Strung Tight (The Road To Rocktoberfest Book 1) Read online

  Strung Tight

  The Road to

  Rocktoberfest Series

  Book 1

  By Ann Lister

  STRUNG TIGHT

  STRUNG TIGHT

  The Road To Rocktoberfest ~ Book 1

  Copyright © 2020 by Ann Lister. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author and or publisher, and where permitted by law. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Ebooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away, as it is an infringement on the copyright of this book. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locations or other public venues is entirely coincidental.

  This book is a product of Rock Gods, Inc.

  Acknowledgments

  A special thank you to my gifted beta readers! You take on these projects and squeeze them into your busy schedules and still manage to come back with lots of solid feedback.

  Your work is always spot-on and greatly appreciated!

  TL Travis and Jennifer Reilley, you two are the best!

  Lisa Cullinan and Brenda Wright ~ I absolutely love working with you both!

  TL Travis ~ Thank you for always having my back in this crazy business.

  Valerie Degeorge ~ Thank you so much for always being there for me and for being my friend.

  Dennis Quinonez ~ Your friendship is very precious to me. Can’t wait to see you soon!

  A huge thank you goes out to all the blogs and readers who continue to support my work on social media. I am truly blessed to have you all part of my team!

  Until next time . . .

  Additional Acknowledgments

  Cover Art: Natasha Snow

  Cover Photographer: LightFieldStudios

  Interior Formatting and Editing: Brenda Wright and Lisa Cullinan

  Dedication

  “You know someone is very special to you

  when days just don’t seem right without them.”

  ~ John Cena

  For Sandy ~

  So many days have passed since you left

  and I still find myself wanting to pick up the phone to call you.

  It’s always with the same thought in my mind too,

  “Oh, wait until Sandy hears about this . . .”

  I miss our long talks, I miss your laugh, and your smile.

  I just deeply miss all that was you.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Author Bio

  Books by Ann Lister

  Strung Tight

  Chapter One

  My bandmates and I knew we had Dagger Drummond, the lead singer of Black Ice, to thank for the launch of Chaos, but believe me, we also worked our skinny asses to the bone to earn our ticket to perform at the legendary rock festival, Rocktoberfest. In other words, we weren't handed this opportunity without having to sweat for it—not even with Dagger backing us. There were no strings pulled or favors called in that added us to the multi-band lineup. We auditioned and won one of the slots for the “up-and-coming” acts that would be taking the stage early on before any of the headlining bands. I’d have been stoked just to score a ticket for the cheap seats at the back of the fenced-in viewing area, so to perform at the festival was a dream come true. Never in a million years did I think I'd share a stage with some of the biggest names in the rock world.

  Sure, I had the drive and commitment to make it, and my skills were top-notch, too, always evolving and improving every day. My downfall, though, was a secret I kept hidden from everyone around me to a large extent: a severe fear of performing in front of large crowds. It hadn’t been a problem until now because all of our audiences had been small, with maybe fifty to a hundred people at most in the dive bars we played. The Rocktoberfest event would change everything, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get through the performance with a crowd of roughly sixty thousand or more. I could very well get out on that stage, freeze up, and then face plant after passing out from sheer terror. Just the thought of it made me edgy and my skin itch.

  Rocktoberfest was a turning point for us. It was beyond big and had the potential to change our lives forever. Dagger might not have given us a golden ticket to this event, but he’d given us something just as valuable: a boatload of his first-hand knowledge as part of his mentoring. He was also allowing us to use his band's killer rehearsal studio, and he’d purchased some new equipment for us, too, which I fully intended to pay him back once we started making some serious money. We owed him a lot for taking us on the way he did, but I also knew it was our skills as musicians that paved the way to this famous show and that both excited and scared the shit out of me. But if Dagger Drummond believed in us, then we needed to believe in us too. He was a great teacher, and he was strict as fuck, continually pushing the core of basic skills and fundamental techniques on us. In some ways, it was like starting from scratch, but his methods worked.

  The most important takeaway from working with Dagger was that we maintained our band’s identifying sound. Chaos didn’t want to become a spin-off of Black Ice because Dagger was grooming us. We’d always be a work in progress; every artist was—at least the good ones who wanted to grow and cultivate their talent.

  No one told us the price of fame was cheap though. We expected to pay a few road tolls along the highway to get to the top, and we all agreed that our best shot to reach that ultimate peak was working with Dagger, and it was why we were willing to do anything he asked of us. If he wanted us to play while standing on one foot, we knew there’d be a reason behind it, something to learn and progress to the next level. We never once questioned anything he suggested, and instead, we played the role of attentive students and soaked up every nugget of knowledge he offered.

