He studies me for a second too long, I think surprised to see a beverage of the non-alcoholic variety in my hand. Big brothermode engaged. “You were solid in there,” he praises. “Really solid.”
“Thanks,” I shrug. “Just doing my job.”
“That’s not all you do,” he counters gently.
Something sharp flickers. I don’t lean into it, and he doesn’t argue with me, just claps my shoulder once and heads back inside. The afternoon stretches on with takes, tweaks, notes. I lose myself in the rhythm again, in the comfort of being essential without being exposed. By the time we wrap for the day, my muscles ache in a good way.
It’s when I pack up my sticks, I feel it; the absence of the roar. The quiet space where everything else creep in. That night, lying in my apartment, the city humming faintly outside the window, Quinn’s words replay uninvited.
Still breathing usually means it matters.
I stare at the ceiling, hands resting over my chest, counting a beat only I can hear.
On stage, I keep everyone in time. Off it? I’m still figuring that out.
And that? That’s new.
Chapter Six
Quinn
Issues
Julia Michaels
The last stretchof highway feels like it’s daring me to change my mind. Chicago’s skyline is still distant, a jagged line of steel and glass rising out of late-summer haze, but my body already knows we’re close.
My shoulders ache from holding tension like it’s a seatbelt I forgot I could take off. My legs feel like they’ve been folded into the shape of Quinn-in-transit for two days straight. There’s a faint bruise on my hip from where a box labeledBOOKS — DO NOT CRUSHhas been pressing into me every time Sadie hits a bump.
The car is packed to the ceiling. Literally. The backseat looks like a Tetris game designed by someone with commitment issues. My clothes, my textbooks, my framed photos, my winter boots I refused to leave behind even though it’s still warm enough to wear sandals; all of it stacked to the point where the rearview mirror is decorative at best.
Sadie drives like she’s running from something, which is funny, because she never is. She’s just always been like this. Fast and focused. A little reckless in a way that somehow never gets her hurt.
Her dark hair is twisted into a messy knot, sunglasses perched on her head, and she’s humming along to whatever playlist she threw on at sunrise. Every once in a while, she glances over at me, smile tugging at her mouth like she can’t stop herself.
“You’re really quiet,” she observes, voice gentle but loaded.
I blink, coming back into my body. “I’m just thinking.”
“About what?”
I look out the window as the suburbs start to blur into the edges of the city. The road signs change. The buildings get taller. The air shifts. “About the fact that I’m not visiting,” I admit. “I’m arriving.”
The words land heavier than I expect.
Sadie’s hand tightens on the wheel, but her expression softens. “Yeah,” she grins over at me. “You sure are.”
My throat goes tight. It’s not fear or regret. It’s the sensation of stepping off a ledge and trusting the air will hold you. New York wasn’t just a place for me. It was a rhythm. A routine. Predictable chaos. Even the parts I complained about, like the noise, the cramped apartment, the constant pressure of being “on” had a familiarity I could lean on when everything else felt uncertain. There’s comfort in the things you already know.
Chicago is unfamiliar enough to be thrilling and terrifying all at the same time. But it’s a change I’m truly excited about. I wish I had made the decision sooner, so I had more time to find my own place and start setting up a space that’s mine, but I know that will come.
Sadie reaches over at a red light and squeezes my knee. “Hey.”
I turn my head.
“I’m proud of you,” she states simply.
The words hit in the exact place I’ve been trying to keep protected. “Stop,” I whisper, my voice thick. “I’ll cry and then you’ll make fun of me.”
