He brought it home with the final chorus, letting the last chord ring out until it faded into the silence of the room.
“It’s out of my hands. When the moment comes. I’m not the one who decides. What I become. I can hold on tight. I can make my plans. But when the signal fires. It’s out of my hands.”
The applause came after a beat of stillness. A few people wiped their eyes. An old friend raised his pint in salute from a booth near the window.
Reed stepped off the stage and headed to the bar. Max poured him a glass of water without being asked.
“Sounding good up there,” Max said. “That last one was something else.”
“I had to dig deep to write it. But I think it’s one of my best.” He took a long swig of water.
“The summer schedule’s filling up. Let me know what dates will work for you.”
Reed nodded and finished his glass of water. Down at the other end of the bar, Carl was restocking glasses. His eyes kept darting around the room like he was tense.
“Reed Bright.” A hand landed on his shoulder. He turned and found Tommy Hendricks, his friend from high school. He worked as a mechanic in a shop downtown. “When are you putting out a full album? Not just singles on Soundcloud.”
“I’m working on it,” Reed said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You’ve been working on it since junior year.”
“Good things take time,” Reed said with a grin.
The dartboard in the corner drew a small crowd, and the jukebox kicked on, playing “I Fall to Pieces” by Patsy Cline.
“How’s your dad doing?” Tommy asked.
“Good. Busy. He’s supposedly retired, but you know how he is.”
“How are Holly and Ivy? Is Ash still fire chief?”
“Everyone’s good. The littles are keeping the family occupied. Ash is still fire chief. He loves it, you know. Throwing himself out of helicopters into a burning forest. But being with Eliana has settled him down a bit. And he’s adjusting to life on the orchard with a family.”
“All your siblings have found their mates, haven’t they?” Tommy asked. Tommy was a mountain lion shifter. And he’d found his mate in high school without even needing to use mate.com. Reed’s dad Corey Bright had designed the dating website specifically for shifters.
Reed smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes. He’d been on mate.com for seven years. And he still hadn’t found his mate.
“Still waiting,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Tommy gripped his shoulder and squeezed. “You’ll find her soon. Maybe after you put out that album you’ve been promising, she’ll show up.”
Reed chuckled at that. Tommy turned away to rejoin his wife at the pool table. He felt the little recorder in his pocket, remembered why he’d brought it, and slipped outside onto the patio.
The air was cool and night had fallen. There were still a few people lingering at the tables, but most had moved inside. The sky had gone midnight blue above the mountains, and stars spread out over town.
His field recorder had a built-in condenser mic that was sensitive enough to pick up a whisper from across the room. He’d paid more for it than he should have, but the quality was worth it.
He breathed in the mountain air and listened to the sounds of people enjoying themselves drifting through the patio door behind him. Fate Mountain was his home. As a part-time musician, he’d traveled around, seen other places, played other venues. He’d even gone as far as Denver and Pheonix last summer. But none of those places felt like home.
He found a spot on a wide ledge near some potted plants and tucked it back where no one would bump it or mess with it. He hit record and the little red light started blinking.
He went back inside and got on stage for the second set. He’d warmed up. And there was something about the later hour that made people more receptive.
Reed opened with “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman. It was always a crowd favorite. Melancholy wrapped in hope. The audience swayed along, and a few voices joined in on the chorus.
“Fishing in the Dark” was next, a Nitty Gritty Dirt Band cover he always enjoyed playing. The room came alive, people grinning and nudging each other. Tommy and his wife slow danced in the corner.
Next was “Pine and Wood Smoke.” His love letter to Fate Mountain. To this brewery, this community, the smell of the air and the sound of the jukebox and the feeling of belonging somewhere.
