CHAPTER TWO
LONDON

Who knew a butt-dial would completely change my life? Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but it did change the direction for my Thursday night.

I was carrying Carter on my hip as per usual and hauling a bag of groceries in 

my other arm when I heard a man’s voice calling out. “Hello? Hello?” I finally unloaded my arms and fished the phone from my back pocket to find out from an overly chipper radio personality that I was the Lucky-13 caller and had just snagged a pair of tickets to the sold out Amaryllis show, right here in the historic Tulsa Theater. The prize even included a meet-the-band pass for autographs.

I almost declined.

In fact, that was my first reaction since I had never heard of Amaryllis before. The last time I listened to popular music was… Oh, about six years ago, just before Carter discovered the wide world of Sesame Street.

But I didn’t decline.

Instead, I remembered what my mom said just the day before. “Life will pass you by, if you don’t start living it.”

She was right.

I’ve sulked around for too long after being left at the altar. Luckily Nick, the runaway almost-husband, isn’t Carter’s father.

Mom was right.

I am destined to become the crazy old cat lady, unless I get out there and start living… a little.

Let’s not get carried away.

I’m not known for handling change well, least of all big changes.

I almost had a meltdown when my favorite coffee mug broke in the dishwasher. I miss that mug.

So, as you can see, I’m a hot mess. That is probably the exact reason why the universe decided to give me a kick in the bum in the form of my six-year-old giggling and swinging his feet on a Wednesday afternoon, which resulted in a butt-dial into the radio station. I should check on him. I tap my mom’s profile on my phone’s screen.

London: How is he? Do I need to come home before the show starts?

Mom: He’s fine and playing Legos with your father. Have fun, sweetie.

I know she said he’s fine, but this is the longest I’ve been out without Carter since he was born. Maybe I should just go. My stomach twists as I debate sticking it out to enjoy the show or running home. I would say that’ll teach me to carry my phone in my back pocket, but I’m excited to be here surrounded by at least five-thousand people I’ve never met before.

The stench of B.O. isn’t even as bad as I expected.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s there. But it’s a six out of ten, instead of the ten out of ten I planned for.

“London!” My best friend Casey was good enough to be my date tonight even though she much prefers the pop queens and kings to the alternative style of this band. She’s always up for anything though and is currently bobbing up and down in the sea of people trying to find me. Since she’s about the same height I’m guessing she’s having trouble, because her face keeps popping up randomly through the crowd. I think she’s actually reverted to hopping, kind of like a bunny, to see over the top of heads, and other bodies that have been lifted onto very large, very muscular shoulders.

Drool. 

“It’s a traffic jam in here,” I yell thinking she might be able to hear me as I reach around Mr. Very-muscular-shoulders to grab her hand. “Excuse us.” I smile up at the cranky man who has obviously had more than one protein shake today. His personality takes away from the hot body as he snarls at me for trying to pull my friend closer. I’ve gone from drooling to giving him a sideways glare as I pull on Casey’s hand as hard as I can. She jolts forward causing us to stumble into the fence that blocks the crowd from completely rushing the stage.

I can’t help but laugh.

Casey nudges me on the shoulder. “That’s him,” she giggles, while pointing to a security guard at the end of the row lining the stage.

“That’s who?” I’m thoroughly confused.

Casey rolls her eyes and flicks the screen of her phone. “The reason I’m late.” She points to a new contact that says Security Hottie. Judging from the profile picture, she’s not wrong. Intense blue eyes contrast against his dark skin. He’s wearing a bright yellow shirt fits tight across his pecs giving a preview of the muscle tone that must wait just beneath the thin layer fabric labeled Security. 

“Did you just meet him out front?” I’m a little envious of how easily she meets new people. I’ve always had trouble talking to people, mainly because I’m awkward and always feel like I’m going to say or do the wrong thing.

“Maybe.” She smirks and tucks her phone back into her pocket. ”Maybe not.”

