Forever Family (Forever #5) by Deanna Roy
Chapter 1: Corabelle
My father used to have a T-shirt that read “If it’s too loud, you’re too old.”
Maybe I was getting too old.
I stood at the very front of an outrageous screaming crowd in a concert arena that I would swear held the entire student body of UC San Diego.
Next to me was Jenny, huge pregnant belly and all. I winced every time she jumped up and down, sure she was going to bounce the baby right out. Her happy voice squealed like a teenager. She kept bumping up against the chest-high metal wall that separated us from the stage.
The noise made my ears ring. Girls screaming. Guys shouting. The occasional screech of a lead guitar set to the wrong level.
Nobody was actually playing a song yet. The new wave of excitement came from some hunky guy in black who was testing a guitar. He had it cradled against his thigh, one shoulder thrown back, his fingers picking out an unbelievably fast set of notes that everyone else seemed to recognize. Or maybe they’d just scream for anything. The concert was already a half hour late. The crowd just wanted something to happen and encouraged anything that made it seem like the show was starting.
The lights blacked out onstage and a million colored beams rolled from the ceiling to the floor. It was just a test, but the cheers crescendoed one more time.
I tried to feel the magic of being amid all this energy. But it was so — pushy. Literally. I was getting shoved and manhandled from every direction. I wished Gavin were with us. I could have used the strong, broad protection of his body from the crush of the crowd. I didn’t know how Jenny was doing it. When I was as pregnant as her, I barely ever left the sofa.
Except…I’d never been as pregnant as her. She’d passed the mark when I’d gone into early labor with Finn two weeks ago.
I squashed those thoughts immediately. I was not going to let my past intrude on this crazy night. Her husband-to-be, Chance, would be playing an opening number, not directly for megastar Dylan Wolf, not yet, but for the band that would open for Dylan. Chance was not on the fast track, for sure, but he had a record in production that everyone was pinning their hopes on.
Jenny didn’t mind either way. Her face glowed happy in the blue light, waiting for Chance to come on. This was his last performance before their wedding next weekend. Then the baby would come in a few weeks.
I refused to harbor any jealousy over her happiness. It took willpower and control to keep my thoughts positive and happy, but I had managed so far, even when Jenny raced into my apartment with her DVD sonogram to show me the heartbeat. These were all moments I also remembered fondly. The real test would be when she brought her baby home.
I never got to do that.
The hunk with the guitar set it carefully in a stand and strode offstage. The crowd settled again. A few attempts to shout “Dylan, Dylan, Dylan!” started, then died out.
I glanced around. The floor of the arena was packed with the hard-core fans who had close-up tickets, and the first tier was pretty full. Up top, though, fans who didn’t care about the opening singer were still filtering in.
I checked my watch. So behind schedule.
“Are they always late?” I asked Jenny.
She shrugged. “They watch how many are still coming in the gates.”
We’d hung out backstage with Chance and the Sonic Kings until a security guard came for us. Since Chance played first, we had to be out there before the concert began. When Dylan came on later, his wife, Jessie, would join us in the front row.
The crowd was our first indication that something was about to happen. The roar surged again. They must see something we couldn’t, up so close.
Then I caught movement at the back of the stage. Jenny clutched my hand as Chance came out. The response was tremendous, then faltered a little as the crowd realized it wasn’t Dylan. But Chance was old hat at this by now, and started with a quip in his best southern drawl. “Y’all are waiting on the Dixie Chicks, right? Cuz I put on a bra for this.”
The crowd laughed and settled in. He didn’t introduce himself, not yet, but jumped right into the opening licks of one of his rock songs. On his own, he tended to stay a little closer to the country end of the spectrum, but he knew what Dylan’s fans were looking for.
I held on to Jenny as she jumped in place. I tried not to picture the baby sloshing in there. Her ankles and wrists were something to behold, swollen to the point that she could only wear flip-flops, and her six-inch tangle of bracelets was a thing of the past.
Luckily, San Diego didn’t get all that cold, even in November. So she was getting away with her summer footwear. Although she might lose a shoe if she kept jumping like she was.