Leland sat on the end of a metal bench near the back of the men’s locker room in the basement of the Bridgestone Arena. The spartan confines provided a place of solitude to ponder his own fate while big name acts ran sound checks with their equipment and the venue’s sound system before the sold-out show went live.

Dressed in black jeans and a long-sleeve western shirt, he tapped his polished boots to the beat of a familiar song and rubbed his hands together. He looked good. He smelled good. But most of all, he was confident he would sound good, despite a restless night and a nervous twinge in the back of his throat. Hours away from taking the Nashville stage in front of twenty-thousand country music fans and millions of viewers at home, he felt insignificant in a venue occupied by highly acclaimed artists.

He raised his head when he heard someone enter and saw Sid approach with a black T-shirt folded over his arm. Laminated credentials hung from the lanyard around his neck. “Did you get my text?”

Leland dug his phone out of his pocket. “I never got it.”

“Must be the walls in here. The band’s warming up. Brad Siegel wants to see you.”

“Tell him to get in line.”

“Are you good?”

“Like solid gold.”

Sid put his hand on Leland’s shoulder. “Take a breath. You look as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

“Big night.”

“Lots of headline acts in the house.”

Leland pushed his phone in his pocket. “Very small fish. Very big pond.”

“You’re a piranha on guitar, and you’ve got the vocal chops. You’ll do great.” Sid smiled wryly. “It’s not like you’ll be swinging a hammer for the rest of your life if you screw this up.”

Leland cocked his right ear toward his shoulder to stretch his neck muscles. He took a deep breath to practice a consistent exhale. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Sid ignored the question and unfolded the black concert shirt off his arm. “I brought you this. A souvenir from our friends at Capital Country Records.”

Leland took the shirt. He trilled his lips as he exhaled and pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Brad Siegel never wanted me on stage. You know it. I know it. So does every record label in this city.”

“Don’t be so grim. You earned this shot. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned after thirty years in this business, it’s never underestimate the power of perseverance.”

“Have you seen Melissa?”

“Not yet.”

“She won’t return my calls,” Leland added with a somber voice.

“Give her time. Women tend to work through issues at their own pace.”

“Did Abby tell you that?”

Sid dabbed the perspiration on his forehead with a tissue. “I read it in GQ.”

“What else did you find?”

“Nothing I don’t already know. Keep your head in the game tonight. You’ve got a band to lead, and a record executive about to shit himself if you don’t tag up with him soon.”

* * *

Melissa entered a private changing room reserved for VIPs, her reflection captured in the wall-mounted mirror behind a mobile wardrobe station and a Hollywood-fashioned makeup booth. Dressed in her favorite jeans with Jimmy Choo pumps the color of candy red, she wore her hair in a layered bob with a diamond necklace resting on her red silk top. A French manicure highlighted her hands with a gleaming crescent of white nail polish.

She took a packet of pills from her clutch and set it on the rollaway cart. Let it go, she told herself, fighting the urge to succumb to old habits, knowing one pill would lead to five and then to ten with no relief from the real pain she held inside.

She checked her phone for messages and pinched a single tablet, oblivious to the knock at the door muted by an electric guitar riff during the live sound check. Her love life had come full circle, leaving her desperate for the man she wanted but couldn’t bring herself to have.

She brought the pill to her mouth and caught Sid’s reflection in the mirror. “How did you get in here?” she asked harshly, startled by his sudden appearance. She palmed the black market tablet when she faced her unexpected visitor.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Sid announced in a voice loud enough to overcome the live guitar on stage.

“Don’t you knock anymore?”

“You can’t be in here,” Sid warned. “This room’s reserved.”

“I need a minute.”

Sid noticed the pills on the rollaway cart. “You won’t solve anything with those.”

“I’m not trying to solve anything. I’m trying to get on with my life. This city is family to me. I’m here to support it.”

Sid snatched the meds. “By taking these?”

“My issue. Not yours.”

“This issue almost cost you your life.”

“Sometimes I wish it had.”

