Chapter Twenty-Eight
Backstage at school smelled like dust, floor polish, and years’ worth of stage fright as everyone hustled around for the talent show.
Students hurried past carrying guitars, props, a literal cardboard sun someone had spray-painted recently, the paint still looking wet.
I stood off to the side, guitar strapped across my chest, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against the frets.
Every time the auditorium door opened, a burst of chatter and laughter rushed in and made my stomach tighten more.
Mrs. Odera passed by with her clipboard and gave me a quick squeeze of the arm. “You go on third, sweetheart.”
The words hit harder than they should have. This was just a performance. A talent show. I’d done plenty of these and in front of tougher crowds than adoring parents. But today, everyone I knew had shown up and that made it harder.
When I peeked through the side curtain, the crowd almost overwhelmed me.
Micah was front and center with Hazel and Lillian. Hazel already had her camera ready to take pictures. Margo was seated between the twins, animatedly whispering something that made Lillian elbow her in the ribs.
The guys were sitting not far down from Micah, one row back.
Justin was scanning the stage, waiting patiently.
Bryan was beside him, posture stiff. Seth was in the aisle, talking to one of the teachers.
I smiled, relaxing slightly seeing them there.
I almost knew where everyone was. Toby was backstage somewhere, preparing for his own performance.
My chest tightened sharply when no amount of scanning revealed Paxon. I swallowed hard and forced myself to step back from the curtain before the ache turned into something embarrassing. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Not at this point. And yet, it still hurt.
“Cadie.”
I turned, breath catching.
Dad approached with two cups of water, his honey-colored eyes already smiling. He wore the button-down I’d picked out for him on his birthday last month.
He pressed one cup into my hand. “You look like you’re about to launch yourself into orbit.”
I huffed a weak laugh. “Feels like it.” I tried to stall by taking a drink, but it didn’t help.
He studied me the only way he could as my dad, with gentleness, patience, and seeing more than I wanted him to see. “You’re going to do great. You always do.”
“I don’t know about always.”
“I do.” He brushed a thumb under my eye like he was checking for tears. “My little Cadie...you’ve climbed mountains bigger than one song.”
My cheeks warmed at his gentle support. “Dad.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said simply. “No matter what happens out there.”
He leaned in and kissed the top of my head before stepping back toward the exit so he could go back to the auditorium, giving me one last encouraging nod as he went. I held on to that warmth like a handrail.
I was doing gentle throat warmups when a presence loomed over me. “Cadence.”
I flinched and turned around. “Oh. Hi.”
Davies grunted, folding his arms. “I didn’t mean to spook you.”
“You didn’t,” I lied immediately, because admitting Davies startled me felt like confessing I had stage fright. I glanced around and frowned. “What are you doing back here? I thought you’d be in the audience. Or behind a diner counter. Or anywhere but a high school backstage.”
He jerked his chin toward the corner of the room.
A girl who looked like a freshman sat on a folding chair, dark curls pulled into two perfect space buns. Someone much older but looking similar to her was fussing with her hair, weaving tiny flower clips into the curls and sprinkling glitter.
I blinked, turned slowly back to Davies, and whispered. “Is that your daughter?”
His eyebrow twitched. “No.”
“Your wife and daughter?”
His scowl deepened. “Cadence?”
“Your secret family?”
“No.” His voice sounded like he was questioning every decision he had made that brought him to this moment.
I stared at him. He stared back.
Finally, he sighed, muttering like the words pained him. “My sister,” he said. “And her daughter.”
“Oh!” I said. “She’s adorable. I didn’t know you had uncle energy.”
He closed his eyes as if begging the universe for strength. “Don’t say things like that.”
I tried not to laugh. Truly, deeply tried.
Davies gave up on being intimidating for a second and leaned against a prop bookshelf. “She’s performing. First time. My sister asked if I could come help keep her from having a nervous breakdown.” His gaze flicked briefly to me. “Figured I might check on you too.”
That startled me more than everything else.
“Oh,” I said softly. “Thank you.”
He shrugged like it meant nothing. “And thanks for cooperating with us so quickly last week. It helped a lot. As far as I’m concerned, Hope’s Embrace is clean, and if anything, just another victim of Ardens. We’re double-checking only to make sure everything is properly covered.”
