This is it.
I move with purpose, headset snug, heart pounding.
Raina is already near the stage, wrapped in a long coat that hides her outfit, her cheeks flushed.
“You’re good,” I tell her, taking her hands for a second. “You’re ready.”
She swallows. “I’m going to throw up.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“You’re a star,” I repeat.
She makes a face. “Stars probably throw up all the time.”
“Not on stage,” I say. “Not tonight.”
Dave gives me a thumbs-up from the corner.
The horn sounds to end the second.
The crowd rises.
And somewhere above, the jumbotron switches graphics.
A huge title flashes:
FAN APPRECIATION NIGHT
Under it:
RAINA — LIVE
The roar swells.
Raina’s eyes widen.
I squeeze her hand once.
“Smile like they're here just for you,” I whisper.
She exhales. “Okay.”
Then she steps forward.
And as she does, the arena host’s voice rises again, bright and loud:
“Alright, Nashville, don’t go anywhere. You asked for it, you got it. Here she is…”
I take my position behind the stage, eyes tracking every light cue and every camera sweep.
This part I know how to handle.
Music. Timing. Crowd energy.
I can manage all of that.
