One Night with Sole Regret 04 Touch Me Read Free

an hour ago.”
    “Still in the hospital?”
    Adam nodded. “And apparently they don’t
subscribe to his favorite TV channel.”
    “Well, fuck, Adam, you don’t expect him to
watch the Disney Channel, do you?” Owen said.
    “That’s the channel he was bitching about.
Can’t miss Hannah Montana .”
    Owen jerked back in surprise. “No shit?”
    “Shit no,” Adam said. “I swear, Owen
Mitchell is a synonym for gullible.”
    “ Adam Taylor is a synonym for
asshole,” Owen countered.
    “ Gabriel Banner is a synonym for let’s
get the fuck on the stage,” Gabe said. “Isn’t it already after
nine?”
    Owen turned to watch the crew standing around
a bank of amplifiers on the stage. The head of their road crew,
Jack, was squeezed behind the sound equipment, wiggling wires and
garbling swear words around the penlight he held between his teeth.
Owen moved closer and waved down one of the onlookers.
    “What’s the hold-up?” he asked.
    “One of the new guys caught a cord with his
foot and loosened some cables. Jack is fixing it.”
    “And he needs an audience? None of you has
anything better to do five minutes after the show was
supposed to start?”
    The group scattered. In his earpiece, Owen
heard Cash, their soundboard operator, say, “That’s got it, Jack.
Owen, we’re ready when you are.”
    Owen was always ready to be on stage. He
loved that he got to start every show—a few precious seconds to
have twelve thousand screaming fans all to himself. Not many
bassists got to stand in the limelight.
    He gave the rest of the band the thumbs-up to
let them know he was starting and took the steps up to the edge of
the stage. In the near darkness, Gabe hurried to settle behind his
massive drum kit, careful not to make a sound by bumping a cymbal
with those long limbs of his. As soon as he collected his sticks,
Owen began his bass riff. The crowd roared and whistled as the
first sound thrummed. The curtain dropped and a blinding white
light lit Owen from above as he sauntered across the stage playing
the repetitive bass line of “Darker.” He gave no indication that a
surge of adrenaline had his heart galloping a mile a minute as he
slowly made his way toward center stage. Owen lived for this shit.
He couldn’t believe this was his job. For the rest of his life,
Owen would worship at the altar of rock god Kellen Jamison for
sending him down the path of wickedness. Kelly had been the one
who’d forced Owen to learn to play guitar in an effort to get him
laid in high school. It hadn’t worked then—chubby bassists didn’t
get the girls—but it worked like a charm now.
    The crowd got louder and louder as Owen
pretended to ignore them. When he reached his target—a white X
taped at the exact center of the stage floor—Gabe entered the song
with a wickedly rapid drum progression. Owen pivoted, beamed a
smile at the crowd, and dashed toward the audience as the rest of
the band entered the stage and the song.
    The entire band was pumped tonight, which
guaranteed an amazing performance. Shade was in a great mood and
joked around with the audience and with Adam. The pair had talked
out some of their problems that morning, but Owen had had no idea
that a simple conversation would make such a noticeable difference
in the feel of the show. Owen and Kelly always had a great time
onstage; they were completely relaxed in each other’s company and
loved hamming it up for the crowd. Shade and Adam, on the other
hand, had spent the last couple of years acting as if they were at
war with one another both onstage and off. Owen couldn’t believe
how much the atmosphere had changed overnight.
    Between “Going Down” and “Heaven to Pay,”
Owen slipped into the wings and grabbed a bottle of water from a
roadie. He chugged the cool fluid while Shade told the crowd a
story about their lead guitarist falling off the stage in New
Jersey.
    “Face planted right on the cement,” Shade
said, slapping one palm against the