She nods against me. “I am now.”
Dad steps in beside us, clearing his throat. He doesn’t do hugs, not usually, but today he rests a hand on the back of my neck and keeps it there. A solid, anchoring touch.
His thumb brushes the edge of my collar as he leans in close. “She’d be proud of you, son.”
I swallow hard, blinking back the sting. “Yeah. I think she would be.”
“She’ll be watching you tonight.” Mom releases me with a final squeeze, stepping back to dab her eyes, just a whir of motion. “Sing a song for her.”
“They’re all for her,” I say, distorted images flashing through my mind of sun-dappled water, ripples, and teal. “Every single one.”
Annie makes small talk for a minute before taking me by the hand. “Five minutes,” she whispers.
I nod, saying goodbye to my parents. The crowd is starting to swell, and the din of it builds, bone-deep. Electric.
We retreat into the wings.
I hear Kenna pull Tag into a hug. Rock whoops at the top of his lungs. Zach smacks me on the shoulder while Carter calls out something into his headset, and Crowley offers a staticky reply. Annie helps me shoulder my guitar, her fingers skimming down my arm, tethering me.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
My throat tightens. “We’ll find out.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just cups my face between both hands and leans in until her forehead touches mine. “But you’re ready,” she whispers.
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
I’m ready.
Even with the darkness still lingering around the edges.
Even with the music feeling different now. Less clean, more raw.
I grip my guitar, find the pick where I always keep it, and roll it between my fingers like a coin I can’t afford to lose. The keychain Annie gifted me is clipped to my belt loop, and I give it a squeeze before heading onto the stage, the band following, vibrating with newfound energy.
Then the house lights dim.
The crowd erupts.
Crowley nudges my shoulder and murmurs, “You’re on, my friend.”
Annie presses her lips to my cheek, then reaches up, fixes the fall of my hair. “Let’s go burn it down,” she says.
I do.
Not because I can see the path in front of me.
But because I know the sound of coming home.
***
We finish the set with a final song. A cover.
A juiced-up, fast-paced version of “I Only Want To Be With You.”
The crowd is losing it. I can feel the stomp of boots through the stage floor, the growl of roars in my ribs. My fingers blur across the strings, and the neck of the guitar hums in my grip like it’s alive, answering every heartbeat with its own.
By now I’ve memorized the space. The distance between me and the mic stand. The tilt of the wedge monitor by my feet. I can see the lights flashing overhead, feel the warmth of them on my face, sweat tracking down the back of my neck.
