That mental image has been scrubbed from my mind.
On every day that doesn’t end inY.
Refocusing, I clear my throat and stretch my legs, our thighs brushing. “My sister used to give me advice whenever I was teetering the line of a nervous breakdown. Back when I played sports, mostly. She would say, ‘Always end on a high note.’ And that was to say that no matter how many times you inevitably screw up, never let it get to you. Never let it show. Keep going, stay confident, and leave them with the best version of you—the version you want them to remember.” I glance over, smirking faintly. “Of course, she said that right before I struck out three times in a row at regionals, but you get the point.”
Annie breathes out a laugh, ducking her head. “I like that.”
“Something to keep in mind.” My head presses back against the scratched, scribbled wall, and I twirl the silver band around my thumb, centering myself.
I’m nervous too. But the rush of adrenaline overpowers the jitters, giving me clarity. This is what I’ve worked for. This is what Stella always wanted for me.
As Annie tosses her notebook aside, her slinky of black bangle bracelets slides down to the edge of her palm, revealing a gnarly bruise around her wrist.
My stomach twists. I snatch her by the elbow.
She jumps. “Chase, what—”
“What is this?” My touch is gentle but firm, my thumb dusting over the purplish ring glowing on her skin. I lift my gaze, frowning as I stare at her. “Alex?”
Her eyes bulge as she tears her arm away from my grip. “No…no, it’s from a bracelet I was wearing the other day. It was on too tight.”
She swiftly pulls to a stand, floats away, and approaches Tag near the fridge as he cracks open a beer.
I follow. “Annie.”
Ignoring me, she steals Tag’s beer and downs half of it. “I need some fuel.”
Tag gives me a side-eye before glancing down at his sister. “Fridge is stocked, thank you very much.” He snatches it back. “Some vodka in there too.”
“I haven’t eaten. That won’t end well.”
“Annie—” I take her by the shoulder and whirl her around to face me. My hand skims down her upper arm with a light squeeze. “Talk to me.”
She paints on a smile. “Ready, rock star?”
My jaw tenses, muscles turning to stone.
Fucking Alex.
He did that; he left those bruises. And she still wears his damn ring, ready to spend forever under his thumb, drowning in shadow, smiling through the pain she’s convinced herself to bear.
“Yeah,” I mutter, having no other choice but to let it go until after the show. “Ready.”
Stepping away, I press the heel of my hand to my head.
Pressure starts to thrum behind my left temple.
Fuck.
Not now.
Crowley gives us a five-minute warning, and I use it to lock myself in the en suite bathroom, swallowing a handful of pills in one go. It’s just drugstore pain reliever, nothing strong enough. But it’s all I have, and I need to get through this set as clearheaded as possible, because once those stage lights hit, there’s no turning back.
I lift my eyes to the mirror, cracking my neck, rolling my shoulders. My reflection blurs for a beat before refocusing, and I blink away the flecks of light skating across my vision. With sheer willpower alone, the headache dulls. It placates into a mild ache, subdued by the adrenaline running marathons through my blood.
I got this.
We fucking got this.
