I wonder if it’s the first time she’s been acknowledged.
When I glance at Jack, he’s seething, smile paper-thin, fingers flexing on the neck of his guitar.
I smile at the crowd and continue, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to finish with one last song.”
A few cheers rise from the back.
“We’re out of time,” Jack says abruptly, leaning down to turn off my amp.
But I’m already strumming.
Slow, steady fingerpicking fills the air, soft enough that the room quiets to listen. He can’t shut it off now without the crowd booing. He won’t risk that.
Jack hovers at the edge of the stage, brow furrowed. He doesn’t knowthis song—it’s the one Brandon suggested I play solo.
I’m glad I kept it to myself now.
The melody winds through the stillness, fragile but sure, and I sing, my voice carrying bright and clear through the speakers.
I let the song carry me forward, the melody rising as the last chorus gathers its breath.
No, I’m not waiting…for a sign in the sky
But you gave me one, and I won, you’re the one
Now it glows prismatic white
It’s not a miracle…but a dream cracking apart
My pulse thrums in my throat, and I keep my fingers pressed to the strings, letting them shimmer.
It’s not a miracle, just a truth I finally see
Even broken dreams can set you free
It sounds like a love song, but it isn’t. It’s a thank-you to everyone who’s shaped me. Dad. Mum. Ellenor. Brandon. Jack. Even Toby.
If it weren’t for all of them, I wouldn’t be standing here.
But this moment, this voice, this nerve-wracking courage, is all me.
It’s the broken dream that sets me free
The last note trembles, then it fades.
Silence. Then a single clap. Another. And suddenly, the room erupts in cheers and whistles, and my name is called from the back by Daisy and her friends.
I bow, offering a heartfelt smile.
Jack turns to me, smiling for the crowd too, but his jaw is tight, his blue eyes icy and piercing.
Brandon was right.
Maybe not about Jack stealing my music behind my back, but close enough—he’d been doing it right in front of me, and I let him.
Old Lily-Anne would’ve shrunk back, but I know better now.
“We need to talk,” he says, his smooth tonestrained at the edges.
