20. Testing powers
TESTING POWERS
JUNIOR YEAR
T he suit didn’t feel like his.
It fit – tailored, expensive, pressed sharp enough to cut – but it felt borrowed, like something meant for a man he hadn’t grown into yet. Preston stood in front of the mirror anyway, adjusting the collar for the third time, breathing through a tightness that had nothing to do with the fabric.
Downstairs, voices murmured. Laughter. Ice clinked in glasses. People who knew his name now. People who expected something.
He closed his eyes and hummed under his breath – not to warm up, but to remember. The sound steadied him, low and familiar, the way it always had when everything else felt loud. Then he picked up his phone. She wasn’t going to be here, not today. He took a picture of himself and sent it to her.
Not as sharp as the one I wore for our three months, but close… and expensive lol… wish you were here
He hit send, just as a knock tapped softly at the door. “You decent?” his mother asked.
“Yeah.”
She came in dressed to the nines, heels on, hair pulled back sleek and purposeful. She looked like a woman who knew exactly where she was going – had always known. That was the thing he loved about her: even when life knocked her flat, she never looked lost.
She took him in slowly. The suit. The nerves he wasn’t hiding as well as he thought. “You look good,” she said.
He nodded. “Feel like I’m about to throw up.”
She smiled faintly. “That means you care, baby.” She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air felt heavy – like something important was coming and they both knew it.
“Preston,” she said finally, voice softer than usual.
“I wanted to talk to you before we go down there.”
His shoulders tensed. “Okay.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I know you don’t like when I bring up the past.”
He didn’t answer. She took that as permission. “When I was your age,” she continued, “I had executives flying me out, just like this. Promises. Meetings. ‘One more session and we’ll know’.” A small laugh escaped her, humorless. “They always needed one more.”
He watched her reflection in the mirror – how her jaw tightened, her eyes hardened.
“I was good,” she said quietly. “Better than good. And they knew it. That’s the part people don’t tell you. The industry doesn’t just chew up the untalented – it chews up the gifted first. Because we’re the ones willing to bleed for it.”
He cleared his throat before it could tighten.
“I signed deals I shouldn’t have. Took advances I thought meant I was finally free.
” She shook her head. “But you’re never really free in this industry.
When they encouraged owning my future, they didn’t mean me, they meant them.
By the time I realized it, my masters were gone.
My voice wasn’t mine anymore – hell, it still isn’t.
All that hard work, blood, sweat and tears, and I get crumbs, while putting other people’s kids through college. It’s enough to drive you crazy.”
She looked at him then. “I went into debt trying to buy myself back. Studios. Lawyers. Re-recordings. They blocked it all. I kept thinking, if I just worked harder, sang better, stayed grateful… it would fix itself.” She exhaled slowly.
“It didn’t.” Silence pressed in. “And then I met Mack; he tried to help me,” she said.
“When nobody else would even take my calls, and he didn’t ask for a dime.
He believed I deserved a second chance – even when the industry had already decided I was done. ”
Preston felt something loosen in his chest and tighten again all at once.
She continued. “But one thing my momma told me was, when God closes one door, he’ll open a window. When he came to see you perform at SpringFest, even though you didn’t say a word, he could see it right away. The thing that I see in you. Your greatness.”
She walked over to him and looked him squarely in the eyes. “I know you don’t trust him,” she added gently. “And I’m not asking you to. I’m just telling you… I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.”
He sighed. “I know you wouldn’t.”
She reached for his hand. “And this—” she gestured vaguely, toward the door, the waiting executives, the weight of expectation, “—this isn’t about you owing me anything. I never wanted repayment.”
He shook his head. “But you told me what it cost.”
Her grip tightened. “Because you’re grown enough to know the truth. But don’t confuse honesty with debt.”
He looked down. “I feel responsible.”
“I know you do,” she said softly. “That’s why I trust you with this.” Her voice steadied, firm again. “My door closed, but the window is open for you to climb through. You have a gift, and this is your shot. I just wanted to make sure you knew that you deserve this for yourself.”
A moment passed. “You don’t have to save me,” she added. “I already survived.”
That hit harder than anything else.
Downstairs, laughter rose again. Someone called his name.
She stood and smoothed his jacket. “Sing like you always do,” she said. “Not for them. For you.”
He nodded, throat thick.
As she reached the door, she paused. “One more thing.” He looked up. “No matter what happens tonight – contract or no contract – you don’t owe anyone your soul. Remember that.”
The door closed behind her.
Preston stood alone for a moment longer, heart pounding, the echo of her words settling into his bones. Then he straightened his shoulders and headed downstairs.
The room went quiet when he entered. Executives turned. Smiles sharpened. Mack caught his eye across the room and lifted a glass, easy and confident, like the deal was already done.
Preston stepped forward anyway. When he opened his mouth to sing, the room disappeared. For a few minutes, there was no debt. No contracts. No legacy he had to carry. Just his voice. And the hope that it would be enough.
The silence after the last note was wrong.
Preston felt it before he heard it – the way executives leaned back instead of forward, the way heads tilted instead of nodded. Applause came, but it landed scattered, uneven. A few smiles. A few murmured nice. Nothing stuck.
He knew.
His tempo had been too fast. Not technically – emotionally. He’d pushed instead of settling. Sang like he was chasing something instead of letting it come to him. It was the kind of mistake only someone who knew better could make.
Mack clapped loudest. “Fire,” he said, grinning. “Real fire.”
Preston didn’t return the smile.
His mother’s face flickered between hope and calculation. She nodded too quickly, eyes shining, like if she believed hard enough, it would all rewind and land differently.
Someone said, “He’s got potential.”
That word felt like a bruise.
Preston shook hands, thanked people, smiled when expected. Mack leaned in at one point, low and confident. “Don’t sweat it. First pitch rarely lands clean.”
