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“I hate to sound like an idiot.” Lucas blushes—actually blushes. “But is it ‘Carrie’ or ‘Caress’? Half the people I know call you CC, and I have no clue how to pronounce your name.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I turn to look at the bassist, and my nerves subside for a minute. “No one does. It’sCare-is. It’s Welsh, meaningloved one.”
I spent my life on a stage. I’ve sung anything from Gershwin to Lin-Manuel Miranda and everything in between, but musical theater is a very different beast, and there’s a slight tremble in my voice, betraying my nerves tonight.
Jack rubs my shoulders for a second until I inch away. He’s always very handsy, although not in a creepy way. But I have no interest in flirting with my roomie’s brother. “You’ve got to relax and have fun, Carys. This is going to be awesome. You’ve got this.”
Theo laughs, then taps Jack’s chest with his drumstick. “Dude, did you look up inspirational phrases on your phone or something?” He looks at me, his dark brown eyes full of excitement. “Just have fun, C. Enjoy the rush. Now let’s go.”
Fun. Right.
Theo and Jack walk ahead, but Lucas holds back. “Hey, Carys...” Lucas is the classic all-American guy. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. He almost reminds me of someone else who checks those boxes. But Lucas could never compare to that guy. “Is Emerson seeing anyone?”
“Nope.” I cringe internally because I know Em is not going to date a musician. She’ll flirt with him, but she’ll never give him a real chance. She’s told me that more than once. Emerson and Jack’s dad is a rock-star drummer, and, according to her, the industry breeds an unhealthy dose of insecurity, raging narcissism, and instability. She wants no part of this world. Never has.
But I don’t tell Lucas any of that.
He’ll find out, one way or another.
The four of us take to the makeshift stage, the bright lighting making it difficult to see anything beyond a few feet in front of the platform. I run my hands lovingly over the microphone as the guys set up. The familiarity from years of performing soothes my heightened nerves as Jack introduces the band.
“How ya feeling, San Diego? I’m Jack, and we’re Six Day War.” A roar comes from the crowd. The guys’ audience has been steadily growing since they started playing here, and the loud applause makes me happy for my friends. “We’ve got a few guest performers with us tonight, so how about you show ’em how we do it at the Rathskeller? Let me hear you!” Jack nods once at Theo, who taps his sticks together as he counts us off. He looks over at me from across the stage, his lips kicking up on one side, and my body hums with excitement as I sing the first haunting lines of “Voodoo” by Godsmack.
The first few lines of the song are all me, and I slip right into them like I fucking own them. These people might not have known they were getting me instead of the former lead singer tonight, but as soon as I open my mouth, they shut up and take notice. My nerves evaporate as I realize singing for a band doesn’t have to be any different from what I’m used to doing on stage. I can still hide behind a character like I would in a musical. This time, I’m playing the lead singer in a band.
The chaos of the loud voices in the bar fades away, and we all fall into perfect sync like I’ve done this a million times before. Jack roams the stage with his guitar, playing into the sultry beat of one of my favorite songs as he shows off for the crowd.
It’s always been easy for me to get lost in the music.
And this song makes me feel like a sexy rock goddess who can own the stage right along with Jack.
Before long, I’m dipping into the lower range of my voice, emphasizing the rasp I can use with ease after years of voice lessons, and bringing the crowd with us.
By the middle of the song, all my earlier nerves are forgotten, and I’ve slipped into a space I know well. Emerson was right. Performing is performing, no matter the audience or the music. I’m actually having fun on stage, moving around comfortably and playing it up with each of the guys.
Owning it the way Jack does.
Well... at least I’m trying to.
“How long doyou think we’ve got before we’re spun again?” I ask as I look around at my teammates. The adrenaline from the last thirty-six hours is still thrumming through my veins. My SEAL unit, Charlie Team, just finished what was originally supposed to be a six-month deployment.
It ended up being closer to seven months.
And we had to go silent for the last two weeks while we were off base. We had everything under control, but no calls were happening. Those of us with people waiting back home had no choice but to leave them to worry alone.
Everything came together quickly at the end, and Charlie Team was on a plane home a few hours later.
My teammate Axel looks at me with waning patience.
Like I’m a puppy who just peed on the floor.
Sidenote, he’s usually a dick.
Axe is a few years older than me. He likes to play the part of the clown who just follows commands. But he’s a great guy most of the time.
“We got back ten hours ago, Sinclair. Take a breath. It should be a few weeks.”
“Leave him alone, Axe. I remember whenyouwere the new guy. I’d never seen such an ugly fucking shade of green before.” Rook, our team’s number two, taps his bottle of beer to mine as the bartender pours a round of shots. He’s a lot more reserved than Axel. Not much of a talker.
