Page 50 of The Song We Lost

Five years...

Five years I spent trying to keep Luke from feeling threatened.

Five years I spent turning down opportunities because his love demanded sacrifice.

Jackson continues, his voice casual but the message deliberate. “She’s not just the voice you hear on the radio. She’s an incredible writer. She’s got grit and heart. She’s the reason half your favourite songs sound like they’ve lived through something.”

People laugh and lean in; they listen to him intently. And I realize something with a strange, cold clarity: He’s lifting me up.

Without taking anything from me.

Without making it about himself.

It’s so different it almost hurts.

Rhett, an artist with a platinum grin, claps his hands and says, “We should make the next country anthem.'No place I’d rather be'.”

Everyone laughs and I smile politely. Inside, something twists. That line means something different to me than it ever will to them. But I keep moving. Keep smiling.

As the night goes on I start to relax, but then I see Dave... Luke’s manager. My stomach drops like I’ve swallowed a stone. If Dave is here, does that mean Luke is too?

Jackson notices immediately. His hand brushes my back protectively, as he says something quietly to one of his security guards, who shifts position without drawing attention.

Rachel steps closer, her presence steady.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “We’re covered.”

I nod like I can breathe, but then I see Kacey. She approaches with that bright, eager energy of someone who wants the spotlight so badly she’ll climb anything to get there.

“Bailey!” she says, like we’re friends. “Oh my God. That was amazing. I’ve been dying to see you again.”

I keep my smile polite, but I am not sure my tone matches.

“Hi,” I say.

Her eyes flick to my bare ring finger, and then away fast, like she knows what it means and wants to pretend she doesn’t.

Megan, another artist, asks, “You know each other?”

My smile doesn’t change.

“She’s… friends with Luke,” I say.

It’s a simple sentence, but it lands like a grenade. Kacey’s smile falters for half a beat. Then she brightens again, scrambling. “Yeah! We’re touring... Well, we were, you know...”

Jackson’s hand touches the small of my back, a clear signal.

“Bailey,” he says smoothly, cutting in without cutting her down, “I want you to meet someone.”

He guides me away before I have to be cruel. Before I become someone I don’t want to be. As we move, I overhear a voice behind us:

“I can’t believe Luke fell for that trash.”

Another voice answers: “Kacey’ll attach herself to any male country singer who can improve her career. No shame.”

My stomach churns. I know they’re defending me. But I don’t want it. I don’t want the ugliness. I don’t want to hear anyone tearing another woman apart because my husband couldn’t keep his promises.

I keep walking, keep smiling, and then I feel it.