Read Online Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) by Alyson Santos - Free Book Online Page B

intuition.
    “Huh?”
    I shake my head. “Never mind. Someone told me once that I’m
like a painting. People like to look but no one dares to come near it. That I
wouldn’t let them even if they wanted to.”
    Callie’s expression changes. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve just invited a
conversation I don’t want to have anywhere, let alone at a folding table in
catering with crewmembers a few feet away.
    “Who said that to you?”
    I stare at my plate. “It doesn’t matter. Do you think it’s
true?” I ask, daring to meet her gaze again. It’s too late to go back now.
    Her eyes search me, the compassion I so admire filling my
soul with that strange warmth that’s been creeping in lately.
    “Yeah, actually, I do think it’s true. It’s a great metaphor
for you, but it’s their loss, Luke. It is, for sure, but it’s also not fair of
you to keep denying the rest of the world the beauty inside you. You’re just as
much to blame.”
    My stomach drops. There should be a defensive quip rising to
my tongue right about now, but instead I’m locked in stunned silence. I don’t
know how to respond. Nothing seems to fit.
    “Luke, I’m serious. You’re ready. I know you’re ready.”
    I suck in my breath. “I am? Ready for what?”
    She smiles as she shrugs. “I don’t know. For whatever’s next.”

 
    ∞∞∞

 
    “ Hello. Hello. Greetings
from the inside. Hello. Hello. Framed in all your lies… ”
    The crowd is screaming along with me, twenty-thousand backup singers belting out the now famous chorus as I lean into the mic , emptying my lungs of the music exploding in my chest.
I can’t actually hear their cries as the click track and mix pour into my ears
from my IEMs, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t stop the adrenaline, the rush
of being on stage. Of being transported to that one place where everything
makes sense. The only place I don’t feel like a stranger.
    My muscles tense with each lyric, each strain toward the mic , each violent assault on my
guitar.
    “ Hello! Hello! How you
love to see me cry, always so… ”
    Sweeny kills his riff on the outro and I jump back to give
him the spotlight, letting my body take complete control from my head. It’s
just raw instinct now. A visceral heat driving me as I dominate
the stage, my tiny kingdom. Lights flashing, haze swirling around us. I’m exhausted after the long set, but I don’t want it
to end. No matter how many times I do this, no matter how many shows, songs,
hours of pouring out my soul, I never want to say goodbye. This is my home, my
giant family I will never know.
    Sweeny nods after a couple progressions, signaling the end
of his solo, and I pass it along to Casey who leads us out with a huge fill.
Sweeny, Eli, and I join in, hammering the last chord for a full seven seconds
as we let our bodies match the intensity of our sound.
    It’s finally time, the end, and I let go of my guitar to hop
back on the mic , grabbing it with both hands.
    “We love you!” I cry into the final barrage of music still
swelling around us. I pull out my in-ears so I can hear the roar, the deafening
air. I raise my hand in salute. “Thank you, Atlanta! Good night!”

 
    Myrtle Beach, South Carolina
    September
16-19

 
 
    I am so
grateful for my own room again when we roll into Myrtle Beach that I pretty
much determine I don’t want to leave it until we have to report for the show in
three days. I stretch out on the bed, closing my eyes, breathing in the stale
hotel air like it’s a fresh mountain breeze. I’m hungry, but I can’t even
imagine leaving this sanctuary in search of food. Three days of privacy. Three
days of silence. Three days of protection from the endless looks of pity or
disdain. Three days of no inquiries, or probing, or questions about my mental
state disguised as questions about water bottles and snack food. I’m so giddy,
I almost text Callie to let her know I finally remember what happiness feels
like.