CHAPTER ONE
GRIFFIN

“I  can’t believe it. We’re actually here.” The deepest tones of my voice reverberate exactly as they should off the perfectly conditioned walls of this historic theater. The last venue my father’s band played at before he gave up his dream for good.

“Almost show time. Are you amped?” Ridge asks as he checks the connections between our equipment and the sound system. Amaryllis is a very well-oiled machine and Ridge is the one who keeps it that way.

He’s right.

I should be amped, but I’m not.

“It’s a tough day, man,” I finally choke out.

He nods knowingly and goes back to his work. He’s built a reputation in the industry of being the only stage production manager who can make his acts sound better live. We’re lucky, he’s been with us since the start.

I shake my head to clear the fog from my head. Get it together. I’m finally playing the one venue that’s been my dream since I was eight years old and picked up Dad’s strat for the first time. I used to play along with the radio and dream of performing on a big stage, especially this stage. It happens to be the same venue where my father played his first—and last—gig.

How often does that happen, right?

One week after Dad’s debut, which received rave reviews by the way, my parents found out I was about seven-months from my own world debut. Of course, they already had Nash, my older brother, but it’s a lot harder to keep diapers and pull-ups on two kids while living the starving artist dream. Then came Adair and Travis, my younger brothers. My parents never once made us feel like they gave up anything. In fact, they told us we were their greatest blessings, but I knew…

Playing the Tulsa Theater is my way of continuing his legacy and fulfilling his dreams, the same dreams he gave up for me, for us.

“Dude, you’re a million miles away. Look where you are.” Ridge swings his arms out wide to take in the entire backstage area of the notorious theater. “You hear those chants out there, man? The fans are intense tonight.”

I take a deep breath as I peek around the wall just enough to see every single seat in the house filled and the pit area already bursting with fans. “Am-Uh-Real-Us,” they’re chanting in unison over the sound of our debut album playing overhead.

“You’re a real piece of sh—” Carly’s words cut through the surreal moment and are followed immediately by the sound of a slamming door, as a blonde scurries out of Adair’s dressing room. She’s still tripping over her own feet from putting her stilettos back on mid-step as she cuts between them. Blondie gives Adair a wink and tosses her hair over her shoulder as she pushes past Carly.

Typical.

My brother Adair is our bassist, and Carly’s right. He’s a real piece of shit sometimes. He also has the most fragile heart of anyone I’ve ever met, but it looks like tonight he’s more a P.O.S. than anything else.

Nash rolls his eyes after watching the chaos unfold around our younger brother and cups his hands over his mouth, “C’mon, Amaryllis. Attention!” He has a confidence that seeps out of his pores, and zero tolerance for the backstage drama. The entire Amaryllis family comes out of the woodwork to take their place, as soon as they hear his voice.

Well almost the entire family…

“Where the hell is Stone?” Nash’s voice turns into a growl. “You were supposed to talk to him.”

“I did!” Nigel is our manager, and he’s also the one who The Machine has tasked with keeping Stone from self-destructing on this tour. His eyebrows pull together causing his forehead to wrinkle the way a cat’s body ripples up when it stretches. It’s always been hard for me to take Nigel seriously, especially when he’s concerned, because I can’t shake those cartoon cat images. “I’ll go find him,” he says as he bolts off down the corridor. We’ve always held to the core belief that Amaryllis isn’t just the four of us, it takes the whole team to keep this train on the tracks, but Stone hasn’t been a functioning part of the team in a while.

“Listen up,” Nash says as he puts his hand in the circle. I recognize the darkness in his eyes. We’ll have a discussion later about what to do with Stone, but for now he’s focused on replacing any negative energy with positivity and just getting through the show. Carly is still hanging back, outside the circle, no doubt trying to keep her distance from Adair. I don’t blame her. She’s been with us since our garage band days. It wouldn’t be the same without her in the pre-show ritual, so I motion for her to join me on the opposite side of the circle.

Nash motions for the stage crew to throw their hands in, it’s a ritual by now. We all go through the motions with him as hands pile on top of his. Ridge is the last one to reach out because he was still checking the connections. He has a work ethic that just won’t quit, and I for one am grateful because I would probably sound like shit on a stick out there if it weren’t for him. Adair and Travis are bickering amongst themselves and judging by the distorted look on Adair’s face he’s probably getting an earful about what a dumbass he is.

