Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)
That’s right, assholes. Best part of the show’s about to start.
The band launches into “Big Lies” and by the time they’re finished and headed into the second song, the inside seats have filled with more people.
“That one always draws them in,” Greg shouts near my ear.
“I see that.”
“She’s really got something special. Dawson’s been fantastic exposure for her, but I need to get her a tour with a later time slot.”
Unsure why he’s bothering to explain any of this to me, I nod along.
After three songs, Shelby slows things down. Someone brings her an acoustic guitar and slips it over her head. She turns away, plucking a few strings and signaling to her drummer, then Trent, before turning back to the microphone.
“This song’s real special to me.” Her husky voice comes through the speakers tinged with sadness. “I wrote it about my baby sister. It’s called ‘Empty Room.’”
She closes her eyes for a moment.
Sister?
Shelby’s never mentioned a sister. I’ve spent time at the house she shares with her mom outside San Antonio. Never saw any indication anyone aside from the two of them lived there. Hell, no one else could fit in that place.
Front and center on the stage, she strums a chord or two. A few seconds later, her voice pours from her soul, firm and heartbreakingly clear.
“Everyone says remember the good times,
Hold them in your heart
Bright memories,
Funny days,
The good times.But all I see is solitude,
The broken hearts,
Your empty room.”A brick of understanding lands in my gut.
Oh, Shelby. Why didn’t you ever tell me?“All that’s left is an echo,
Of a little girl’s laughter
Dry your tears in the sun,
Hold the family tighter”Every word pierces what little soul I have left.“But all I see is solitude,
The broken hearts
Your empty room.”
When she finishes, she closes her eyes and drops her head for a moment. The hush over the crowd only lasts a minute. People whistle and demand more.
Someone shouts “White Knight!” which wipes the sadness off her face. She smiles and turns her head my way. The cute eyebrow wiggle she sends me lifts the heavy cloud that settled over the stage during “Empty Room.” I can’t help laughing.
Greg’s face screws up. “You’re the one she wrote this about?”
“Apparently,” I growl, hoping he’ll shut up so I can concentrate on Shelby.
“Y’all wanna hear ‘White Knight?’” she shouts.
The audience responds with a loud and enthusiastic, “Yes!”
“All right.” She nods and strums her guitar a few times. “It’s a good time to play it. The person who inspired this song is here with me tonight. My very own white knight.”
“Sometimes your white knight rides a Harley,
And he doesn’t need an army,
To save you from drowning,
In three feet of water…”
Her clear, emotional voice throws me right back to the day we met. The soggy jeans and boots clinging to my skin as I fished her out of the San Antonio River. Shelby’s mom catching us in the shower and wondering if I was about to get a shotgun blast to the chest…all of it.
She’s embellished the song, added to it since the first time she played it in Texas. It’s much more polished now. Again, I’m in awe of this woman. Her talent, sweetness, and beauty smack me in the face every time I’m around her.
“This is already tearing up the charts,” Greg says. “We stopped and recorded it in Tennessee. I was able to get special placement on a few of the streaming services.”
“That’s good.” Now, shut up, Greg.
Uncomfortable, since she’s singing about me and I’m the farthest thing from a white knight, I focus on the audience. The seats aren’t filled yet but the people who are here appear to be huge Shelby Morgan fans. She keeps saying she’s just the opening act, downplaying her role on this tour. Or maybe it’s hard for Shelby to see it from the inside. But she’s a way bigger deal than she realizes.
My gaze strays to a guy hanging over the balcony with a huge, “Will you marry me, Shelby Morgan?” sign.
No, she won’t, asshole.
She’s mine.
At least for the next two days.
I don’t want to think about what happens after we have to say goodbye.Chapter TenShelby
“Phew!” I hurry off the stage and grab the towel Greg hands me, quickly dabbing beads of sweat from my forehead. All the stage makeup feels heavier than ever and I wish I could wash it off now instead of sitting through the next band’s set while I wait to go onstage with Dawson.
Holy shit, I’m going to sing with Dawson Roads!
I turn, scanning the area for Rooster. The man must be my good-luck charm. This is the first night of the tour Dawson’s asked me to sing with him. And Rooster’s here to see one of the biggest moments of my life.
Lordy, I better not screw it up.
My heart skips when I find him leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.