The Risks We Take Duet Box Set

1. Carys

CARYS

“ A re you sure I look okay?” I eye myself in the broken mirror hanging crooked on the wall inside the Rathskeller’s ladies’ room. The bar is about fifteen minutes from campus and lucky for me, pretty lax about looking too closely at fake IDs. “Honestly, Emerson. I don’t know how I let you and your brother talk me into this. I sing show tunes, not rock. The guys would be better off with you out there, rather than me.”

I tug down the black leather skirt I borrowed from Em, then turn and look at myself from another angle.

Seriously, how does this cover her ass when it barely fits over mine?

I paired it with a strappy, bright-pink lace corset I had sewn over spring break. Em convinced me this was a killer pairing, then tossed me her black knee-high boots to finish it off. I barely recognize my own reflection tonight. It’s a far cry from my jeans and Chuck Taylors, but I definitely don’t hate what I see.

My entire body vibrates with nervous energy as I glare at her through the hazy reflection in the filthy mirror. “Swear to God, if the stage is too high, I’m going to be showing everyone my panties.” At least I didn’t wear the G-string panties that match the corset. Then I’d really be in trouble.

Emerson smacks my hands away and turns me to look at her. “It’s a two-foot platform, Carys. And it’s not like you’re doing a burlesque routine out there.” Her eyes run over me from head to toe before stopping on my boobs. “Besides, nobody is going to be looking up your skirt. They’ll be too busy trying to look down your top.” She runs her fingers over the lace. “Can you make me one of these? I love it.”

I nod my head and try to resist glaring at my roommate. “Your rationale is sometimes a scary thing, Em.” Last July, we were notified that we’d been paired up as roommates for our freshman year at San Diego University of the Arts. By the time we moved in a month later, I knew she was meant to be in my life.

The two of us were thrilled.

My family, not so much.

They hated that I was moving to the opposite side of the country for college while they were all together in Kroydon Hills, Pennsylvania. Not in an unsupportive way, more like a you’re the baby, and we don’t want to stop interfering in every possible, increasingly boring aspect of your life way. They’d never understand.

I guess it makes sense when all I’ve ever told them is that I needed to figure out what I want to do with my life. Being away from their expectations is supposed to be helping with that.

So far, so good.

“Jack and Theo wouldn’t have asked you to sing with them tonight if they didn’t think you could do it.” She fluffs my dark hair over my shoulders, then hands me her red lipstick. Always red for Em.

Her brother, Jack, and his fraternity brother Theo are two years older than us, and formed their band, Six Day War, last year. They’ve been the Friday night house band here at the Rat for a few months, but their original lead singer/bass guitarist quit abruptly. He bailed when he got an offer to sing backup for some top-forty pop band, leaving them without a singer days before their next show. I think they’re trying to find another guy to replace him, but Emerson offered my somewhat willing vocals for tonight, while Lucas, one of their younger fraternity brothers, is filling in on the bass, so they didn’t have to cancel tonight.

What sounds like a fist slams against the wooden door, and I jump a mile. “Come on, Carys. It’s time.”

My eyes fly to Emerson’s, the nerves ratcheting up. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”

“Suck it up, buttercup. You’ve sung in front of an audience before. Hell, you sang the National Anthem at the Philadelphia Kings football games in front of thousands. You can handle a little rock music in front of a bunch of drunk college kids at a hole-in-the-wall bar.” She smacks my ass. “Now get moving.”

One more deep breath and I raise my head to look at her. “I’m going to get you back for this. When you least expect it, I’m coming for you.”

Em laughs in my face. “Ooh. I’m terrified. Now get out there and get this shit done.”

I barely manage a single step through the door of the bathroom before Jack, Theo, and Lucas converge on us. Theo’s twirling his drumstick through his fingers until he sees me and stops. He whistles and motions for me to spin. “Hell-o, Miss Murphy.”

Theo is a goofball.

He never takes anything seriously, but he’s pretty to look at, so most people with a pulse give him a pass.