  He’d been living this dream for a long-ass time, and we valued his opinion. He stressed the importance of warm-up scales and repetitive playing for hours on end that had my fingers growing new calluses on top of the old ones. He'd listen carefully during our rehearsals and then tell us to play it again and again. It was an endless cycle, but after a few months of “Dagger Boot Camp,” we were sounding more and more like a polished band capable of doing a full set of music for a large crowd. The man had an e
ar for pitch like no other musician I'd ever met; he was always spot-on, too, which was as helpful as it was annoying.

  Chaos was in the final weeks of rehearsals in LA before the trailers would be packed with our gear and driven out to the Nevada desert where the concert was taking place. Our set needed every last bug worked out by the time we hit the road. The day before the actual show, we’d get a brief warmup on stage, which would allow us to familiarize ourselves with the setup. But the day of the event, there’d be no real time for more rehearsal as a plugged-in band beyond some finger and vocal exercises we could manage in a dressing room behind the stage area. After that, all we could do was play our asses off and hope for the best.

  To say we were nervous about performing for an audience of this size was a gross understatement, especially for me. Odd choice of a career for someone with performance anxiety, but I was learning to cope. A lot was riding on this event. If we fucked up our set, it would be like disappointing Dagger and spitting on everything he'd done for our band along with the opportunities he'd provided for our exposure. Besides the fact, bombing on the same stage we’d be sharing with so many rock stars we’d idolized for such a long damn time would be a nightmare. I couldn't allow that to happen, and no one in Chaos wanted that either.

  I was close with my guys before Dagger and his musical influence had entered our lives, but now we were even tighter than most families because we were together by choice. Chaos started as a trio of friends who’d known each other since we were kids: Jeff Dixon played bass guitar, Mike Emory, drums and percussion, and myself, Harrison Fletcher, aka Fletch, played various guitars and sang vocals. Then after a few years of working as three, we decided to add to our sound and invited Randy Potter, our rhythm guitarist, to join the fray. Our musical family grew a little, but for a band with just four musicians, we had a rich, solid sound, and I knew it was only a matter of getting the right ears to hear our music for us to make it big. Dagger had told us that there'd be several representatives from various record labels, agents, and managers in the audience at Rocktoberfest, so my band was going into this project with high hopes that one of them might want to sign us. Dreams did come true. I've seen it happen to others, so why not us?

  Mike, our drummer, was convinced we were going to make it. I felt the same, all the way to my bones, and we believed this show was our long-awaited big break. All we had to do was hit that stage and show everyone what Chaos had in our bag of tricks and send them home , wanting to hear more. That was our main objective—leave them wanting more.

  I was too anxious and couldn’t stop pacing around the rehearsal studio like a caged panther. The rest of the band was playing together in some kind of semblance, but I couldn't focus enough to join them. I needed a break and was about to tell the guys I'd be back in a few minutes when my phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw it was Dagger. After all the times I'd talked with him over the phone or in person, my heart still thumped a little harder inside my chest every damn time he called.

  “Dagger's on the phone,” I hollered. “I gotta take this.”

  I hurried to the door and answered the call as I jogged. “Hey, Dagger.” I started walking down the hallway.

  “How's everyone doing?” he asked me in that rich, deep voice.

  “I guess okay,” I said.

  “That doesn't sound very convincing,” Dagger said. “It’s too early for everyone to be freaking out, so what’s going on?”

  “I think it’s just me who’s freaking.”

  “Why's that?”

  I took the back stairs down to the rear of the building and exited into the parking lot along the side. The fresh air hitting my face felt nice, but it didn't relieve any of my anxiety. Over the last few days, about six enormous tractor-trailers had arrived in the lot, and a few roadies were beginning to load the equipment that we weren't presently using but would need for the show.

  “We've never performed in front of a crowd that big.”

  “Haven't you ever heard that size doesn't matter?”

  I knew he was going for humor, but in my empty, nervous stomach, all I felt were knots of self-doubt. “Are you sure we're ready for this?” I asked him in a voice far too small.

  “I wouldn't have suggested you send in an audition demo if I didn't think so,” he answered.

  This particular event showcased new bands on the first day of the festival, and the only way to get there was with the approval of the event’s backing promoters. Chaos was chosen second behind a band from Seattle called Jupiter Rising. Dagger had told me over a thousand demo tapes were submitted, so getting selected at all felt like a dream.

  “Believe me—you’re not going to suck,” Dagger reinforced. “When Black Ice started out, we honestly did suck but still managed to pick up gigs, and we played our hearts out at every one of them. Chaos is so far ahead of where we were back then that it isn't funny. You've worked your asses off for this, Fletch. I have every confidence that you can do this and will succeed.”

