Page 99 of The Song We Lost

My hands sweat. My head pounds. My body feels too heavy, too slow, like my brain is wrapped in wet wool.

Someone mutters under their breath, “This is rough.”

Dave laughs like it’s charming. “He’s raw right now. That’s the point.”

A writer shifts in his seat and says, not quietly enough, “No wonder Bailey left.”

The room goes still, and my vision narrows. I pull off the headphones so hard they slap against my neck.

“What did you just say?” I ask, voice low.

The writer holds up his hands, half apology, half challenge. “I’m just saying… This is public knowledge, man. Everyone knows she’s working with Jackson Reed. She’s thriving. You…”

Something in me lights up like a live wire. I move toward the table, headphones falling behind me, grab the nearest stack of papers and fling them across the room.

“Shut the fuck up,” I roar.

Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. I can hear my own breathing. The blood in my ears. The hum of equipment.

“She didn’t leave me,” I spit, like saying it makes it true. “She’s my wife.”

The room shifts uncomfortably and Dave steps in quickly, palms out, smiling like a handler trying to calm a wild animal.

“Okay, okay,” he says lightly. “Let’s take five. Luke’s got a lot going on.”

I glare at the writer, chest heaving.

“She didn’t leave me,” I repeat, quieter now, like I’m trying to convince myself.

Dave guides me toward the hallway, murmuring, “You’re good. You’re fine. This is good for the image, honestly.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the image,” I snap.

Dave’s smile doesn’t falter. “Sure. Of course. But everyone else does.”

He presses something into my hand.

A pill.

My fingers curl around it without thinking.

“How many?” I ask.

“One,” he says. “Just to steady you.”

Just one.

I swallow it dry.

That night, I ended up in a club I don’t remember choosing. The music too loud. Lights flashing so bright it's hard to focus. People shouting my name. A woman presses up against me at the bar. All I see is blonde hair, a tight dress and her phone already angled for a selfie.

For half a second, my brain betrays me. I see the hair and my chest aches like I’ve been hit. Then she turns her face up…

Green eyes.

Not gold.

Not Bailey.