I can’t even with this girl. “Didn’t you just break up with Beau last weekend?”

“No point in spending my life pinning away after another bad idea, right?” She takes a drink from her Amaryllis labeled water bottle.

“I like that,” I say pointing to the label designed to look like the amaryllis flower is blooming out of rusted and twisted metal. I admit to doing a little Googling before the show, and I found out the lead singer, who also happens to be one of the Miller brothers making up four-fifths of the band, chose the name Amaryllis because the flower was a Greek symbol for strength and beauty. “I think I might actually get some of the merchandise—just for the symbol.” It’s very artistic. 

Casey snorts and almost chokes on her water. “Just the symbol, huh?”

“The band pictures are…”

“Hot?”

I’m not going to lie, the men of Amaryllis are definitely nice eye candy, but who wants faces of people they don’t know plastered all over their walls? Not this girl.

A loud thump echoes through the auditorium as the lights shut off. The entire crowd erupts into screams and cheers. A single guitar riff echoes over the speakers and the crowd responds with a chant, “Am-Uh-Real-Us,” which I assume is the cool way to say Amaryllis. YOLO, right? I throw my hand up and chant with the crowd as the lights slowly start to come back on illuminating the stage while dense fog spills out over the crowd. Our screams and chants build louder and louder. The energy is intense, and I love every second of it. For the first time in… I can’t remember how long; anxiety leaves my brain and I’m just having fun. It makes me regret giving up music when I met my ex. He wanted me to learn the family business, which of course meant I would have zero time to donate to my own interests. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Wifely, or fiancé, duty and all that jazz. Douchebag.

Nash Miller—thank you, Google—plays another guitar riff. He’s decked out in his standard uniform of short sleeve dress shirt, vest, and denim. The heavy riff echoes and then fades through the auditorium as Travis Miller runs onto the stage and takes his position behind the massive bright orange drum set. He’s in his signature white t-shirt, black Dickie’s pants, and a whole lot of heavy metal on his wrists and fingers. He rolls the sticks across the cymbals. The crowd screams louder.

Have they forgotten that they’re supposed to chant? Are we done with chanting now? I don’t even know.

The bassist is Adair Miller and, from what I read online, he’s got a reputation of being a major hot head. Just saying.

My phone buzzes.

Mom: Carter just went to sleep. He’s got a full tummy and should sleep all night. Have fun! Love Mom.

Nash steps up to the edge of the stage and lets the reverb do its job as he claps his hands over his head.

Casey grabs my hand and throws it back into the air, jumping and screaming at the top of our lungs as Travis pounds out a hard beat to find rhythm between the guitar and bass.

The lead singer, Griffin Miller, runs out on stage with all the energy of my six-year-old first thing in the morning. Google did not do him justice. He stops short in the middle of the stage making the spotlight miss its mark. I feel bad for the spotlight operator, it would be difficult to keep up with this guy’s level of energy.

Griffin recovers quickly though.

He reaches his arm out over the front row of the crowd. “How are you, Tulsa?” he growls into the microphone. His eyes are gray under the bright lights, but they darken as he takes in the cheering fans lined up in front of him. It’s funny, because I could swear, he was looking right at me. He must live for these moments and the connection with the fans. It lights him up on the inside, I can tell because It’s pouring out through those magnetizing eyes of his. The same logo from Casey’s water bottle peeks out from underneath his red shirt collar. He must be really committed to that beauty in strength motto.

I jump and scream back to the stage. I assume everyone else is too because who could resist this guy? But I’m completely focused on the man commanding the stage, the crowd… me.

The songs are easy to fall into with the way he emotes through each verse. Every lyric feels like it’s been stripped straight from his soul, but by the second chorus I’m singing right along with the crowd and getting lost in the hard hitting thumps, which make my entire body vibrate with every note.

I can’t hear my own thoughts, only the sound of Griffin Miller’s voice and the echo of the reverb.

I could get used to this.