I didn’t even know I was shaking until she grips tighter.
“Chase,” she says, low, steady. “What’s wrong? Your head?”
I blink. Once. Twice.
They don’t move. Just stand there, like they have any right to be here.
I look away before they can approach. Before I collapse under the weight of everything I never said.
Because if I don’t, I’ll drown in it.
Just like she did.
“Um…” I turn to Annie, straightening from the fence. “No. Sorry, my head’s fine.”
“You’re trembling.”
“Just the postshow high. It’ll wear off.”
She doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame her.
I steal another glance over Annie’s shoulder. They’re still there, rooted to the pavement, blurring into the white lights like ghosts here to haunt me when I’m already long past plagued.
My mother’s hands twist around the strap of her purse. My father shifts his weight, wanting to come closer but unsure if he can.
The pressure builds behind my eyes. Heat and grief and all the things I’ve refused to say out loud for years. I could walk away; I’ve done it before. I could grab Annie’s hand, disappear into the hotel, and pretend this night was nothing more than a killer show.
But then I hear her voice again.
Always end on a high note.
And maybe that doesn’t mean what I thought it did. Maybe it’s not about applause. Maybe it’s about finally finishing the song.
My pulse skips. “I’ll be right back,” I murmur.
Annie frowns. “Chase?”
“I just…I need to handle something.”
She starts to follow, but I shake my head. “Stay.” I force a small smile. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”
I don’t know what I’ll say. I don’t know if I’ll yell or fall apart.
But my legs move anyway. Because silence didn’t save her.
And it sure as hell won’t save me.
I cross the courtyard in slow, uneven strides. Every step feels like walking into a fire I swore I’d never touch again.
My dad straightens as I approach. Mom’s eyes brim with hope, nerves, maybe guilt.
I stop a few feet away. Not close enough to hug, but not far enough to run.
None of us says anything at first, the silence wrought with a coal mine of fossils and decay.
Then my mom’s voice cracks through it. “You were incredible up there.”
Dad clears his throat. “You’ve done well for yourself, son. We’re…so proud.”
