Page 96 of The Song We Lost

“Fucking hell, Luke.”

I laugh once, bitter. Because this is my life now.

“Get up,” Dave says. “Shower. Drink water. You’ve got a session in two hours.”

I swallow, my throat dry and raw. “Two hours? I just…”

“Two hours,” he repeats. “And Luke? Don’t answer any calls that aren’t from me.”

I think about the call log again.Noah.

My voice catches. “My brother…”

“I said don’t answer,” Dave cuts in. “Not right now. Not when you’re like this. Focus on what matters.”

What matters?

Like Noah doesn’t.

Like my family doesn’t.

Like…

“Luke,” Dave says, voice sharp. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” I lie.

“Good. I’m coming to get you.”

The call ends and I sit there for a moment, phone pressed against my palm.

Noah called.

Why would Noah call three times?

My stomach rolls.

I try to call him back.

It rings once, then goes to voicemail.

I hang up and stare at the screen like I can force it to change.

The silence in the room gets loud.

I close my eyes, and Bailey is there.

Not in the way she’s been lately, on screens, on stages, in headlines. Not something I can pause or rewind.

In my mind she’s real. She’s my dream.

She’s standing in our kitchen barefoot, hair twisted up, wearing one of my shirts. She’s humming while she stirs something on the stove, shoulders relaxed, like she belongs there.

Like she still belongs with me.

I reach for her in the dream and she turns…

But it’s not her.