Okay, and maybe we also hooked up after one too many games of beer pong at the beginning of last semester. “Looking good, Carys.”

“Of course, she looks good. But how’re you feeling? You good to go?” Jack hands me a bottle of water and then gets smacked by his sister.

“She’s better than good. She’s great. Knock ’em dead, guys.” Em squeezes my hand and throws a smile Lucas’s way before she disappears down the hall.

“I hate to sound like an idiot.” Lucas blushes—actually blushes. “But is it ‘Carrie’ or ‘Caress’? Half the people I know call you CC, and I have no clue how to pronounce your name.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I turn to look at the bassist, and my nerves subside for a minute. “No one does. It’s Care-is . It’s Welsh, meaning loved one .”

I spent my life on a stage. I’ve sung anything from Gershwin to Lin-Manuel Miranda and everything in between, but musical theater is a very different beast, and there’s a slight tremble in my voice, betraying my nerves tonight.

Jack rubs my shoulders for a second until I inch away. He’s always very handsy, although not in a creepy way. But I have no interest in flirting with my roomie’s brother. “You’ve got to relax and have fun, Carys. This is going to be awesome. You’ve got this.”

Theo laughs, then taps Jack’s chest with his drumstick. “Dude, did you look up inspirational phrases on your phone or something?” He looks at me, his dark brown eyes full of excitement. “Just have fun, C. Enjoy the rush. Now let’s go.”

Fun . Right.

Theo and Jack walk ahead, but Lucas holds back. “Hey, Carys...” Lucas is the classic all-American guy. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. He almost reminds me of someone else who checks those boxes. But Lucas could never compare to that guy. “Is Emerson seeing anyone?”

“Nope.” I cringe internally because I know Em is not going to date a musician. She’ll flirt with him, but she’ll never give him a real chance. She’s told me that more than once. Emerson and Jack’s dad is a rock-star drummer, and, according to her, the industry breeds an unhealthy dose of insecurity, raging narcissism, and instability. She wants no part of this world. Never has.

But I don’t tell Lucas any of that.

He’ll find out, one way or another.

The four of us take to the makeshift stage, the bright lighting making it difficult to see anything beyond a few feet in front of the platform. I run my hands lovingly over the microphone as the guys set up. The familiarity from years of performing soothes my heightened nerves as Jack introduces the band.

“How ya feeling, San Diego? I’m Jack, and we’re Six Day War.” A roar comes from the crowd. The guys’ audience has been steadily growing since they started playing here, and the loud applause makes me happy for my friends. “We’ve got a few guest performers with us tonight, so how about you show ’em how we do it at the Rathskeller? Let me hear you!” Jack nods once at Theo, who taps his sticks together as he counts us off. He looks over at me from across the stage, his lips kicking up on one side, and my body hums with excitement as I sing the first haunting lines of “Voodoo” by Godsmack.

The first few lines of the song are all me, and I slip right into them like I fucking own them. These people might not have known they were getting me instead of the former lead singer tonight, but as soon as I open my mouth, they shut up and take notice. My nerves evaporate as I realize singing for a band doesn’t have to be any different from what I’m used to doing on stage. I can still hide behind a character like I would in a musical. This time, I’m playing the lead singer in a band.

The chaos of the loud voices in the bar fades away, and we all fall into perfect sync like I’ve done this a million times before. Jack roams the stage with his guitar, playing into the sultry beat of one of my favorite songs as he shows off for the crowd.

It’s always been easy for me to get lost in the music.

And this song makes me feel like a sexy rock goddess who can own the stage right along with Jack.

Before long, I’m dipping into the lower range of my voice, emphasizing the rasp I can use with ease after years of voice lessons, and bringing the crowd with us.

By the middle of the song, all my earlier nerves are forgotten, and I’ve slipped into a space I know well. Emerson was right. Performing is performing, no matter the audience or the music. I’m actually having fun on stage, moving around comfortably and playing it up with each of the guys.

Owning it the way Jack does.

Well . . . at least I’m trying to.