Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) (6 page)

I’m surprised there’s no more ribbing interrupting the
silence as I hesitate. I glance back at Casey, and my chest suddenly gets
heavy. He knows. I can tell by the look on his face that he understands what
this moment means to me, and all the teasing is gone from his expression. He’s
no longer worried about butterflies, just me.

I suck in my breath and turn back to the audience, finally able
to breathe again when my eyes rest on the lone judge seated in the center of
the first row. It’s Callie. Just Callie, gazing up at me, eyes full, waiting
for me to be the person she discovered.

I wrote it in D. I have to start trusting myself at some
point. As the music pours out, I can almost feel the suffocating curtain start
to lift.

“Crawl in,
crawl out

Terrified but
moving now

Claw
up
,
slide down

There’s no
going back, can’t go back

Break
down
,
break out

Break
down
,
break out

Brand new day
feast on the dark

Shuttered
light, reluctant spark

Growing dawn
and setting sun

Fight song of
the desperate one.

Cocoon
shredding

Past, heading
straight for the wall

No more regretting,
just breathing

Underwater

Too late to
choose, too far to fall

Nowhere to go
but on

No more
excuses, no denial

No holding on
to lost time

Break out,
I’m breaking out

Brand new day
release the dark

A new light,
the smallest spark

Growing dawn
and setting sun

Fight song of
the desperate one.

Break
it down
,
break it

Breaking out,
just break it, break it”

I hadn’t even realized I’d closed my
eyes until the last note lingers in the air, in the darkness behind my eyelids.
I open them, and am shocked, a little shaken, when I see Holland seated next to
Callie. They both are staring at me with grave expressions as I back away from
the
mic
and face my band.

“I mean. I’m still working on it,” I
explain into the silence. “Just…”

“It’s awesome, man,” Casey says,
cutting off my instinctive apology. “I love it. We haven’t done anything that
hard in a long time.”

“Yeah, dude. That bridge is sick,”
Sweeny echoes. “Can we run it again? I have a couple things I want to try.”

“Yes! Definitely,” Casey agrees. “We’ve
got plenty of time. How’s it sounding out there, Miles?” he calls to the front-of-house
engineer.

“Guitar and vocal sounded great! Love
the new stuff. Would also love to get a full check now,” Miles returns into our
ears.

I swallow, unnerved
by the sudden warmth spreading through me.
I don’t know what to do with it, and turn back to Callie and…Holland is gone.

∞∞∞∞

“Luke! Hey!”

I stop on my way back to the bus and
turn toward Tess, our road manager.

“How’s everything? Did you get a chance
to grab some food?”

I smile and nod. “Yep. Thanks, Tess.”

“What about the bus? Does anything need
to be restocked before we roll out tonight?”

“I don’t think so.
Maybe
a few bottles of water.
Hey, do you know if Gary is all good to take
care of Tracing Holland tonight?”

“Yes! He’s all set.”

“Did he get in touch with Steven?”

“Steven?”

“Holland’s backline tech
who
had to leave.”

Tess waves her hand. “Oh, right! Sorry,
I can’t believe I forgot his name. I don’t know, but I’ll check.” She quiets,
and I brace myself. It’s that look I’ve come to dread. The “you’re-a-fragile-little-dandelion-but-we-love-you”
look.

“How are you, Luke? How’s it been being
back?”

“I’m good,” I answer. As if I’d say
anything else. “It’s an adjustment, but going ok.”

“You sure? You’ll let me know if
there’s anything you need, right?”

I try to hold in my sigh at the
familiar script. She means well. They all mean well. “Yes, of course. I’ll let
you know, but I’m good,” I repeat.

I don’t know if she believes me or not,
but at least she seems to understand that’s the best she’ll get. I have this
conversation memorized at this point. There are a few versions of it and I’m
grateful that Tess is sensitive enough to make it the short one.

“Ok, well, I’ll go check with Gary and
Holland to make sure they’re all set. Kill it tonight, ok?” she says, swatting
my arm as she passes.

