More Than A Feeling (Rockstars of Blossom Springs #3)
Chapter 1
Chapter One
The air inside Miami Stadium buzzed with sound and heat, lights pulsing like a heartbeat, the scent of sweat and perfume mixing with beer and adrenaline. Forty thousand people on their feet, hands lifted, the crowd’s roar pressing against Jami Hart’s chest hard enough to rattle bone.
He gripped the mic stand, every muscle thrumming.
“Born to Be My Baby” hit its final chorus, Sean’s guitar screaming beside him, Livia and Maddyn’s harmony soaring above.
The women in the front rows sang the words back at him, faces turned up, eyes closed, hands reaching.
For those four minutes, he was exactly who he’d always wanted to be, center stage, part of the sound that made people feel something.
The last note rang out, and Jami held it, feeding off the crowd’s thunder. Then the lights dimmed, and the applause rolled like surf breaking.
He turned, sweat sliding down his neck, and caught Sean’s grin. Sean clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s how you open a damn show.”
“Hell yeah,” Jami said, voice rough from singing. The adrenaline left him light-headed, but the good kind.
Axel lifted both drumsticks overhead. “We love you, Miami!”
The roar proved that Miami loved them back.
They filed offstage together, hearts still pounding. The corridor behind the curtain felt colder, darker; the sudden quiet after the storm. By the time they hit the greenroom, the energy had splintered into laughter, chatter, and the hiss of opened bottles.
Livia launched herself at Tony. He caught her, spun her once, kissed her hard, then grinned at the rest of them. “Great set. All of you. Drinks, bathrooms, ten minutes, you’re back out there.”
Sean’s wife, Gloria, darted in a few seconds later, still filming for her podcast, her phone light glowing on her smile. “That crowd is insane! Jami, you should see their faces when you hit that first note.”
“Yeah?” He tried to match her grin, twisting the cap off a water bottle. “Good energy.”
“Good?” she laughed. “Try electric.”
He nodded, but already the high was fading.
Happens every show, the slide from wild euphoria to a quiet kind of ache.
He poured electrolyte powder into the bottle and watched it swirl.
Axel and Maddyn were huddled together on the couch, foreheads touching, whispering, and laughing.
Tony and Livia were sharing a protein bar, eyes only for each other.
Sean and Gloria were still wrapped in each other’s orbit.
Everyone had someone.
Jami took a long drink, the cold water cutting through the dryness in his throat but not the hollow feeling curling in his gut. The stage filled him up; backstage always emptied him out.
Tony’s voice broke through. “Where’s Carlene? She was supposed to watch this set for marketing notes.”
Jami blinked. “Haven’t seen her.”
Tony frowned at his phone. “Figures. We hire one of the top marketing minds in the business, and she ghosts the biggest show of our tour.”
Jami shrugged, though irritation prickled. He’d read Carlene Matthews’ proposal, liked her directness. Polished. Sharp. Maybe too sharp for their scrappy band roots, she’d done great with her first campaign. “She probably hit traffic,” he said, not believing it.
Maddyn appeared beside him, a towel draped around her neck, eyes still bright from the stage lights. “You okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
She laughed softly. “Never better. Married to Axel, writing songs that chart, performing to a sold-out stadium? Sometimes I think I’m dreaming.”
“You earned it.”
She gave him a searching look. “You will, too. Just need the right thing to come along.”
He managed a grin. “Pretty sure I already have it.”
She arched a brow. “You sure? Because it looks like something’s missing.”
Before he could answer, Tony clapped. “Five minutes, people!”
The band regrouped near the stage stairs.
The thunder of the crowd built again, a living thing.
Jami rolled his shoulders, stretching out the tightness in his chest. You’ve got this, he told himself.
This was what he’d worked for, years of smoky bars, one-night gigs, small-town festivals. All leading here.
Axel jogged ahead, slapping his drumsticks against his thighs. Maddyn winked at Jami over her shoulder. Sean squeezed Gloria’s hand once before stepping out.
When Jami followed, the sound hit him like sunlight. Thousands of fans screaming, lights sweeping, the floor trembling under his boots. He threw his arms wide, and the volume doubled.
He lived for this moment, the first breath before the first note, when anything felt possible.
He pulled the mic from its stand, and the crowd fell silent in anticipation.
His voice came out low and raw on the opening lines of “One More Night”, a new ballad he and Sean had written.
Maddyn and Livia joined in on the chorus, their harmonies weaving.
Axel’s drums rolled in, slow then stronger, and the sound built until the whole stadium moved with them.
Jami’s chest expanded, his heart syncing to the rhythm. Out here, the loneliness didn’t exist. Just music, lights, and connection.
Halfway through the set, he spotted familiar faces in the front rows, fans they’d seen city after city, waving handmade signs. Gratitude filled him. Every dream he’d had as a kid was right there in living color.
When the final song started —a ballad about finding your way home —something tugged at the edge of his awareness.
Near the barricade, spotlight haloing her hair, stood a woman he didn’t recognize at first. Polished black dress, confident posture, eyes locked on him like she was measuring every beat he gave.
Carlene Matthews.
She’d shown up after all.
And damn if she didn’t look like trouble wrapped in perfection.
The song’s last notes lingered as he smiled into the crowd, pretending the sudden hitch in his breath was part of the performance. The roar rose again, lights flaring, confetti drifting through the air.
He lifted the mic and gave the fans that grin they came for, but his mind wasn’t on the encore anymore.
It was on the woman watching him from the front row, the one who might be about to change everything.