Madison Square Garden, 2015
“James! James! James! James!”
A huge chunk of the crowd chanted his name, while others shouted the name of the band. James glanced at his bandmates, who were pacing back and forth in a frenzy of excitement, and took a deep breath. He was born for music—he knew it in his bones.
He’d pictured this moment countless times with a guitar in his hands, but life had steered him down a different path: straight into the spotlight. There was no hiding behind an instrument. Sure, the guitar was still his companion, but his gritty, raw voice was the real star of the show.
“You’re on in 5, 4, 3…”
The road manager’s voice faded as the musicians stormed the stage, kicking off with the thunderous melody of “Not My Fate.” James, as the lead guitarist and frontman, made his grand entrance last, improvising a killer intro while his fingers danced across the fretboard.
Once he took his spot, he started messing with the pedals. When the drummer counted off with three sharp clicks of his sticks, the song officially exploded to life. The crowd went wild, screaming words he couldn’t make out over the in-ear monitors that fed him every sound happening on stage.
“Vocals coming in,” he heard through his earpiece, though James already knew his cue.
After all, he’d been singing this song for about eighteen years.
“In shadows I was born, fury was my law,
On the edge of evil, my soul was in tatters.
Violence in my veins, a river of pain,
My destiny marked, a path of fear.”
The song rolled on, with verses and choruses flowing, guitar and drum solos shaking the massive arena. When the bridge hit, it was just his voice and the drums taking center stage, accompanied by the crowd clapping in rhythm to the beat.
“Now I fight for good, justice and love,
My dark past, a lesson in courage.
At every step, my soul is rebuilt,
The warrior of light, my heart does.”
“Last chorus, let’s go hard!” James shouted. “I wanna see those damn horns in the air!”
The crowd lost it, throwing up their hands in the classic rock ‘n’ roll horn sign. They jumped, screamed, and belted out the lyrics to Lords of Destruction’s songs at the top of their lungs.
And so it went, song after song. Some were pure aggression, others leaned into a ballad vibe that might seem out of place on the album to some—but not to him. To James, it all made perfect sense.
The final track, “Fire,” always left the audience hungry for more, which worked out great for the band since they sold out every show. Once the song ended, the rest of the guys lined up beside James to take a few bows, thanking the crowd for their energy.
The tour was just a few months from wrapping up, and James had never felt so exhausted. Still, he knew he could play shows all day if he had to—his heart pushed him to keep going. His whole body ached to pick up the guitar and make it scream under his fingers, even if it left him so wrecked he could barely breathe afterward.
“That was freakin’ insane!” Hunter exclaimed, crashing onto the couch in the dressing room. “The crowd loves us.”
James slumped into the chair at his vanity and let out a long sigh. He caught his reflection in the mirror—his features more weathered now, a few gray hairs sneaking into his dark blond hair, and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He was still in shape, though. The gym was his sanctuary, the one place where he wasn’t James Walker, lead singer of the world’s biggest metal band.
He was just James, the kid who’d bolted from Nashville chasing a better life. The young guy who had no idea that leaving his hometown behind would also mean leaving behind the woman of his dreams.
“You killed it, bro,” Hunter said, clapping him on the shoulder. “That guitar was on fire.”
“My fingers are too,” James added, glancing at the calluses on his fingertips with a frown. “Thanks, Hunt.”
Dustin, their manager, barged in with his tablet in hand, his face practically glued to the screen. Everyone exchanged annoyed looks, bracing for the inevitable rundown of how packed their night and the next day would be.
“Alright, gentlemen. Flight to Portugal leaves in four hours, so we need to head to the airport now,” Dustin announced. The room erupted in groans, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “You can sleep on the way to the airport and during the flight, you bunch of old geezers. Plus, you’ll have the morning off when we land to rest because I’m a great manager.”
“Bullcrap! They canceled the interview, Dustin. Don’t play us,” Alejandro shot back, making everyone laugh.
“In the afternoon, you’ve got a press conference for about 45 minutes, then soundcheck. Show starts at eight. Ready? Let’s roll,” Dustin said, heading out of the room.
“Well, you heard the boss. Let’s move,” Duncan, the rhythm guitarist, chimed in. “Worst part is, we’ve still got dates in Europe and Latin America.”
“And God only knows where I’ll be when my kid graduates middle school,” James muttered, standing up to leave the arena.
“He’s graduating already?” Alejandro asked, slinging an arm around his neck. “Your boy’s almost a grown man. What’s this I see on your head? Gray hairs?” he teased, just to mess with him.
“These gray hairs have had more bras thrown at them than your beer gut. Don’t forget that, jerk,” James fired back, pinching his belly.
“Being a lord of heavy metal is enough to have all kinds of underwear dropping at my feet, idiot,” the bassist retorted, flipping him the bird.
He stepped away from James, who chuckled for a couple of seconds. Once they were on the bus headed to the airport, James rested his head against the window and sighed.
“My kid’s graduating soon, and I’ll be in Europe. I wish I could choose when to be a celebrity and when not to.”
*******
“Dad, are you sure you can’t sneak away for just one day? It’s my graduation,” Jamie, his only son, reminded him.
“I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything. Most likely, I’ll be back in Nashville by the end of the year. The tour doesn’t wrap up until November,” James replied. “But I swear I’ll do everything I can, okay?”
“Fine,” Jamie relented. “Have you talked to Edward about Mom?”
“Yeah, she’s doing as well as she can.”
“I think Mom and Edward might come to the graduation, but it’s not a sure thing either,” Jamie said, sounding a bit down. “Talk to you later, Dad. Good luck on the tour.”
James sighed, hating that his son had to spend so much time without them around.
“I’m keeping tabs on everything, and I’ll keep you posted. I love you a lot, you know that, right?”
“I know, Dad. I love you too.” And he hung up.
Sometimes James wondered if all the sacrifices he’d made for his career had been worth it. “Am I getting too old for this rockstar life, or do I still have some road left to travel? I’m thirty-eight.”
He reached for his pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and lit it, taking a long drag. He stared out at the view from the balcony of his hotel room, the stunning sights of Lisbon offering a small comfort.
He couldn’t deny that his career had introduced him to amazing people and taken him to incredible places. A lot of folks might assume that being in rock meant a life of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll, but they couldn’t be more wrong.
Alcohol? Yeah, there was plenty of that. Drugs? Not on his part, at least. But sex? Ever since his ex-partner had that accident and became paralyzed, he hadn’t touched that part of life.
He felt like he was destined for loneliness because, while he had cared deeply for Diana, he’d never fallen in love like he had with…
“James, the stylist is here,” Dustin called, knocking on the door and cutting through his thoughts.
He walked over to open it, and the stylist—whose name he could never quite remember—stepped into the room, dragging a medium-sized suitcase. He had no idea why she brought so much stuff when they were all guys, and pretty old and wrinkled at that. Well, at least the rest of the band was. James held up pretty well and was the youngest of the bunch.
“Hey, J. You showered and everything?” she asked, and he nodded. Lara pulled over the vanity chair and patted the backrest, motioning for him to sit. “Alright then, let’s get started, metal lord.”
“And here goes another repetitive day, in a different country I’ve already visited over fifty times.”