I manage to return her smile before the
resigned sigh escapes. Dandelion Luke. I guess it has a certain ring to it.
Beats Train-Wreck Luke anyway.

Atlanta, Georgia

September
15

“Donuts!
Coffee if you want it!” our tour manager Kenneth calls, waving in the
promoter’s assistant whose arms are loaded with provisions. I jump up from the
couch to help him set his load on the table in the lounge of the bus. Eli and
Sweeny are still in their bunks, and Callie and Casey are giggling in the back
behind closed doors. I can tell Kenneth is annoyed at his small audience, but
that’s nothing new.

“Where is everyone?” he asks, gripping his binder with white
knuckles.

I struggle to suppress my grin as I shrug, amused by his abhorrence
of all things rocker-living. Kenneth is a fantastic tour manager, but I can’t
imagine a worse career for the rigid, detail-oriented drill sergeant than
dealing with a busload of entitled, Type B artists day-in and day-out.

“I’ll fill them in, don’t worry. What’ve you got?” I assure
him before his eyes burst from their sockets.

He mutters something and shakes his head in an attempt to
refocus on his thick, tabulated binder. I grab a coffee from the tray and lean
back, waiting for my instructions. I can sense the young assistant’s gaze and
glance over, even more amused at his obvious awe as he hovers at the top of the
stairs. He knows his job is done but is reluctant to end his brief moment inside
the walls of this legendary shrine. I’ve seen it a thousand times and it still
makes me smile.

“Come grab a donut,” I call over to the poor kid, half to be
nice and half to watch the shocked horror cross Kenneth’s face. Breakfast with
the help is most definitely not on his schedule.

The assistant has no idea what to do with my comment and
just stares at me from the top step. I smile to myself and pull one from the
box as if demonstrating the process of eating for my two companions. He’s now gazing
up at Kenneth who’s glaring at me. I don’t know why I find this whole thing so funny,
but I’m about to egg them on further when we hear shuffling. I turn and see Eli
staggering toward us, sleep still in his eyes, right hand rubbing his messy
hair.

“Oh hey, Kenny. Coffee? Fantastic,” he mumbles, grabbing another
cup from the tray. He drops beside me on the couch and takes a sip. Oh god. “Kenny.”
Kenneth hates that!

“What’d I miss?”

I have to restrain a laugh at the expression on Kenneth’s
face as he scans his pages with suppressed ire.

“Nothing yet, Eli. Thanks for joining us. We were just about
to begin. Now, I know we’ve had a tight schedule the last few days, and it will
continue in Atlanta. We’ll have a nice break in Myrtle Beach starting tomorrow,
but for now, I need you all to adhere to the plan and hang on for one more day
until…”

“Can you book us each a room here?” Eli interrupts. “I need
a real shower. Like, a big-ass ginormous one. I’m sick of sharing.”

I turn away to hide my smirk. I can’t tell if Eli is just
trying to get under Kenneth’s skin or is really so oblivious. He has that dry
delivery that makes it impossible to be sure. Either way, it’s hilarious
watching the older man’s world crumble.

“Not in Atlanta, no. I’ve booked one for you to share for
your cleanup today as usual, but that’s it. You will have a few rooms in Myrtle
Beach. Perhaps you can hold out until tomorrow? I will do my best at finding ‘big-ass’
amenities on such short notice.”

I almost die. It’s everything I can do to hold it all
inside. Eli just sighs and closes his eyes. It actually looks like he’s gone
back to sleep, and I jab him in the ribs. He jumps and glares at me.

“Kenneth is giving us the schedule,” I explain, and we have
to look away from each other so we don’t burst out laughing. Yep, Eli is
totally playing him. Shit, I’m about to lose it and Kenneth’s fuse is already
lit.

