DRASTIC (Book 4 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 17: Smart Girls Triage

Marley, February

I sip a glass of chardonnay and as I pad barefoot to the windows of Kade's downtown Nashville condo and survey the view.

During the day, mostly what can be seen are cranes and construction workers, as dozens more high-rises race toward completion in the Gulch, downtown Nashville's trendiest new neighborhood.

But right now—long after dark at this time of year—the view is lovely. All the new buildings are gorgeously lit. Strung lights and firepits warm rooftop bars of some of the most impressive hotels, and the thrum of the city can be seen, far above where it can be heard.

It's quiet up here, except for the jazz I'm playing.

A mile away at the honkeytonks down on Broadway, the music is pouring from the open windows of every bar.

That's where the dreamers go to be discovered, the tourists gather to sing along, the industry people seek the next big names in music, and occasionally, a famous band slams down a round of shots and gets up from the table to play an impromptu set.

The thought of Soundcrush doing that makes me smile. It's highly possible they've surprised fans at one of those bars.

Just two weeks ago, Kade and I sat in a tiny little VIP section of one of those honkeytonks with Adam and Mac, while Mac tried to goad Adam to claim the stage and do a solo of their duet that's currently a top-40 hit. He wouldn't, for the simple reason that he physically can't seem to bring himself to leave her side, right now.

It's funny how life can move along at a snail's pace and then the pace suddenly picks up. For years, my life was mundane. Work, work some more, parent, repeat. To say the pace has picked up in the last eight months since Bodie and Adam wandered into my bar is an understatement. Five months ago, Mac was screaming at me in Martha's Vineyard. Now, we are actually friends.

Although I still think it's funny how she thinks she could take me in a fight.

Ain't no way. Not even in her best fighting form at her maddest.

Right now, it wouldn't even be a contest. She's adorably soft and pregnant. She's due in just a couple of weeks and the pregnancy has been difficult.

Even our double date with them was nothing more than a quick dinner and a swift drink, Adam quickly hustling us from a bright yellow limo, in and out of the back entrance of his favorite three story bar on Broadway. One of the newer, less rowdy, music-oriented honkeytonks.

The remembrance of our double date only sends my mind to the place where it always wonders when I am alone.

I pick up my phone, unable to resist. I thumb to my text thread with Bodie.

I read the last text he sent me from Thailand, about six weeks ago:

Merry Christmas, Jaz. I hope you get everything your heart desires.

I scroll through all of my messages to him since—boring inquiries about how he is, where is he, when he's coming back to the States.

All have gone unanswered.

I decide to ask him something less personal, more fun, in the hopes that maybe the novelty will get him to reply.

Hey drummer boy, I'm wondering...has Soundcrush ever played in a Nashville Honkeytonk?

I wait, and sip, and wait, for at least fifteen minutes. The text, like the others I have sent since Christmas, goes unread.

Adam says he thinks Bodie probably lost his phone somewhere in a remote part of Thailand, and hasn't bothered to find a way to get an new Iphone. And he probably doesn't know any of our numbers by heart, if he's replaced it with a local burner.