Nash clears his throat and cuts a shut-up glare in their direction, and they do. For now, anyway. “You all give us the power to live this dream. Do you hear that?” Nash pauses, giving us all time to let the cheers and chants sink in. “The fans are yelling Amaryllis, but that’s not just us.” He pops Adair on the back and jabs Travis in the arm. They add their hands to the mix with mine right in the middle. “It’s for all of you too.” He makes eye contact with every single crew member in the circle. “Without you, there would be no Amaryllis. Thank you for giving us this chance. We will make you proud tonight, because you make us proud to be a part of this family every single day.”

“Aye.” Travis, Adair, and I echo. I can’t help but notice how Adair doesn’t take his eyes off Carly. I doubt she’s noticed because she’s kept her focus trained on the concrete floor this whole time. He may have finally crossed that line of no return.

“One person, one family, one love can change the world,” Nash says as he lowers his hand letting all of ours follow his lead. “Let’s show them what it means to be…” He pushes up to break the circle and we all respond with our ritualistic affirmation. “Amaryllis,” we yell with our hands balled up into fists in the air.

“Let’s show Tulsa what they’ve been missing all these years,” Adair snorts as he pats me on the back, brushing into Carly on his way toward the side stage stairs.

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes and takes her position behind two laptops at the sound center, still cursing him under her breath as she pops the headphones over her ears.

Nash wraps one arm around my shoulders. “You okay, bro?”

I should have known he’d be the one that would notice how off I am tonight. “I just wish he was here to see it.” The heartache is always there, but it’s times like this that it goes from being a constant dull throbbing ache to a full-blown knife through my heart.

“Me too, man. This day never gets easier.” He gives me a smile and a pat on the back. “Can’t focus on that right now though.”

“Why not?” I know very well why not, but I’m a stubborn ass sometimes.

Nash’s mouth distorts in a grimace. “The crowd is screaming and chanting our name. We’re in the legendary Tulsa Theater. And…”

“It’s yet another night that we’re not going to have an encore because Stone, our deadbeat keys and synth player, is drunk off his ass and probably high on whatever he could get his hands on?” I finish his sentence for him.

“Bingo.”

If you’re thinking, so what? Bands don’t always have encores. That is true, but this is Tulsa. Tulsa is notorious for demanding encores. If you don’t give them one then, you can bet your career, you won’t play this town again.

Brutal.

We only have one song that we actually need Stone for, and guess which one it is…

“How am I going to get us out of this one?” I ask knowing what Nash’s answer will be.

“Another lame-ass cover of some song we all grew up listening to on the radio.”

“Right. It’ll be fine.”

“Dallas let it slide and Nigel was still able to secure a second date for us in the amphitheater on our way back through.”

That’s one thing that I can say for Nigel, he makes sure we always have gigs and they aren’t anything like the little dives we played before The Machine picked us up. Truthfully, I liked the little dives better because they were more forgiving. It was an intimate experience being that close to your audience. I could have an actual conversation with them from the stage. If I needed to say, ‘That idiot Stone is trashed again, so we’re going to play a cover.’ I could say it with no judgment.

But this isn’t a little dive.

And we aren’t playing for small intimate audiences anymore. These fans paid a premium price per ticket, even for the nosebleed seats. Our rockstar dreams came true and it’s time to live up to the expectations, as much as it might suck sometimes.

Christ.

I missed my mark.

Nash is looping his opening riffs to cover for me since I’m back here licking my wounds.

Time to suck it up and put on the persona The Machine insists I portray if I expect to continue getting those very nice seven-figure deposits.

I hate it.

I love the music and the fans, but I hate pretending to be something I’m not.

I can’t keep being a puppet on a string for The Machine.

I also can’t walk away—yet.In the meantime… Tulsa, meet Griffin Miller. I inhale a deep breath to muster up all the energy and wait for my cue to come back around. When I hear Nash hit the note, I plow onto the stage, “Tulsa!” I growl into the microphone as I make my way to center stage.

The mixture of fog, lights, flashing lasers, my astigmatism, and whatever else they put into the air to keep the crowd happy… It’s all just a mix for a big bunch of blurry fuzzy whatnots. A brunette at the front of the pit catches my eye with her wide smile and black ripped jeans.

There’s an energy in her eyes that I haven’t seen before.
It’s mesmerizing.
Shit.

Ridge is trying desperately to realign the spotlight since I stopped short and totally missed my mark because I was too busy watching her and how she just fell into the rhythm of the music playing behind me. I take two big steps and reposition myself into the spotlight, so I can do my job and keep this crowd revved up.

They all look the same, except her.