“Thank you, Luke,” Kenneth continues, thankfully missing my gentle
sarcasm. “As I was saying, lunch will be available in catering from 11:30 to 2:30.
Please do not ask them to hold it again like in New Orleans. Three hours should
be plenty of time and…”

“Hey, that was Sweeny!” Eli defends, and I kick him under
the table. “
Ow
! What? It was!” he cries, and I roll
my eyes, before turning back to Kenneth.

“You know what? Here,” our tour manager grumbles. “Why don’t
I just leave this with you, and you all can read it at your leisure.” He pops
open the rings of the binder and yanks out the schedule. You know he’s had it
when he parts with any sliver of that binder.

“Thanks, Kenneth. We’ll review it. Promise.”

“Great. Just don’t be late for lunch,” he mutters.

“Got it,” I assure him, and have to cough to cover my laugh
when he spins and collides with the kid still standing on the steps.

“
Wha
…off!” Kenneth almost screams,
pointing toward the exit.

Eli doesn’t even try to hide his amusement and snorts so
hard, the table shakes. “God, he hates us!” he cries after we’re alone, stilling
laughing.

I grin. “You’re finding us a new tour manager when he quits.
You know that, right?”

He shrugs and wipes his eyes. “I can’t help it! It’s so
easy!”

I laugh and grab another donut.

∞∞∞

The others have gone to lunch, so I’m startled at the sound
of footsteps on the stairs of the bus. Even more so when Holland pokes her head
into the lounge and tosses me a warm smile. I can’t say I’m entirely displeased
to see her, just surprised.

“Callie told me I could find you here.”

“Should I be worried that you’re trying
to hunt me down again?”

“Only if you were lying about that ’43
J45.”

I laugh and push myself up from the
couch. “I wasn’t. Hang on.”

I retrieve the case from the back lounge
and place it on the table in the main space. She’s already exploding with
excitement, and I love that she practically forgets about me the second it
comes into view. Her eyes are glued to the case like I’ve just returned with
the crown jewels.

I open it and step back so she can
access the treasure inside, and she approaches with a solemn reverence. Her
eyes are huge as she touches the dark wood, running her fingers along the
smooth surface, gently as if it might disintegrate if she’s not careful. I love
everything about this moment, and am filled with a strange pride that she’s
able to appreciate the magnificence of the gem before her as much as I do.

“May I?” she asks, gazing at me with
almost childlike awe.

I grin and nod. “Of course. I
promised.”

“It’s nearly flawless!” she whispers,
lifting it from its case. “Almost perfect condition.”

I smile. “Yeah, I paid for that, believe
me. Everything is original.
Bridge, frets, pick
guard,
even the case. It’s the Banner model with the maple.”

She shakes her head, still staring at
it in wonder. “Um, ok. Can we just get married now so I can adopt her?”

I laugh. “I guess I’ve had worse offers
over the years. Wouldn’t that conflict with your rule though?”

She meets my gaze with a quick grin
before focusing back on the guitar. “Ugh. Damn rules.
Alright
,
enough stalling. I have to play this thing.”

She drops to a seat and balances the
guitar on her lap, her arms wrapping around it with a casual grace. She passes
a few tentative strums, and I can almost sense her shiver. I know what she’s
experiencing. I remember the first time I held it and introduced our present to
this beautiful piece of history.

“It needs to be tuned, but I’m afraid
to touch the pegs!” she cries, glancing at me again.

I shake my head with a grin. “Want me
to do it?”

She laughs. “No, I got it.” When she
finishes, she glances back at me with a sincere expression. “Luke, I’m serious.
This is amazing. Thank you.”

“You haven’t even played it yet.”

“I know, but…”

“
Here.
” I
reach in my pocket and pull out a pick. “It’s a 1mm. Hope that’s ok. I think I
have other gauges in the case.”

“This is fine,” she assures me.
“Seriously, I’d play with a soda can tab right now.”

“Um, not on my baby you won’t.”

She giggles,
then
seems to forget about me again. I’m fine with that, loving every second of
watching their connection.