Preston nodded, but something inside him was already folding in on itself.
Spring wasn’t there.
He hadn’t realized how much he needed that until the moment passed without her.
He left early, didn’t say much. Drove until the city lights thinned and the roads opened up, the hum of tires louder than his thoughts. He didn’t even decide where he was going – his body already knew. By the time he pulled up to her place, the porch light was on.
She opened the door before he knocked. Standing there in pajamas, she took one look at him, and stepped aside. “You hungry?” she asked, like she hadn’t just read everything on his face.
Inside, the smell of soy and ginger wrapped around him. Bento Box bags were spread across the counter – lo mein, dumplings, orange chicken. Their usual.
“You already ordered?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I figured you were gonna need food.”
They ate in near silence at first. Not awkward – just full. The kind of quiet that lets disappointment sit down instead of pacing.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. It was way past my curfew tonight.”
He shook his head instantly. “This isn’t on you. Never was.”
After a spell, she nudged him. “You wanna talk about it,” she said, not asking.
He sank back into the couch, elbows on knees. “I bombed.”
She didn’t rush to fix it. Just waited.
“They said the word potential,” he continued. “Like I’m a maybe. Like this thing that’s been my whole life might still need convincing.”
“That’s bullshit,” she said flatly.
He laughed without humor. “You know, my girlfriend would say the same thing.”
“Well, she’s right. Sounds like you got yourself a keeper.” She rubbed his shoulders as he stared at the floor.
“I don’t know how to carry all of it. My mom. Mack. This expectation that every time I open my mouth, it’s supposed to change our lives forever.”
She sidled closer to him. “You don’t have to deal with any of it tonight.”
He sighed hard. “Feels like I do. Like I always do.”
“That’s not true,” she said softly.
He nodded, then shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I feel like… like I disappointed everybody.”
She leaned on his shoulder, close enough that their knees touched. That small contact steadied him more than he expected. “You, Preston Elijah Cole, could never disappoint me,” she said. “Ever.”
He let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in his chest all night.
“My mom,” he started, then stopped. Sighed.
“She’s put so much into this. Everything she didn’t get, she wants for me.
And I love her for that. I really do. But sometimes it feels like I’m carrying her life on my back. And not living my own.”
Spring reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his without hesitation.
“You’re allowed to want things for yourself,” she said.
“That doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you human.
If that’s singing, then don’t let anyone take it from you.
” She tugged at his suit jacket and continued.
“Besides, you always sing best when you forget who’s listening. So just do that.”
He exhaled slowly. “Hard to forget when my mom’s staring at me like I’m her second chance.”
Her expression softened. “That’s heavy.”
“It is.”
She reached out, tapped his knee with her finger. “Well, next time, if I can’t be there for any reason, just imagine I’m there with a poster-sized sign that say ‘Go Big Bird’.”
That nickname hit him harder than the critique. He laughed once, then shook his head. “You always know how to make it worse and better at the same time.”
She grinned. “It’s a gift.”
Spring hopped up and grabbed her phone. She searched through it with a devilish grin, and her Bluetooth speakers turned on, music flowing into the room.
I don’t think I can fight this,
Lie to myself, but I just can not pretend
The way I feel about you and all the things that we do
Kinda feels like I’m fallin’ in love again.
It took no time to realize what it was. Soft. Old-school. His mother’s voice – young and unburdened – wrapped in warmth. Her breakout hit, ironically called Kiss in the Springtime.
Preston froze. “You like this?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.
Spring glanced up, surprised. “I love it. It’s been on my playlist forever.”
He laughed once, awkward. “That’s… kind of weird.”
“Why?”
“Because… I mean – my mom made it.”
She didn’t apologize. Didn’t flinch. She just smiled in that quiet way she had. “I know. I was always a big Talia Cole fan before I met you. I didn’t even put two and two together for months,” she said softly. “But now it makes sense that this would be her song.”
He tilted his head. “How so?”
She stepped closer – not touching him yet, just close enough that he felt her there. “That song,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “always felt like being seen without having to explain yourself.”
His chest tensed as he took a breath to process her words.
“And that’s how I feel about you,” she added. “When I see you.”
The room went still after that.
Preston swallowed, his heartbeat loud in his ears. For the first time that night – maybe for the first time in a long time – he didn’t feel like he was being measured. He felt chosen.
The song kept playing.
He looked at her then and felt that familiar ache bloom in his chest. The one that scared him, because it mattered. “You know,” he said quietly, “you’re the only place I don’t feel like I’m being watched.”
Her lips curved into a small smile. “Good,” she said. “Because I see you. Not the singer. Not the future. Just… you. Preston Elijah Cole. Superman.”
The room shifted after that. Not in a dramatic way.
In the subtle way tides change – slow, inevitable.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he rested his cheek against her hair.
He could smell her shampoo, feel the warmth of her body through the hoodie.
His heart thudded louder than it should have.
“I’ve never—” he started, then stopped himself, embarrassed.
She didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. She just waited.
“I’ve never felt this close to anyone,” he finished. “It scares me.”
She lifted her head, met his eyes. “Me too,” she said honestly. “But I think… I think some things are worth being scared for.”
Their foreheads touched. Breaths mingled.
The world outside the room – the expectations, the noise, the pressure – fell away until there was only this moment, suspended and fragile.
If something happened next, it wouldn’t be rushed.
Or forced. Or reckless. It would be because, for once, Preston Cole didn’t feel like he had to perform.
And Spring wasn’t running from anything either.
They stayed like that for a long moment – breathing, steadying – before the night carried them somewhere quieter and more certain than either of them had planned.
Some things didn’t need to be rushed. Some things didn’t need to be said. And whatever happened after that belonged only to them.