CHAPTER 26
Whiskey & Ink
The silence was almost as loud as the concert had been. Outside her heavy dressing room door, the floor was a desert of polished concrete. Her personal security detail stood like twin monoliths by the far elevator bank, their shadows stretching long and thin under the flickering fluorescent lights.
They were the only barrier between her and the skeletal remains of the production—down on the arena floor, the distant clank of steel and the muffled shouts of the roadies echoed through the vents as they dismantled the stage.
Rory gnawed at the end of her pen, her eyes tracing the jagged lines of lyrics she had hastily scribbled during the soundcheck. The song was a forced endeavor—a theme mandated by management that she felt no genuine connection to, yet was press
