CHAPTER Three
Echo of What Might Have Been
Nashville, Tennessee
Hellwake put on a solid show, their energy infectious, their sound tight, but they didn’t evoke the same visceral response that Atlas Obsidian had.
They had felt like something unfiltered, something bleeding, something too real to be contained.
As I’m wiping down the bar, I hear a commotion near the merch table: raised voices, tension crackling in the air.
“I’ll be back,” I tell Reign, tossing the rag onto the counter. He waves a hand in dismissal as I slip away, weaving through the thinning crowd toward the source of the noise.
Then I hear things more clearly.
“Get your fucking hands off me!”
I round the corner and freeze. The scene before me is pure tension, taut like a bowstring about to snap.
Elias has a man, who I assume to be the merch guy, held up by his shirt, feet dangling off the ground, like he weighs nothing. And this guy isn’t exactly small. The sheer effortlessness of Elias’s strength sends a mix of shivers down my spine and heat into my core.
In a flash, he slams the other guy against the wall, pinning him there, their faces mere inches apart.
“Get the fuck out of here, Devin, before I spill your blood.”
His voice is low, venomous, and I know without a doubt that this isn’t an idle threat. I barely have time to process it before Elias finally drops Devin to the ground.
He stumbles back, rage and fear burning in his face as he shouts over his shoulder, “I’m fucking done!” before storming out.
Elias doesn’t move. He just watches Devin leave, his eyes still flickering with embers of violence.
And then his gaze shifts to me.
For a split second, it softens, like the rage has been momentarily eclipsed by something else. But just as quickly, he turns on his heel and walks off, leaving behind a heavy, uncomfortable silence.
Cody catches him before he disappears.
“What the fuck just happened, Elias? Did he just quit?!”
“Yes. Good riddance.” He doesn’t even look back.
Cody runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, exasperation and panic lacing his features.
“What the fuck, man? What are we going to do about merch? Hellwake is going to kick us off the tour!”
Elias is already gone, leaving him standing there in pure disbelief, hands gripping his hair in that universal ‘what-the-fuck-do-we-do-now’ gesture.
When Cody spots me lingering, he exhales and places a hand on my arm.
“I’m so sorry for the scene. Elias can be… hot-headed and impulsive.”
Understatement of the century.
“Dammit, what are we going to tell Traeger?” Cody mutters, half to himself, half to me. I assume he means Traeger Nolan, lead singer of Hellwake.
“We’re lucky to even be on this tour and we’ve already lost our merch guy.”
He shakes his head, like he’s mentally scrambling for a solution, then suddenly his eyes snap to me. I swear to God, I can almost see a lightbulb flicker above his head like a goddamn cartoon.
Before I can react, he gently cages my arms with his hands, excitement sparking in his expression.
“Ramona, do you have experience selling merch or touring?”
I narrow my eyes, instantly wary.
“Umm… I’ve never been on tour, but I’ve done pretty much everything at this venue including merch. Why?”
Cody grins like I just handed him the answer to all his problems.
“Oh my god, perfect! Would you want to take Devin’s place and be our merch… maid? No, that’s not right. Merch… woman? Shit, whatever. You could also be the band’s photographer!”
I blink. Did he just offer me a spot on tour? He couldn’t have. Not Ramona Always-Plays-It-Safe Hendrix.
I stare at him, my brain still catching up, but he’s waiting, hopeful, buzzing with chaotic energy.
“As cool as that sounds, I have a job. Actually, I have two jobs. This is just my side gig. I can’t just up and leave.”
Even as I say it, something in my chest tightens, like I’m already regretting the words.
Cody doesn’t let up. “We’d pay you well! It would just be for the summer at least. Then you could come back.”
I chew my lip, my thoughts spiraling.
Before I can shut it down completely, he leans in, pleading now, his hands pressed together.
“At least think about it, please? We have a couple of days off and we’re staying here in Nashville until our next show in Lexington on Wednesday.
If you change your mind, just email me and we’ll set it all up.
You’d really be doing us a solid. Plus you get to hang out with all of this.
” He gestures vaguely at this body then raises his eyebrows, the expression both persuasive and knowing, like he can tell I’m already considering it, even if I won’t admit it.
I inhale sharply, my head spinning with all the logistics, all the ways this is completely insane. But also, that this is exactly what I’ve been dying for.
“I’ll think about it and get back to you, but I’m not making any promises, Cody.”
“Oh, thank you!” He pulls me into a crushing hug, rocking me back slightly. “I promise you won’t regret it!”
After he’s gone, I stand there for a long moment, staring at nothing, my pulse thrumming.
There’s no way I could do this. Right?
What would I tell my parents? How would I even justify hopping on a tour bus with a bunch of strange males?
My mind, ever the overthinker, spirals into the worst-case scenario.
This could be a ploy to lure me onto the bus and use me as a human sacrifice to catapult their band into superstardom.
Jennifer’s Body, anyone?
I shake my head at my own absurdity.
But still. There’s something intoxicating about the offer.
The idea of leaving for a few months, waking up in a new city every day, live music every night, and most importantly, getting to do what I actually love: photography.
It’s the kind of once-in-a-lifetime opportunity most people dream about.
And deep down, I know the truth: Opportunities like this don’t come around twice.
The question is: Am I brave enough to take it?