And God, he looks so happy it makes my chest ache in the best way.
*****
ZACH
The house lights are still up, warm and golden across the mainstage. The velvet curtains are drawn, hiding everything Caroline's been losing sleep over for the past month. Musicians in the pit are tuning instruments — a scattered violin note here, a cello line there — and the soft buzz of the audience fills the whole theater.
Programs are rustling. People are settling in. The air's got that backstage-magic tension, the kind where everything feels like it's vibrating, waiting.
My mom and Sam are with them — though Sam's seat is empty at the moment. I saw her slip out a few minutes ago, probably to the bathroom.
Mom is leaning in toward Esther, the two of them chatting. Franklin sits there quietly... trying — and failing — to look composed. The man's knee hasn't stopped bouncing for the last ten minutes.
It's kind of adorable, honestly.
He's usually this put-together, all-business type of guy in public, but when it comes to Caroline? He turns into the softest, proudest dad on earth. He has never missed a single performance she's ever had — not one — and tonight he's practically vibrating with nervous excitement, his gaze fixed on the stage like he can already see his little girl shining out there.
I'm a few rows back with the guys — smack in the center aisle because apparently that's where Cody decided we "needed to be for optimal viewing of our girl."
Yeah.Ourgirl.
It's... a whole circus right here.
Two of our teammates, Reese and Jasper, are on the balcony rail trying to hang the banner, and somehow they're still screwing it up. And by "banner," I mean the most offensively ugly piece of fabric ever crafted by human hands. It looks like a kindergarten group project gone wrong.
The letters aren't even straight. The paint is still suspiciously wet in some parts. And the spacing? Horrific. The letters are uneven, the paint's blotchy, and the whole thing looks like it was made by sleep-deprived toddlers — but hey, effort counts.
People in the audience are staring — some chuckling, some outright laughing — and honestly? I don't blame them.
Cody and the twins are shouting instructions like drill sergeants.
"No—other way! OTHER WAY. Dude, that's left. I said right!"
Luke chimes in, exasperated, "Bro, lift your side. YOUR side. Why are you liftinghisside?"
"Dude, it's STILL crooked! Higher—no, LOWER—no, what are you even doing?!"
"STOP PULLING, YOU'RE MAKING IT WORSE!" Reese barks at Jasper.
Reese adjusts it two centimeters.
"JASPER, STOP MOVING! WHY ARE YOU MOVING?!"
Cody stands in the aisle like a useless foreman, nodding proudly. "Yup. Perfect. Little more to the right though—no—okay stop—WAIT, back."
I rub a hand down my face.
Cody stands in the aisle, hands on his hips like a proud, useless supervisor. "STRAIGHTEN IT! No—STRAIGHTEN IT STRAIGHTER!"
"STRAIGHTER?" I murmur. "That's not even a direction."
Cody ignores me.
After like... ten tries and two near-death slips over the balcony rail, the banner finally sits halfway decent. Not perfect — not evengood— but readable-ish.
Cody throws his arms up. "YES! NAILED IT!"
The guys up there cheer and start coming down the stairs, chest-bumping each other.
