I’m digging that too,” Nate says.
“Cole?” Trent asks.
“I like it. And if we ever want to ditch the fact that we grew up in this small town, we can say it was the Moorehouse Cole Band and we just added you other two for good measure,” he says, obviously kidding since Moorhouse is Trent’s last name.
We all laugh, and then Trent says, “Well, there you go. The MC Band officially has their first gig. So, Cole, can we meet at your house every day until then?”
“Sure. Name the time. It’s not like we’re going anywhere with this fucking snow falling like crazy,” Cole responds.
We decide to meet in an hour, so I jump out of bed to get ready for Nate to swing by to pick me up.
* * *
As we enter Cole’s barn, we all arrive with a new energy we didn’t have last time. When we first met, there was a big question mark hanging in the air of how this would work or even if it would work.
Now, we know. Not only is it amazing, but we also have a paying gig. That fast. Everything about this feels right. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my entire life, and the fact that it’s going so smoothly just proves I’m on the right track to really make this work. This could be my future. Finally having a goal to work toward fills me with so much hope.
We go over what possible songs we could play, then narrow it down to the ones we think would be easiest to learn. We have zero time, and right now, it’s all about what we can perform with little to no practice.
After our rehearsal, Nate drops me off, and I’m surprised to see Matthew’s truck sitting outside my place. I reach for my phone that I’ve had tucked in my purse all day and see I have three missed calls from him.
Nate glances at me when he sees Matthew’s expression as we pull into my driveway but doesn’t say anything.
I grab my things and smile in return. “Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow. Same time?”
“Yep. I’ll be here,” he responds as I step out of the truck.
I don’t bother going to my house, as I can tell something is wrong with Matthew, so I head straight to his truck.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I say as I slide inside, out of the cold air that’s breezing by.
“I was getting worried about you. I knew you were home alone, and you weren’t answering your phone,” Matthew says.
I can tell he’s saying it with concern but also with irritation.
