“I know so.” He presses one more kiss to my temple, quick and fierce. “Go make them see what I see.”
“Go remind the world why you’re the best damn player in this tournament.”
We start to pull apart, slowly, like gravity’s giving us a break but only just.
“Talk tonight?” I ask.
He nods. “Tonight.”
And then he’s walking away, long strides, hood up, head down, blending back into the city that doesn’t know what it’s holding.
I watch until he disappears, the heat shimmering in his wake, then shove my hands into my pockets and head for rehearsal.The Strip hums louder the closer I get, a pulse that feels almost like my own heartbeat.
Miles is tuning his guitar when I walk into our room half an hour later, head bent, eyes sharp. Eli’s slouched on the couch, nursing a Red Bull like it’s the sacrament, and Drew’s crouched over his pedalboard again, cables looping like veins across the carpet.
“You’re late,” Eli says without looking up.
“You’re annoying,” I shoot back.
He grins, all teeth. “So, breakfast with your beau went well?”
I freeze for half a second. Miles doesn’t look up, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth.
“You guys really are the worst,” I mutter. Of course they know I was with Ollie, but it’s kind of badass that they pretend to be nonchalant. Not that I’ll tell them that.
Drew snorts. “That’s a yes, then.”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. I grab my bass, sling the strap over my shoulder, and hit a few chords until the room hums right.
Miles adjusts his amp, the low thrum filling the space. “You good, man?”
“Yeah,” I say, and for once, it’s true. “I’m good.”
Eli leans back. “We ready to blow this town up tonight?”
I glance at them—these idiots who’ve been with me since our first semester of college with duct-taped mics and dreams too big for our awkward limbs—and feel something like awe.
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re ready.”
Eli claps his hands together. “Hell yeah, we are. Vegas, baby. Mirage freakin’ Theater. We’re not going back to open mics after this.”
Miles’s fingers still against the strings. “You really think it’ll change things?”
I nod slowly. “I think it already has.”
That makes him look up, eyebrow raised. “You mean the buzz?”
“I mean all of it. The agent, the emails, the gigs lining up. We’ve been running full speed since The Lantern. Feels like the world finally caught up.”
Eli kicks a spare drumstick across the floor. “Good. About damn time.”
Drew, still fiddling with his pedals, glances over. “You think they’ll actually offer something? Like… real money, real deal?”
“Maybe,” I say. “But we can’t think small. Tonight’s about proving we can handle the next step.”
Eli smirks. “Which is what, Mr. Front Man? Fame? Fortune? Matching tattoos?”
“All of the above,” I say, grinning. “But seriously—if anyone comes knocking after tonight, we take the shot. No hesitation.”
