In The Blood

First Flight to LA

(Chris)

Minneapolis was rocking it tonight! Fifteen acts, booked 9:00 PM until 2:00 AM, to bring in the New Year! My band, Seventh Avenue, wasn't due until 1:30; I'd done my own brief showcase at 11:15. It went really good. I'd done a couple of songs from my new solo album. This was great promo for both me and the startup band. The audience really seemed to enjoy Smile On My Face, Drinking With Me, and First Flight To Phoenix. Hell yeah, Phoenix would be great. Get me the hell out of Minneapolis. Seventh Avenue had a four-song set and we were all antsy, jumping out of excitement. It was huge of us to get this gig. I'd heard about it through the grapevine and just kept poking my nose in, in, in. Kept trying to hit the right people, sending in demos and everything. As a last resort, I'd pulled the Home Free card and sent in a song the five of us had done together. That did the trick. Two acts, one gig = promo. Promo = more interest. More interest = more gigs. More gigs = more success. More success = more money. More money = more investment in the band and in me. More investment = better, better, better! It was a win/win situation!

The backstage manager waved us into the wing and we let the emcee introduce us. Between me, Adam, and Kelly, we had the joint rocking as we went into the medley.

"Pssst," someone hissed behind me from the other side of the curtain.

I turned my head and tried to ignore the progressively louder pssst's. Leave. Me. Alone. Big gig, I'm performing, I'm working, I'm busy.

"Chris!" they hissed.

OK, screw them. I picked up my mic and improvised a little choreo up further away from the curtain. Reach me up here, ya interfering dumbass. I was happily doot-doot'ing when the stage manager, Jordan, actually came on stage and tapped me on the elbow.

Holding the mic in my left hand, I moved my right over it. "Leave me alone!" I ordered between clenched teeth. Too much was riding on this and the set was only half complete. And the audience was enjoying us. Jordan needed to get his non-performing ass off the stage.

"Chris!" he insisted. "Phone! You need to take this call!"

No call was getting me off this stage. There's nothing that can't wait ten minutes.

" 'Got the moves like Jagger, got the moves like Jagger, got the moooves, like Jagger!'," I sang, dancing behind our line to get away. I heard Kelly sigh and Adam put a hand on Jordan's shoulder to encourage him off stage.

Jordan just shook him off. "Chris!"

I threw my hand over my mic again, making a loud clunk sound. "If you don't get your ass off this stage—"

"Adam," he said, making Adam turn his head and glare at him. Jordan shook his head at him before saying, "Rupp." What? Yeah, that's Adam next to me, and yeah, I was Chris Rupp. I was well-aware of my own identity and who I was sharing a stage with. "Adam Rupp," he finally clarified, making me start to frown. "Shots fired at a Home Free concert. Two dead, three injured."

I paled, my grip loosening on my mic. "Dead? Injured? What? Jordan, you mean there are fans dead at a Home Free concert???"

He shook his head, Adam Bastien now staring at me and paling himself. Kelly was still singing on, oblivious to everything. Adam was singing, though very lackluster about it. My baritone line was completely gone though as I stared at Jordan.

"No, Chris. Performers," he said seriously. "Your Home Free friends. They've been shot. Two are dead. Adam is injured or—"

I needed to hear no more, having heard more than I needed to get my ass off this stage. My best friends. My brother. The one person in this world I would move mountains for. I liked my sister. I liked Dad OK and I can tolerate my mother. But Adam...