Page 70 of Thirsty Bodyguard Summer

“That’s all I need.”

Rafi’s voice came through her earpiece. “Route is clear. Two-minute call.”

Cassidy pulled away first.

The wardrobe assistant returned and helped me into the champagne bomber. The thin gold details caught the mirror lights. My in-ear monitors were fitted and tested. Someone handed me a microphone.

The bass from the opening track pulsed through the floor.

Cassidy opened the door.

“Move.”

I followed her into the corridor.

Crew members pressed against the walls to leave the route open. An SBS agent moved ahead. Rafi held the junction. Cassidy remained beside me, close enough that the back of her hand brushed mine once as we reached the wing.

Noise surged through the pavilion.

Thousands of people chanted my name.

Four years ago, I’d believed that sound belonged to someone I’d stopped being.

Now it rolled through the floor, up my legs, and into every part of me that remembered how to use it.

The stage manager raised one finger.

Cassidy checked the path from my mark to the center riser.

The house lights dropped.

The pavilion erupted.

I looked at her.

She stood in dark navy and charcoal, hair secured, earpiece in place, one arm already darkening from the monopod she’d stopped.

“See you after,” I said.

She held my gaze.

“Make them remember why they came.”

The opening bass hit.

I ran onto the stage.

White light burst across the pavilion.

The sound hit me hard enough to shake the riser.

I caught the first lyric on the downbeat and let the crowd take the last word of the line. Thousands of voices answered. The band drove into the chorus behind me while the dancers crossed from both wings.

My breath settled.

I stepped, turned, inhaled, and sang.

I hit the jacket cue on time.