Zane’s grin didn’t falter, though his chest ached with the effort. “If you say the word, I’ll be there. Every time. You can count on me.”
Max leaned in, his gaze glinting with something way too close to perception. “You sound like a man promising more than just music.”
Zane laughed, a little too brightly. “I guess we’ll find out.”
They shook hands, and then he was out of there, stepping into the hum of the street filled with the sound of car horns and chatter, the smell of fried onions drifting from a nearby food van. He kept the smile plastered on his face until he was two streets away.
Then it broke.
He ducked into a narrow alley and leaned against the brick wall, his chest heaving. His hands trembled, not from the singing—that had been the easy part—but from the weight of keeping his voice steady when Theo asked about commitment.
Of course he’d said yes. He always said yes. The golden boy never faltered.
But inside, the old script repeated:
You’ll let them down. You’re not serious. You’ll go running back to your father’s office and stay there forever.
No.
No way.
Nofuckingway.
Back at the family house, the mask snapped back into place. His mum kissed his cheek, asked if he’d eaten. His dad shouted something about balance sheets from the kitchen. Zane answered in all the right ways, his tone light and sunny.
Only when the door to his bedroom clicked shut did the mask slip again. He tugged off his shirt, collapsed onto the unmade bed, and pressed his phone against his chest.
He opened the notes app where he’d typedIf I sparkle hard enough, no one notices I’m fading.His thumbs slid over the screen as he added another line.
If I sparkle too bright, someone’s bound to see the burn.
He stared at it, his finger hovering over delete. Instead, he saved it.
Then he lay back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, a quiet hum slipping from his throat that wasn’t meant for anyone else, only for him.
“So what did we think of our last guy?” Max wanted to hear Theo’s thoughts, although he could lay money on the words he knew would come from Theo’s lips. “How old is he again?”
Theo flipped a page in his notebook, the margin already filled with neat bullet points. “Twenty-four.” He read aloud from his notes. “Flawless control. Strong falsetto, clean diction, natural stage presence. He projects polish—maybe too much. I’d like to hear him break pattern, to see what’s under the shine.”
Max grinned. “How many times have you said that after an audition? You want to hear themallbreak.” He leaned back, his arms crossed. “It’s not just shine with him. That boy’s walking around with cracks under the gloss. You could hear it if you knew where to listen. Every time he smiled, it sounded as if he was swallowing something sharp.”
Theo gave him a pointed look. “Performance polish isn’t a crime. Discipline is necessary.”
“Sure it is,” Max replied, his voice smooth. “But discipline can become a mask. He’s gorgeous, he’s charming—and youknowthe crowd’s going to love him—but the hook is when the smile slips. That falsetto? It wasn’t just pretty. It wasaching.”
Theo hesitated, then conceded with a slight nod. “I did hear it. A tension he didn’t resolve.”
“Exactly.” Max leaned forward, tapping the table with one finger. “You wanna know what I think? He’s the golden boy whodoesn’t want anyone to see him tarnish. You let that unravel onstage, and he’ll break hearts in the first verse.”
Theo’s lips tightened. “We’re not running a therapy group, Max.”
He smirked. “No. We’re running a leather a cappella group. Heat, risk, edge… and that’s the point. He’s gotallthat. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Theo jotted another note, but his gaze flicked up. “He’ll need structure. Direction. Otherwise, he’ll drown in expectations.”
Max raised his glass of water like a toast. “Then let him drown a little. The audience will love watching him fight for air.”
Theo sighed, although there was the ghost of a smile. “So you think we’re right to keep him?”
