“Dead serious.”
The whole bar is waiting.
And he doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away. Doesn’t give me an out.
Before I can talk myself out of it…
“Fine.”
“Good,” he says, like he knew I would.
I walk up, pick up the guitar, and adjust the mic, my fingers not as steady as I want them to be as I position it just right. I avoid looking at the crowd, avoid looking at him, and instead close my eyes, letting the first note settle in the air before I follow it.
At first, it feels like I’m standing outside my own body, like I’m watching myself from somewhere far away, waiting for themoment everything falls apart. But it doesn’t. The music carries me, soft at first, then stronger, wrapping around me until my voice finds it, until the sound fills the space where my fear used to be.
I start with familiar songs, safe ones, country covers I know by heart, then shift into something heavier, rock ballads that pull a reaction from the crowd, voices joining in, claps echoing through the bar, the energy building until I can feel it in my chest, steadying me, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.
And somewhere in the middle of it, without really deciding to, I let myself fall into it.
Into the music.
Into the moment.
Into beingseen.
By the time Ireach the last song, my fingers don’t hesitate when they find the chords, my voice doesn’t shake when I start.
Creep.
I don’t know why this one. I don’t know why now. All I know is it feels like the only thing that fits.
The room quiets as I sing, the noise fading until it’s just me and the sound of it, the words settling heavier with every line, like they’re pulling something out of me I didn’t realize was still there.
When the last note fades, silence stretches across the bar, thick and almost fragile, like no one wants to break it.
I open my eyes.
And I find him.
Dex is standing at the bar, not moving, not looking away, his gaze locked on mine like he’s seeing something he didn’t expect to find.
For a second, it feels like it’s just the two of us in the room.
Then the moment breaks as Dex turns around and walks into his office.
The crowd erupts, loud cheers and claps crashing over me, pulling me back into the noise, into the reality of where I am, and something inside me lifts with it, something warm and unfamiliar spreading through my chest as I finally look around.
I feel… alive.
Seen.
Valued.
And I blink back tears before they can fall.
Later, after the music, after the applause fades and the noise settles back into something normal, the adrenaline doesn’t leave with it. It stays, sharp and electric under my skin, buzzing through my veins like I don’t know what to do with it.
People clap me on the back as I step off the stage, a few voices calling out compliments I barely register, everything still moving too fast, too loud, my pulse refusing to slow.
