Page 34 of The Song We Lost

The question hits hard because it’s not supposed to be a choice. It was never supposed to be a choice. Bailey and I didn’t build this dream separately. We built it on the floor of an apartment, writing with cheap strings and broken nails,laughing through hunger, telling each other it would be worth it one day. We built it with her head on my shoulder and my hand on her back, making plans for a future that included orchards and kids and our families close enough to yell across a yard. And somehow I turned it into a competition.

The door opens again before I can answer.

Noah walks in. He takes one look at my manager and then at me, and something dark passes through his face.

“Tell me you’re leaving,” he says.

Dave starts. “Noah...”

Noah lifts a hand. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

He steps into the room and stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him.

“Tell me you’re leaving,” he repeats, slower this time, like if he says it the right way my brain will finally work.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out and Noah reacts immediately. His jaw tightens so hard I think his teeth might crack.

“You are unbelievable,” he says, voice low. “Do you understand what day it is?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “I know what day it is.”

“Do you?” Noah’s laugh is short and ugly. “Because it sure doesn’t look like it.”

Dave tries again, all smooth edges. “Noah, we’re working on a plan. Luke can fly out in the morning...”

Noah’s eyes cut to him. “Shut up.”

Dave actually goes quiet. Noah turns back to me, and his voice drops even lower. “You are so lucky,” he says, like the words hurt him to say. “You are so lucky to have someone like her.”

I flinch. Because he’s right. Because I know it. Because the truth burns.

“She isn’t just beautiful,” Noah continues, and his voice is shaking now. “She’s not just talented. She’s not just the girl everyone watches on stage and thinks theyknow. She’s a good person, Luke. Like…actuallygood. Caring. Compassionate. Selfless. She has been carrying you and your dreams and your ego and your family and her own family and that entire compound on her fucking back...”

“Stop,” I warn.

Noah steps closer.

“No,” he says. “You stop. You stop acting like you’re the victim in a story where she treats you like a king and you behave like a spoiled child.”

My throat tightens.

“She understands you more than anyone,” Noah says. “She’s forgiven you more times than you deserved. She’s stayed loyal while you’ve been out here pretending the world owes you something. Acting like a single man instead of one who is married to Bailey.”

“I’m doing this for us,” I snap, because the words are automatic. Because they’ve been my shield.

Noah’s eyes flash.

“For us?” he spits. “You mean foryou. Because if it was for us, you’d be on a plane. You’d be showing up. You’d be standing beside her while she builds the life you begged her to sign that fucking contract for.”

My stomach twists. That memory hits, sudden and sharp, like my brain is trying to punish me:

Bailey sitting on the edge of our bed years ago, contract in her hands, eyes wide and scared.

“I don’t want to do it without you, Luke.”

And me... me with my pride and my panic, telling her to sign.

Telling her I’d catch up.