Strung Tight (The Road To Rocktoberfest #1) - Ann Lister Page 0,29
to deepen our connection, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I hated to end a perfectly hypnotic kiss, but I needed to make sure it wasn’t important. Sure enough, it was a text from Mike.
Mike: Where the fuck are you? Dagger is here and wants to give us a pep talk before we go on.
Me: I’ll be right there.
“I gotta head back inside,” I said and pocketed my phone. And just like that, I was a ball of anxiety all over again.
Dallas grabbed me before I could pull away from him and squeezed both of my shoulders. The touch centered me and I gave him a weak smile. “You’ve got this, I swear,” he promised, “and I’ll be watching from the side, okay?”
I nodded, then started to walk back toward the building and was almost to the steps of the equipment room when he called my name.
“Fletcher, I’ll be around to celebrate the show’s success when you’re done,” he suggested, “if you feel like it.”
“I’m definitely going to feel like it,” I said and smiled at him. “Count on it.”
Chapter Ten
I hurried back inside, dodging roadies and a few members from Jupiter Rising, who were beginning to arrive at the club, before I finally reached the door to our dressing room. I was about to turn the knob when it suddenly flew open. My drummer, Mike, filled the doorway, looking fierce.
“Well, thanks for joining us,” he chided. “I was just coming to look for you.”
“I needed some air,” I lied. The fresh air was nice even though it was Dallas who I’d gone to find, but I wasn’t going to share that with Mike.
I moved past him into the dressing room. Several more people were taking up space and partying with my guys. A few I knew, but the rest I’d never seen before tonight, and then Dagger turned around and nodded at me. He’d been talking with Dixon, then excused himself to walk over to me.
“Are you okay?” Dagger asked me in a soothing tone as he pushed his long hair behind his ears.
“I’m nervous as fuck,” I admitted.
“Nerves are good,” he said. “Use that energy to fuel your show.”
“How can I do that if I pass out on stage?” I said and forced myself to chuckle.
Dagger studied me intently. “Are the nerves really that bad?”
“I’m hoping it won’t be a problem,” I said to try and dismiss the issue.
“Are you like this for every show?”
“It’s never been this bad, but we’ve also never played a gig this big either.”
“You weren’t outside puffing up Spumoni’s weed, I hope,” Dagger stated.
“No way. I wouldn’t be able to perform at all if I’d done that,” I said. “I was just talking to Dallas.”
Dagger smiled knowingly. “And was he able to calm you down?”
“While I was with him, yes, but now I’m back inside and . . . feeling antsy as hell,” I confessed.
“Close your eyes and visualize your setlist,” Dagger directed. “Now focus on the first song. Think about the title, your first chord, and the phrase you sing to start the song. Keep your attention on just that much—not the entire set or even the full song. Go over it in your head with me. Think about the fingers to your first few notes.”
Dagger tapped his hand on his thigh to set a beat and began to hum the intro to our first song and I closed my eyes like he’d asked. I felt the rhythm Dagger had set and mirrored it by slapping my own leg. The other guys in the band picked up on what we were doing and joined in. Mike began striking his sticks together, and Potter grabbed the acoustic guitar he had with him and strummed that first chord. We hummed the intro and slid into the first phrase, and by mid-song, we were at full wail. None of us heard the manager of the club step into the room.
“Five minutes, boys!” he yelled over to us. “Let’s get you moved down to the stage.”
I froze in place, but Dagger grabbed on to my elbow and guided me from the room and into the hall. I didn’t remember much at all from our walk together. I was in a haze and tried to keep the sound of Dagger’s voice in my head. We stopped at the side of the stage behind the floor to ceiling curtains that were closed. A tech handed me my prized Fender—a gift from Dagger. He helped me adjust the strap