The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, begging to be released. But I clench my teeth, trapping them inside.
I hold his gaze, fighting to remain grounded instead of tumbling headfirst into a stare that heats my blood hotter every time I see it.
“See you inside,” I say softly before making my escape.
Okay, man. Yeah. Got it. And seriously, thanks. I mean it. There’s anything I can do for you, holler. All right?”
Dallas disconnects the call and his shining blue eyes flicker first to me, where I’m standing applying rosin to my bow, then over to where Gavin has just joined us.
“That was Levi Eaton,” he says without giving either of us time to inquire about the phone call that has him grinning almost maniacally. “His band is backing out of Austin MusicFest. His keyboard player slept with the lead singer’s wife. Needless to say, they’re taking a breather.”
“Nice,” Gavin says with a touch of sarcastic awe in his voice.
“Yeah,” my brother says nodding as the door closes behind him; he looks like he’s announcing lottery winnings. “I mean, not that the dude nailed the guy’s wife. But that means there’s performance space available at the festival.”
Austin MusicFest is a five-day music festival on Sixth Street, second in size only to South by Southwest. It doesn’t pay much, but the exposure alone is worth more than we’d make in a year. Maybe even more than that.
We’ve signed up to be considered every year since we started playing seriously. But so far we haven’t been able to get onto the lineup.
“So you think we can just show up and pretend to be Levi’s band?” I set the rosin aside and join in the conversation.
“No.” Dallas laughs as if I’ve said something funny. “We’re in. As us. Levi even gave us his hotel room. Thank goodness, because otherwise we’d be sleeping in the van all week.”
The air vacates my lungs as if Dallas popped them with his words. Maybe someone heard my rooftop prayer after all.
Up until now, we’ve mostly performed gigs close to home. Sure we’ve slept in the van from time to time when playing out of town, but never for more than one night at a time. And the boys always stay safely in the front seats and I crash on the bench seat in the back. When on the road we sleep in shifts and take turns driving the hunk of junk we lovingly named Emmylou after my infatuation with Emmylou Harris.
This will be different. Much different.
“There are over one hundred managers attending and at least as many booking agents and record label execs. This is it. This is our shot. Finally.” My brother beams at us. “We’ll leave tomorrow night.” His eyes widen as they meet mine. “We’re in. Holy shit, we’re in.”
The guys are fist-bumping and celebrating while I try to process what this means. My mouth is dry when my gaze makes its way over to the tattooed, tortured soul grinning from behind his drum kit.
I’ve done the best I can to keep my distance, to behave myself and not open my mouth and let my heart fall out. It would ruin everything.
One week. One hotel room. Our shot at finally making it.
I don’t know if I can do this.
I just know that I have to.
Chapter 3
THE DRIVE TO AUSTIN TAKES A LITTLE OVER SEVEN HOURS. I SLEEP as much as one can in a moving vehicle in the backseat for most of the ride. During the few stretches where the three of us are all conscious at the same time, we discuss possible changes to the set list, ideas for reworking a few songs, and rough spots that need to be smoothed out in one of our newer ones.
When we pull into the parking lot at the Days Inn where Levi had booked the room he’s letting us use, we’re all a little road weary and yet keyed up with excitement and nerves.