“No you don’t.”

“You think you know how I feel?” Melissa opened her hand to slap him and saw the pill fall away. She bent over to find it and bumped her head on the rollaway cart. “Leave me alone,” she snapped when she stood up and rubbed her forehead.

“Leland asks about you.”

“I can’t do this, Sid.”

“Listen to your heart.”

“What if I don’t like what I’m hearing?”

“Then get a second opinion.” Sid put his hand on her shoulder. “Ask yourself if you’ll feel better with him or without him.”

“I still love him, but I can’t let go of who he really is.”

“Who he is or who he was?”

“They’re one in the same to me. I don’t know where the lies end or the truth begins.”

“Then talk to him.”

Melissa gathered her clutch and wiped her eyes with a tissue. “I think we’re past that point already.”

Sid slipped the meds in his pocket. “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf. Stop trying to manipulate what you can’t control and learn to live with what you can.”

“I hear you, but deceit is still a deal breaker for me.”

* * *

Brad Siegel glanced at the monitors in the Bridgestone Arena’s master control room while the sound checks proceeded on schedule. Charity event or not, he treated the rehearsal preparations as thoroughly as he would for any concert—especially a major event less than two hours away from kickoff on live television. With the sound dialed in to the venue’s acoustic proclivities, he adjusted the lighting and camera angles above and below center stage. Huge advertising dollars would boost the concert’s payout, but all eyes from the upper echelons of Music Row would be centered on his start-up studio and the wide-scale launch of a new band eager to carve a name for themselves and the label poised to bankroll their success. His reputation aside, he had a hefty portion of his own money invested in the band’s success and the future of Capital Country Records.

He panned the remote camera and zoomed in to see a stage hand appear on the Jumbotron. He snatched a Motorola radio from the charging station as Martin Hamilton entered the room. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

Martin nudged his glasses on his nose. “I wanted to see where the sausage gets made.”

Brad squeezed the talk button and brought the unit toward his head. “Check camera eight,” he told the stage hand. “And don’t pick your nose when the whole world’s tuned in.” He set the radio down and ushered Martin away from the master control panel. “The field trip’s over. I’ve got four hours worth of work and ninety minutes to get it done.”

“For a benefit concert?”

“This is the fucking Super Bowl of advertising.”

Martin stood next to Brad in front of the master control panel. “You were smart to convince Wharton Brothers to drop the lawsuit.”

“Depends on how much longer your ex can sing.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s the sizzle not the steak. Her face will sell tickets.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I rewrote her contract. The majority of her tour earnings will flow back to Wharton Brothers, minus your cut, of course.”

“And what about you?”

Martin forced a crooked smile. “I get to catch her when she falls.”

* * *

Nicole inched her way through the traffic congestion leading up to the Bridgestone Arena. She could see the arena in the distance but couldn’t move any faster than the cars in front of her allowed.

She checked her hair in the Sentra’s vanity mirror. She needed her split ends trimmed, but she looked good enough to attract the right attention—the kind with deep pockets and a taste for local groupies. “We should have left earlier,” she told Abby.

Abby noticed a billboard advertising the Predators hockey team. “What if my dad already sang?”

“The concert’s just starting. All the big acts go first.”

Abby scanned the radio stations. “I can’t believe how many people are here.”

Nicole put her turn signal on and changed lanes abruptly. If Leland couldn’t appreciate her, she would find someone who would. “We need to find a place to park.”

“I’ve never been inside the Bridgestone before.”

“Never?”

“My dad was going to take me to a concert, but we never got to go.”

“This show could open a lot of doors for him.”

Abby glanced at the shiny black Cadillac limousine beside her. “I’m not sure I like what’s behind them.”

“You want your dad to be happy.”

“What if he chokes tonight?”

“He won’t. There’s too much money at stake.”

“Music’s never been about the money for him.”

Nicole tapped her brakes. “No one likes to play for free.”

“My dad doesn’t play for money. He says food can feed the body, but only music can nourish the soul.”