Prologue
Sarah
“I’ve never felt so alive!” I jump into the arms of Donnie, our drummer, as applause rings out in front of us.
“You killed it tonight! Biggest crowd yet!” he replies.
My eyes widen in disbelief when I pull back. “You noticed that too?” I jump on the balls of my feet as we run offstage.
“All of us noticed,” Tony says as he joins us in the backstage hallway, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “The owner said it was a sold-out crowd.”
I squeal and do a happy dance, spinning around. I can’t believe all our dreams are coming true.
Tonight, my band, Endless Hope, played at the most happening bar on Bleecker Street. It’s hard to tell when you’re onstage with the lights shining in your eyes how many people are there, but the noise and vibe were more intense than any other show. Everyone was engaged with our performance, and I even heard people singing along.
Having a crowd sing the words you wrote is beyond anything I’ve ever imagined!
Tony wraps his arm around me. “You’ve done us proud, Ms. Hart.” He laughs, and I know he’s teasing me about my name.
I moved to New York from a small, country-living, religious Northern California town to follow my dreams. My parents think I’m only here to attend college. Yes, I’ve been going to classes for my degree in education, but all of my spare time is spent trying to make a name for myself in the music industry.
Well, except I don’t dare use my real name.
If my parents found out, they’d be here in a heartbeat, dragging me back home where my dad would cleanse my soul in holy water for a month.
To say he disapproves of my music is an understatement. As the pastor of our small town that is seemingly stuck in the 1950s, he points his nose down on anything that uses profanity, loud guitar strings, or the pounding of a drum solo.
He won’t take the time to actuallylistento the lyrics and how they’re more powerful and meaningful than some of the ones he sings in his beloved church. I’ve made it my goal in life to make him see what rock music is all about, so he will be okay with me following my dreams. I’ve given myself the four years while I’m here to try to make it. When I do, I pray he’ll be able to accept my passion.
I try not to think about what will happen if I can’t change his mind at that point. I keep reminding myself that, if I’ve already made it in the industry, it wouldn’t matter, but deep down, that little girl inside me still wants the approval of her father.
“Okay, you guys, ready to head out?” Donnie asks after he loads the last of his drum set into our rental van.
“I can’t just go home.” I throw my arms in the air. “I’m still flying high from tonight! Want to go to the diner to get some food?”
Tony glances at his watch. I’m sure it’s almost four in the morning.
Before I moved to New York, I’d drive to San Francisco, trying to get a taste of the life I wanted outside of my small town. The clubs closed at two in the morning but not here. Living the nightlife has a totally different meaning in the Big Apple.
“I could go for some breakfast. I have to work in a few hours, so as long as they have fresh coffee, too, I’m game. No reason to try to sleep now,” Donnie says.
I wrap my arms around his neck, tightly hugging him.
I don’t know what I’d do without these guys. When I found their flyer, looking for a lead singer, at a local bar, I took a chance and made the call. I never would have imagined they’d become like family to me. While I have my parents paying my way, these guys both work two jobs, plus our gigs, to make ends meet. They see the end goal and have the same dream of making it big someday.
We walk the block to a diner on the corner. It’s a beautiful night in Manhattan, and the cool breeze washes away the last of the sweat on my brow from bouncing around the stage. While Tony goes over tonight’s set, discussing which song was received better and if we should switch up the order, I take in the calmness of the last hours of dusk before dawn. Even with the majority of stores and shops closed at this hour, there’s still an energy, about this city that lives when everyone else is asleep.
I feel that buzz in my toes.
It’s a bright light glaring in the midnight hours.
Except that light is no longer a metaphor.
I turn around just in time to hear the screech of tires, the headlights glaring in our eyes brighter than any stage I’ve been on.
Screams yell out.
There’s a loud pounding as the car hits the curb.
