Page 24 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

There was still so much to do. As she drove across town to the rehearsal space, she was adding more ideas to her mental list, trying to remember to add them to the physical list later.

Andi would probably scold her for focusing on her wardrobe instead of anything else, but that was why she was the tour manager, not Lyric. Their situation was an odd one—it wasn’t usual for an agent to manage a tour, but Lyric hadn’t wanted anyone else in charge of her life for six weeks.

The vise around her chest eased a bit at the reminder that her best friend would be right beside her the entire time. As the tour manager, she’d arrange their travel plans, coordinate with the venues, manage their money, organize the media and security, and a slew of other things that were over Lyric’s head.

All to keep Lyric safe.

Weaving through traffic, she let herself release some of the stress. But more worries replaced it.

She had two weeks until tour. Two weeks to nail the set from beginning to end and master her stage presence. Only a handful of days to teach four complete strangers all about her music.

Blinking tiredness from her eyes, she grabbed her travel coffee mug from the holder and lifted it to her lips as she rolled to a stop in front of a red light.

The night before, she’d spent hours watching her favorite inspirations live performances. Some of them were somber and stood entirely still while they belted their heart and soul into the mic and through arenas. Others bounced and hopped and danced around until she wondered how they had enough lung capacity and voice control to still sing at the same time. As many hours as she’d spent dreaming of this very opportunity, Lyric had no idea how she wanted to appear.

That’s what practice is for.

She reminded herself of that once again as she flicked her blinker on and made a right turn. Parking beside a blue sedan, she steeled her nerves, grabbed her travel cup and a bottle of water, and got out of the car.

Gravel crunched under her feet as she strode across the parking lot. With the key provided to her from Andi, she let herself into the rehearsal building, following the signs to their assigned soundproof area. The butterflies in her stomach switched to a faster tempo, and she swallowed down nerves as she let herself into the room.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted. Surprise filled her as Nohen glanced up. “You’re early,” she said dumbly.

His mauve colored lips curled up slightly, and he relaxed his fingers on the strings of the acoustic guitar he’d been strumming, the last of the music fading from the air.

“I figured I’d try to make up for my late appearances before. Good morning,” he greeted her.

“This is a nice space,” Lyric murmured, glancing around the room that would be their second home for the next two weeks. Dark wood floors stretched out in every direction, covered by cushy multicolored rugs. Black tape peeked out from beneath the edges, marring the floor’s shiny perfection as someone had attempted to organize the many cords stretching from outlets to the setup.

Sound proofing board covered every spare inch of three walls, but the fourth was all window. It provided a view of trees, mostly their trunks. Lyric crossed the room to glance up out of them, but she could just barely see the tops of the trees.

“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about the sun setting over here and making the room too hot,” she murmured.

“Hey, any view is a great view, in my opinion,” Nohen commented. When she turned to face him, his gaze wasn’t locked on the windows like she’d thought. Instead, he was staring at her.

“How long have you been here?” she asked, changing the subject and trying to hide her flushing cheeks. She walked up to the keyboard and drifted her fingers softly over the keys. Her fingers automatically formed to the keys and she pressed down, a chord drifting softly through the room.

“Only about twenty minutes or so.”

She arched a brow at him, dropping her hand from the keys as he shrugged. “I woke up early. Couldn’t go back to sleep.”

Her first instinct was to change the subject, to avoid admitting her own sleeping troubles. But then she remembered that she’d have to spend a month and a half on the road with this beta, and building a wall between them in the ten minutes of their first one-on-one interaction wasn’t the smartest move.

“I had trouble sleeping too,” she admitted. “I was up all night watching live performances.”

“Why?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side.

She shrugged and walked over to him, pulling a chair near his. “I think I’m nervous about being on stage. I’m still trying to figure out what kind of stage presence I want to have.”

“Ah,” he said with a single, slow nod. “Can you design something like that?”

“I can try,” Lyric replied, a challenge in her tone.

A smile twitched his lips. “In school, I had a public speaking instructor who told me there are three versions of the same speech. The one you rehearse, the one you give, and the one you wish you’d given. I feel like performing is the same way. There’s rehearsal, where you can mess up and fix what’s wrong. Then there’s the stage performance, where you have to roll with the punches or the technical difficulties and let them brush off your shoulders. Then there’s the moment you walk off stage, where you remember every little note you were off or beat you were late coming in on. But at the end of the night, the only thing you can do is try again each time you walk out on stage.”

She sipped her coffee as he spoke, letting each word soak in. “That’s really nice and inspiring,” she said. “But I can’t help but be afraid I’ll spend the whole tour thinking about the performance I ‘should have given,’ and before I know it, it’ll be over.”

Her cheeks flushed at the admission, and she wished she’d never opened her mouth.