Rooster’s face slips into a neutral expression. “Thank you.”
“All right.” Ice slaps Rooster’s shoulder and gives me a quick handshake. “Shiny side up!” he shouts to everyone.
That seems to be the cue for the guys to fire up their bikes. The deafening rumble fills the parking lot. Heidi whoops and waves to us from her spot on the back of Murphy’s bike. Trinity also turns to wave. Murphy and Steer ended up at the front of the pack, followed by Wrath and Pants, Dex and Jigsaw, and finally Griff and Remy. The guys had teased Griff and Remy about making them ride behind the RV but ultimately decided that wouldn’t be safe and allowed them to ride in the last position of the pack. I assume the choice of formation has to do with their positions in the club but don’t ask for details.
“Ready?” Rooster asks.
“Heck, yeah.” I hurry over to my side but Rooster’s right behind me to open my door and give me a boost into the cab of the truck.
As I gaze out the window, taking in the peacefulness of the mountains behind the clubhouse, I feel like a newborn baby bird leaving my nest of safety. Older, wiser, and more jaded than when I started the tour. But the few days I spent here holed up at the clubhouse helped me regain some of my confidence.
Look out world, Shelby Morgan’s back, surrounded by bikers, and taking no shit!
Chapter Thirty-Six
Shelby
We’ve missed so many dates—most of the Southeastern Coast leg of the tour, to be exact—but Dawson was able to reschedule the one in Atlanta, so that’s where my triumphant return to the stage ends up.
It’s a sultry night. Everyone’s excited. Backstage is bursting with people—new security people, Dawson’s regular road crew, Rooster’s club brothers.
Still, I’m shaking in my boots when the time comes to make my entrance.
Deep breath.
Walk out with your head held high.
Trent nods as I pass him and my lips quiver into something that I doubt looked all that reassuring.
I should be excited to be back on stage, right?
All my armor’s in place—makeup, hair, dress, boots, microphone—but as I stare out into the crowd, I can’t open my mouth. What if another wacko is out there waiting to attack?
I open my mouth but can’t follow through.
The band keeps playing even though I’ve missed my cue.
My mouth opens.
No sound comes out.
This is bad.
I’m better than this. The urge to stamp my foot in frustration sizzles down my leg. Instead, I beam at the crowd. My smile falters, some people are startin’ to look at me a lil’ funny.
I glance over my shoulder. Rooster’s waiting, blocking the entrance to the stage. Murphy’s inconspicuously tucked into a corner—well, as inconspicuously as someone his size can be—his black leather cut almost blending into the stacks of equipment, light glinting off his dark red hair. My gaze pings to the right. Wrath and Pants are stationed on the opposite side of the stage. Wrath’s heavily muscled and tattooed arms are crossed over his broad chest, his gaze scanning the crowd while Pants’ bulky frame blocks the entrance to the stage.
I turn to Rooster. He flashes a confident smile, nods, and gives me a thumbs up. “You’ve got this,” he mouths.
I glance at the space below the stage reserved for photographers and other show workers. Trinity’s crouched with her camera, aimed and ready. Heidi stands behind her, weighed down with two bags of equipment, alert and waiting, cheeks pink with excitement.
An awful lot of people here to watch me choke.
So much for my victorious return to the stage after my “horrible ordeal,” as Miranda keeps calling it.
The more I worry about embarrassing myself, the harder it gets to open my mouth.
Finally, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“Sometimes your white knight rides a Harley,
Sometimes he saves you from drowning
When you’re only in three feet of water…
I’ve had a lot of dreams come true,
But none as sweet as your rescue
Hello, stranger,
Am I in danger?
Only of losing my heart,
I knew it from the start
Soon I’ll be singing in different towns,
And you’ll give some other girl your crown
I knew I was in danger,
Of losing my heart to a stranger…”
As the last words leave my lips, I stand in the middle of the stage, head bowed, absorbing the crowd’s appreciation. The realization of how much my life has changed since I wrote “White Knight” washes over me.
I haven’t lost my heart. I’ve given it freely and willingly to a man who supports me without reservation.
In fact, there’s a damn good chance I wouldn’t be on this stage tonight if it wasn’t for Rooster.
I tip my head to the side and find him still standing in the same spot. Now he’s clapping and cheering as loudly as any member of the audience.
“I love you,” I mouth the words slowly so he can catch each one.