With The Band (Long Hot Summer) by Cassie Mint

Author:Cassie Mint [Mint, Cassie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Cherry Publishing
Published: 2021-07-28T18:30:00+00:00

Five

Ainsley

The tour bus sways off the road, pulling into the loading dock for the next venue. It’s a big stadium, a modern-day colosseum, with brick walls stretching far overhead. This morning, the dock is quiet. Ghostly. The city is sleeping, and there’s no one around except for the stadium workers, their cigarette ends smoldering like fireflies in the pre-dawn shadows.

Tonight, though, this building will come alive. Music will pulse through the speakers, loud enough to rattle the concrete underfoot, and the roar of the crowd will press against our eardrums. Sweat and beer will hang in the air like mist, and bright spotlights will arc through the darkness.

It’s incredible. Something wild and wonderful to behold, and after nearly three weeks with Midnight Pride, I’m still not used to it. Every show steals my breath, same as the first one.

And every time I watch Blake onstage, my heart beats near out of my chest.

I hop down off the tour bus first, while the great beast is still settling on its wheels. My hiking boots thud against the concrete, and I scrape my hair back into a high ponytail as I wander toward the workers.

I always help unload. Every single time. It’s the least I can do, after Blake and the rest of Midnight Pride took me in. And though I can’t know how long my time with them will last, I’m determined not to take a single second for granted.

I watch every show.

Help unload at every venue.

And I stare at Blake like it might burn his handsome face onto my retinas.

I blew it yesterday. Jeez, I was so close. So freaking close, and then when he stared at me so wide-eyed, I couldn’t force the words out. It was like I could see his mouth turning down in disgust. Could feel his disappointment before I even said a thing.

No. No, I can’t risk it. He means too much to me.

Maybe I’m not brave after all.

“Morning, Ainsley,” one of the roadies calls, and I lift a hand in greeting. It’s too early for me to form proper sentences—I’ve never been a morning person—but they’re used to me starting out mute. As the hours pass and we get all the gear inside, I’ll gradually wake up, and then I’ll be bright and chatty with everyone.

Soon. But not yet.

Instead, I chew on my bottom lip as I wait in line by one of the trucks. One of the roadies cranks the big metal door open, swinging it open wide, then a heavy ramp is dragged to the lip. Huge black flight cases with silver edges rumble down the ramp, one by one, pushed by invisible hands inside the truck, and our line shuffles forward, coming to meet each case as it hits the concrete.

I slap my palms down on my case, grunting at the impact, and shove it hard to make it turn the right way. My shin stings as I push it across the loading dock—must’ve clipped my leg when I caught it—but I don’t falter.

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