Page 62 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

There was a pause for one, two, three seconds before—

“Holy shit,” Nohen shouted for them all to hear.

Even after that moment of perfection, it turned out Nohen was fucking right. The show overall hadn’t been perfect—far from it.

Her monitors had fucked up, sending her too much feedback, and she’d ended up yanking them out partway through the last half of the set. It made it a little more difficult to perform, but she got the hang of it. Nohen’s guitar strap had unhooked—somehow—and he’d had to lean against Desi’s drum stage until a stagehand came and situated him again. Desi broke so many drumsticks Henry had to hand deliver more, ignoring cat calls from the front row.

At least no one could say the girl didn’t play passionately.

Lyric forgot what damned city they were in as she was chatting with the crowd during a break. No biggie. It was just the first fucking show.

But the crowd’s energy had been electric, their excitement knew no bounds, and it was like the fuck ups never happened.

By the time the last note of the encore cut off, her vocal cords hurt and her feet ached, but god—she’d never felt anything like it.

After years of dreaming of writing her own songs, of performing her own music, she’d finally gotten the chance. Then she’d dreamed of playing it live—of touring and sharing her music all over the country.

At one point, she’d feared her dreams were nothing but petty wishes for a different life. Futile. Pointless.

But as she waved to the crowd, their shouts deafening, and exited the stage only after the others had gone… she finally recognized it was real.

Her chest ached.

I did it.

Happiness inflated her chest and pushed out all the oxygen until she struggled to take a breath.

Emerson had been the last to exit the stage before her, and he turned around, the smile and words dying on his lips as he studied her. She didn’t know what he saw on her face, only that she didn’t want him to.

“I need a minute,” she told him, and cut behind him to escape the busyness of backstage.

She unwrapped the monitor cords from around her neck and unclipped the pack from the back of her pants. No one stopped her on her chase for oxygen in the air as she hunted for the exit door.

Dull red lights and big blocky letters spelled her rescue, and she shoved on the push bar violently, needing an outlet for all the emotion thrumming in her veins.

It didn’t help. But the blissful cool night air rushing over her, chilling the sweat on her skin, did.

Quickly, she glanced around to make sure she wasn’t about to be mauled by crazed fans, and her shoulders relaxed a bit as she surveyed the empty loading area. The giant black and silver boxes that housed the plexiglass panels acted as a barrier, and Lyric breathed a sigh of relief as she ducked behind them. Those were the last to be loaded, so she had time before someone discovered her.

Planting her hands on her waist, she paced a quick trail tucked behind a set of the giant boxes. The small but open space made her feel safe, and even though she could barely see the stars in the sky above, she was surrounded on all but one side, so no one would be sneaking up on h—

“What are you doing?” a deep voice rumbled.

She released a sharp squeak and spun around, the surprise on her face morphing to annoyance in a split second. Emerson.

“I needed a minute,” she repeated, crossing her arms.

Emerson mimicked her stance, testing the limits of his button-up as the muscles in his upper arms flexed. His forearms were bared by the rolled up cuffs.

Maybe they needed to order him a larger size. Yes. Larger would definitely be be—

“Why are you glaring at me?” she hissed as her gaze returned to his for a split second before she avoided his gaze again, cheeks flushing with heat that had nothing to do with the exertion of dancing around on stage.

His features relaxed and he dropped his arms. “What’s wrong?”

Lyric released her posture too and shook out her hands. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

His eyes bored into hers until she spoke again. “Being on stage—it was just a lot and I didn’t want to sit in the green room. I’m—”