Excerpt from The Future Saints by Ashley Winstead, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Without warning the song cuts out so there's only the reverberation of the guitars, the fading cymbals. Her voice is a memory. She stands up, lifts her guitar over her shoulders, and walks offstage.

"Good night, Bonita Vista," says Ripper quickly, and then he and Kenny follow. The crowd is left stunned. People stop recording and turn to each other with wide eyes. The chatter in the room builds back as the stage lights flash.

I turn back to my companions at the bar. The bartender has given up the pretense of working; he stands with his hands braced on the bar, eyes on the empty stage. Minnie's hand flutters to her chest.

"That was…" Her voice is faint. "I don't even know what to say."

The bartender shakes his head. "That was good, is what that was. Fucking tragic, but good."

I palm through my wallet and peel off a few bills, enough for a generous tip, and place the money on the bar. Backstage, the band will be coming down off their performance high. Postshow moments are a unique window of time when musicians are needy and therefore open to suggestion. I need to get back there.

"Thanks for the conversation," I say to Minnie and the bartender. "I mean it."

Minnie shakes her head at me. "Where are you rushing off to? Didn't that song just kill you?"

"I've got to get backstage," I say, pounding a fist on the bar and spinning away.

"Hey," the bartender calls. "Who did you say you were again?"

I spin back to face them, but don't stop jogging. "Theo Ford. The Saints' new manager."

Excerpted from The Future Saints by Ashley Winstead. Copyright © 2026 by Ashley Winstead. Excerpted by permission of Atria Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.