When she starts to play, I almost catch
my breath.

“
Flying high as you watch me fall.

Twisting in your beautiful lies, bravo.

Hats off to your elegant show.

Take a bow, my acrobat.

You’ve won the crowd, it’s yours now, sweet acrobat.
”

I’m captivated by her voice, her
fingers on the strings. The effortless flow of her music. I love that even
though she’s playing my guitar, it belongs solely to her in this moment. When
she finishes, I have to fight the urge to just tell her to keep the damn thing.
It clearly belongs to her. I take a deep breath and force a smile, not at all
sure what to do with the sudden storm raging inside me. She’s in love with that
hollowed-out piece of wood, that much is clear, and it’s turned her face into a
masterpiece.

“One day,” she whispers, staring down
at the instrument, tracing her fingers along the smooth surface. She glances
back up at me, as if remembering my presence for the first time and gives me an
electrifying grin. “She’s gorgeous, Luke. Seriously. Just stunning.”

I swallow, managing only a quick nod.
She is.

“You’re turn,” she chirps suddenly. “You
play something now.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “Huh?”

“Um, yeah. All you, rock star.”

She jumps to her feet and hands me the
guitar. I instinctively take it, but can’t imagine doing something as intimate
as play a song for another soul a couple feet away. I can play a live broadcast
in front of millions without breaking a sweat, but this…

“Maybe another time,” I say, oddly
embarrassed.

“What? No! Please? Just something
quick! Doesn’t have to be fancy. I have to hear this girl the way she’s supposed
to be played!”

“You just did! You’re a fantastic
guitar player.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. I’m
fine, but everyone knows very few can touch you on that thing. Please, Luke!
When will I ever have a chance to watch Luke Craven play a 1943 Gibson J45 two
feet away? Don’t make me beg, because I will, then hate you for it!”

I can’t stop the shy smile and shake my
head. “Ok, ok! Fine! Geez.”

She actually does look relieved when we
switch spots so I can sit this time. I’m still hesitant, but am starting to
feel more comfortable now that I have a guitar in my hands. As I search my head
for what to play, I can suddenly think of only one song. I haven’t played it in
ages, but it was one of the first I’d mastered. I’d learned it as a child, then
embellished on it over the years, almost turning it into a different piece. My
father used to play it all the time, and to this day, I don’t know if he wrote
it, or it was just a lesser-known favorite in his repertoire. Either way, it
always held a special place in my heart.

I start picking out the elaborate
intro, almost classical in its styling, and let my fingers and instinct
takeover. Nothing else matters when I play, and I forget all about the
awkwardness of the close quarters, even the beautiful woman staring at me in
awe a few feet away. It’s
just the music and I, my father,
memories of the few brief moments of happiness sprinkled throughout my painful
life
. I wonder if my face looks like Holland’s had a few minutes ago. I
don’t dare to look at her to find out.

I sing a few verses of the song, adding
to the turns like I always do, playing with each chord, each note, like it
might be possible to discover a new one this time. I never do, but I’ve
combined enough existing ones in unique ways to at least create new experiences,
new progressions that still give me chills when I find that perfect
combination. This is my home, these moments, and the only time I feel safe,
like I’m actually ok.

The shyness returns as the song comes
to an end, and I clear my throat with an awkward smile. I realize I’d gotten
wrapped up in the moment, and wonder what she must think of me. I rise from the
bench without a word and return the guitar to its case so I don’t have to look
at her and confront her reaction.

“That was beautiful, Luke,” she says
quietly behind me. “What was it?”

I swallow and snap the latches on the
case. “I don’t know exactly. Something my father used to play all the time. He
called it the ‘Sorrow Song’ but I’m not sure why.”

“It’s amazing.
You’re
freaking amazing,” she adds, and I have no choice but to
look at her now. I almost wish I’d risked rudeness at the expression in her
eyes.

“Thanks. I’ve spent a lot of hours
fooling around on a guitar.”