  “I'm glad you do,” I said.

  “Did all the trailers arrive yet?” Dagger questioned. “There should be six of them out in the parking lot, and you'll be seeing a handful of roadies starting to do their thing around the building with the gear. Security will clear them all, so just keep doing what you're doing.”

  I scanned the back lot again and counted off the rigs in my head. “Yeah, the trailers are all here,” I answered, then noticed movement on top of the trailer farthest to the left. It appeared to be a young guy about my age stacking up boxes, or maybe it was a chair of some sort. I wasn’t sure.

  “Sounds good,” Dagger said, and then he sighed. “Listen, if you're that anxious about this, I'll have our guy, Spumoni, swing by with a bag of something that’ll surely relax your brain.”

  “Aw, man, I don't do pills and shit like that,” I replied.

  “It's weed. Some of the best you'll ever smoke,” Dagger explained and chuckled. “He had some a few months back called the ‘mind eraser.’”

  I laughed at that comment. “I don't need my brain erased,” I quipped. “I just need to find my chill.”

  “I agree, and that's why I'll have Spumoni stop by the studio next chance he gets and leave a bag of ‘chill’ with you,” he commented.

  “Thanks, man,” I said and laughed. Somehow Dagger always knew what we needed all the time. Probably because he'd been in the exact same spot as we are now and lived to tell about it.

  I finished my call with him and decided to see what was going on with the kid climbing on top of the trailer. I slid my phone into my back pocket and walked across the paved lot toward the row of trailers, then stopped in between two of them and looked up at the guy.

  “What are you doing up there?” I hollered up at him.

  His head suddenly appeared over the top edge of the rig. “Just getting settled in,” he answered.

  “Settled in for what?” I questioned.

  He looked at me quizzically, and the way the sun hung in the sky behind his head gave him an ethereal appearance as if there were a halo or aura around him. The image stunned me a bit, which I thought was odd. I blinked a few times, wanting to blame my weird observation on the sun being in my eyes. I was noticing details about the guy that made no sense, like the way the wind moved his mop of wavy brown hair around his head.

  “I'm gonna catch the sunset,” he explained.

  “Can you see it from up there?” I figured the buildings around us would certainly block seeing much of anything.

  “Not exactly, but the view is still sweet.” Dallas grinned at me, and my brain short-circuited. With full lips framing his straight white teeth, his smile was nearly as bright as the setting sun behind him. The guy looked like he could be a model for a surfer magazine with his tanned face and muscular arms peeking out of the sleeves of his t-shirt.

  What the fuck is happening to me?

  I shook my head to try and gain a little clarity and then lifted my head to focus back on him. “D
o you live around here?”

  “No, the other side of the city.”

  “Then, why are you here?”

  “I'm helping my dad,” he said. “He's one of the roadies. Do you live here?”

  I shook my head no, then glanced at the building. “I work here,” I answered.

  “Are you a roadie too?” he asked.

  “I'm a musician,” I explained. “My band is practicing inside the studio.”

  “Oh, cool,” he said, and this time he smiled. “I'm Dallas, by the way. You'll see my dad, Skully, moving equipment around. He’s the big guy with the shaved head and has a large tatt on his arm of a skull.”

  “I'm Harrison Fletcher, but you can call me Fletch.”

  “Well, Fletch, do you feel like sharing a joint with me while the sun sets, or does that sound too douchy to you?” he asked.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I can't right now,” I answered. “I gotta get back inside and rehearse a while longer with my band. Keep me in mind for next time?”

  “Yeah, sure. I'll be here every day until the trucks leave for Nevada. As soon as that happens, we'll all be traveling with the rigs to unpack everything once we get to the venue,” Dallas said.

  “Do you know who Spumoni is?”

  “Of course,” Dallas confirmed. “He's in charge of this entire operation, and he’s also my dad's boss.”

  I held my hand up to block the sun to see him better. “If you see him around, could you tell him I'm looking for him?”

  “Yeah, sure,”

  “Sounds good,” I said and gave him a friendly wave. “I'll see you around then.”

  Chapter Two

  Over the next three days, I occasionally caught a glimpse of Dallas working in the building with the other roadies. He'd say hi as I passed him, but otherwise, we hadn't really talked. After rehearsal on Friday, my band wanted to grab something to eat and maybe shoot a few games of pool at a bar we frequented now and then. I wasn't much in the mood for that scene tonight and decided to go home and enjoy the rare silence in the apartment I shared with Mike, our drummer, instead.