On his way out, he pauses at the door. “Hope.”
I look up.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could do it.”
He leaves before I can respond.
Sinking into the plush couch, I settle the guitar against me and strum.
The first chord rings clean. I adjust, find the tension in the strings, and learn the way she wants to be played. By the time I’ve run through a few songs, my fingers move faster, more certain. Twenty minutes later, muscle memory has taken over, grounding me in something familiar.
I can do this.
I scribble out a set list, crossing out one song, adding another. No covers. Not tonight.
I’m so focused, a knock at the door startles the hell out of me.
“Five minutes,” Zane calls.
I freeze. Shit.
“Okay.”
There’s no going back now. I stand, sling the strap over my shoulder and meet him in the hallway. As we head toward the stage, the noise swells as we get closer.
He stops at the side of the stage. “You good?”
I nod, even though my pulse says otherwise.
“Don’t overthink it.” He cups my shoulder. “You’re a musician. Just play.”
He backs away.
I climb the three steps to the stage. The lights are bright enough to blur the edges of everything. Though it’s hard to see them from the glare, I can sense the crowd stretches out in front of me. Waiting.
There’s no fallback now. No safety. It’s just me, Zane’s guitar, and a chance to play for a new crowd.
I adjust the mic, take a breath, and place my fingers on the frets. My hands tremble a little, but I manage to strum the first few chords.
Chords of destiny.
The sound carries farther than I expect, filling the room in a way playing at the market never does. My voice follows, soft at first, then stronger as the notes settle into place.
By the second verse, something shifts. The nerves remain, but they sharpen and turn into focus. I lean into the music and the stories I know better than anything else. My perception of the room fades at the edges and is replaced by something clearer, more direct.
This is why I do this. Not the tips. Or the grind.
This.
Connection through music. The moment when everything lines up and lands exactly where it should.
When I finish my first song, there’s a beat of silence. Then the crowd erupts. Literally. The response overwhelms me enough to steal my breath.
Encouraged, I close my eyes and move into the next.
These are my songs. My stories. The music moves through me, steady and sure now, filling the room, weaving through the energy until I realize I belong here.
By the time I reach the last song, I’m addicted to this stage. I don’t want it to end, but as the final note fades I know my time in the spotlight is over.
