Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 60978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
The woman on stage bore little resemblance to the exhausted mother I’d comforted in a hospital parking garage. This Eliza radiated joy and energy, commanding the space around her with a presence expanding beyond her small frame. Her hair whipped around her face as she moved, catching the red lights transforming her into something wild and devastatingly beautiful.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. My heart pounded against my ribs, my palms suddenly damp against my coffee mug. I’d spent years carefully maintaining emotional distance from every woman I met, knowing I had nothing to offer beyond sex. Yet watching Eliza transform on that stage stirred something in me I thought had died along with my career, something both exhilarating and terrifying.
“She’s something else, huh?” Knight appeared beside me again, his knowing grin making me want to punch him. “Who knew the girl had that in her?”
I grunted noncommittally, not trusting my voice. My fingers itched with the familiar urge to wrap around a microphone, to feel the weight of a guitar in my hands. Music had been my life once, my salvation and my downfall all at once. I’d sworn off performing after prison, the memory of what I’d lost too painful to revisit.
I felt a presence on my other side and turned to find Hannah standing there, arms crossed over her chest, watching me with a determined expression I’d learned to fear. Reflexively, I swallowed hard as she held my gaze.
“Well?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What are you waiting for?” This was the president’s old lady throwing her weight around, leaving no room for argument.
“Not happening,” I replied, turning back to my cold coffee. “She’s doing fine on her own.”
Hannah snorted, an unladylike sound conveying exactly what she thought of my response. “She’s doing more than fine. But you two would be magic together and you know it.”
“Hannah,” I warned, not looking at her. “Leave it alone.”
Instead of responding, she grabbed my arm with surprising strength, her fingers digging into my bicep through my cut. “Johnny Kingston, you’ve been moping around, punishing yourself for something not entirely your fault since you got to Kiss of Death. It’s time you remembered who you were before Terre Haute.”
Before I could protest further, Hannah physically pulled me from my stool, leveraging her small frame with determination, leaving me little choice but to follow or create a scene. She propelled me through the crowd toward the stage, people stepping aside with knowing smirks as we passed.
“Hannah, Goddammit,” I growled, trying to extricate my arm from her grip without hurting her. “I don’t sing anymore.”
“Tonight you do,” she replied, her voice softening slightly as she looked up at me. “You both need this, Cash. Trust me.”
We reached the edge of the stage as someone started Old Time Rock and Roll. The fuckers. Eliza launched herself into the song, taking off with the first verse like she’d been born to sing the song. Hannah gave me a firm push, sending me toward the steps, brooking no argument. Her expression dared me to walk away.
With a muttered curse, I climbed the steps to the stage, feeling everyone in the fucking bar staring straight at me. God, it was just like the first time I took the stage on my own. I was fucking terrified. Just maybe for different reasons this time.
Or maybe not.
Eliza spotted me approaching and faltered mid-lyric, her eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, I thought she might stop singing altogether, might reject my intrusion into her moment. Instead, her startled expression radiated pure joy as she extended her hand toward me, offering the shared microphone.
I hesitated only a moment before stepping fully into the light beside her, accepting the microphone with a steady hand when I quaked on the inside.
When the next verse began, I let my voice join hers, the rich baritone I’d once been proud of merging with her clear, powerful alto. The sound of our voices blending together sent a shock through me, a perfect harmonic chemistry I hadn’t experienced in years. Eliza’s eyes widened slightly, her lips curving into a genuine smile as she recognized the same thing I did. We sounded good together. Damn good.
The crowd felt it too. A roar of approval rose from the packed floor, bodies pressing closer to the stage as brothers and their women whistled and cheered. Someone cranked the volume higher.
I’d forgotten this feeling, the pure adrenaline rush of performance, the way music could transform a room full of strangers into a unified whole. The sheer power of holding a crowd in the palm on your hand was the greatest fucking feeling in the world. I’d forgotten how it felt to connect with another person through song, to find a rare, perfect blend where two voices became something greater than either alone.