Musician's Monsoon by Brieanna Robertson Page A

until her gaze met and held Matt’s. He raised an eyebrow in question, and she yanked the guitar off as she all but ran off the side of the stage to the wings.
    Matt followed, looking somewhat panicked. “What are you doing? Are you okay?”
    “I need something strong, ASAP.”
    He frowned. “Something strong?”
    “Yeah! Whiskey! Vodka! Friggin’ Wild Turkey! I don’t care what it is! You’re a rock star. I know you guys have to have something handy!” The drum tech handed her a bottle of Southern Comfort and muttered something about how Wild Turkey was whiskey. She ignored him, sighed in relief and unscrewed the top. “Thank goodness. Now I know why you people all drink so much.” She chugged back about a shot’s worth and the fiery, much-too-sweet liquid burned a path down her asphyxiating throat and into her gyrating stomach.
    Matt chuckled. “Liquid courage at its finest.”
    She downed one more slug and made a face, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don’t need courage. I need a psychiatrist. This is insane.” She handed the bottle back to the drum tech and expelled a forceful breath.
    “Better? Do you need me to get Zane?”
    Why did everyone keep asking her that? “No, I do not need you to get Zane. I am a grown woman. I don’t need a daddy or a bodyguard. I just needed a couple shots of something to kill the dancing gnome in my stomach.” She squared her shoulders. “All right.” She slipped the bass back on and faced the stage.
    “You good?” he queried.
    She gave a curt nod and tromped back out, determined to see the job through.
    Zane and Rhonda looked slightly petrified when she glanced at them upon her return. Zane started toward her, but she held up her hand as she took her position.
    Rhonda hurried over to her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay, sister?” she whispered in her ear.
    Sophie nodded. “Better now. I needed a tiny me moment.”
    “You good to go on?”
    She set her jaw and lifted her chin. “Let’s do this thing.” She strummed the strings on the bass to check the pitch, which drew random screaming from audience members.
    Rhonda smiled and turned back to the crowd, keeping her arm around Sophie. She lifted the mike she held in her other hand. “All right, everybody, how about a little bit of action?” Screaming. “Maybe a little bit of pile-driving?” More screaming.
    Sophie couldn’t help but smile as the band, herself included, launched into one of their most famous songs, “Pile-driver . ”It was the first song she had heard from Shadows Rising, the one that had hooked her, and it made her chuckle because now it reminded her of what Lorraine had done to poor Zane only two nights ago.
    As the last forty-eight hours replayed themselves through her mind at whirlwind speed and mixed with the alcohol tingling its way through her veins, complete joy began to chase out the feelings of all-consuming terror she had just been feeling.
    Look where you are right now! You’re playing bass for Shadows Rising! You’re playing on stage with Zane Blake! You are part of Shadows Rising right now!
    She grinned as the jubilation took over, and she found the upper half of her body moving in time to the beat of the song. Not only that, but her legs had somehow managed to spread themselves into a power stance.
    She closed her eyes and listened to the familiar song. She never would have thought all those years ago that she would one day be playing on stage in San Diego the exact same song that had first introduced her to metal, to Shadows Rising, to Zane and his amazing talent. What had happened to her life in the past two days?
    A whole lot of stuff that you shouldn’t take for granted.
    Wasn’t that the truth? So many people would be so envious of where she had managed to end up right now. She needed to soak up this moment, and cherish it. Something like it may never come again.
    As she returned from her meandering thoughts and the song winded