Some tension eased out of my shoulders. “Good. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Davies’ eyes narrowed. “Well, I can’t go on your word alone in these kinds of things.”
My smile felt cold. “Of course. I understand.”
His sigh was long and a little dramatic. Maybe his niece’s influence. “Break a leg.” He turned toward his niece when someone called her to line up.
“Not literally,” he added over his shoulder. “I don’t have time for hospital paperwork.”
I laughed, the sound shaky as I watched him walk away.
I kept cycling through warmups, hands trembling as I held the neck of my guitar. Students filtered in and out behind the curtain, some buzzing from their performances, others pale from nerves, a few humming scales like they were trying to hypnotize themselves into calmness.
Mrs. Odera’s voice drifted over. “Next up: Cadence Wiles.”
My stomach flipped.
It was suddenly too warm backstage, like the air had thickened with everyone else’s breath. I squeezed my guitar strap with sweaty hands and turned toward the cluster of the people who had quietly gathered near the wall.
I pulled in a long inhale. My hands steadied just enough. Beyond the curtain, I heard the applause fade from the student who’d gone before me. Chairs shifted. A cough. The soft creak of the auditorium settling.
My turn.
The stagehand pulled the curtain back, giving me just enough space to slip through. Light poured in, warm and bright—intimidating if you weren’t ready for it. I’d been on stage hundreds of times, but my hands still trembled as if this were my first performance.
I stepped out on stage.
The lights washed over me, hot and blinding for a second as the audience came into view. All the seats were filled with teachers, students, friends, strangers, and right in front, my dad, already leaning forward like he was ready to catch me if I somehow managed to fall off the stage.
Rows of familiar faces except for one. Paxon. There was still no sign of him. I swallowed hard, rolled my shoulders back, and moved to the mic stand.
My fingers found the first chord as naturally as breathing.
Even with the ache in my chest, something steadied inside me. It was the same thing that always happened when I held my guitar and played it. Music didn’t care about fractured friendships or heartbreak or fear. It just was. A place I could exist without everything else falling apart.
I lifted my eyes to the crowd, spotting my three guys in the audience—Seth, Justin, and Bryan. They were as hyper-focused on me as I was with them.
“Hi,” I said, my voice clear through the mic, giving nothing away about my nerves. “I’m Cadence Wiles.”
A few cheers scattered the room. I smiled.
“This song is for my Music Analysis class. I hope you like it.” I didn’t want to dive into what this song meant for me. I didn’t have that energy and it didn’t matter here. All that mattered was the music I shared.
My thumbs brushed the strings. The auditorium fell silent. Then I began to play, starting with a soft fingerpicked pattern. It was gentle, steady, something that felt like a heartbeat. My breath steadied with it.
The crowd blurred into shapes. The lights softened around the edges. All that existed was the guitar vibrating against my ribs and the words rising in my throat.
I leaned slightly forward to make sure the microphone picked up my voice.
“I lost myself in all the breaking,
In all the shadows I fell through.
I stitched my heart with borrowed courage,
Hoping someday it’d feel true.
But every sunrise feels different now,
Like a rising piece of art.
And I’m learning how to breathe again,
With all these pieces of my heart.
So here I am—won’t look away,
Even when the light feels thin.
If I’m meant to fall, I’ll fall forward,
To where the road begins again.
I’m scared of all the things I want,
And all the ones I stand to lose
But staying empty cuts far deeper
Than choosing something new.
So I’m singing what I couldn’t say,
Every truth I hid inside.
And maybe I’m still learning how
To stop looking for a place to hide.
So here I am—won’t look away,
Even when the light feels thin.
If I’m meant to fall, I’ll fall forward,
To where the road begins again.
And maybe love is something breaking,
Only so it can reshape.
And maybe we are meant to stumble,
Just to find what we can save.
I don’t know how the story ends,
But I know how mine begins:
With letting go of being scared—
And letting something new come in.
So here I am—won’t look away,
Even when the light feels thin.
If I’m meant to fall, I’ll fall forward,
To where the road begins again.
This is where it all begins again.”
The last note lingered, vibrating through the auditorium, hanging in the air like peace after a storm. My fingers trembled as they stilled on the strings. For a moment, no one moved.
Then starting with the guys, and Micah, and Lillian, and Hazel, applause erupted.
It wasn’t polite clapping, but loud and wholehearted, rattling through me so hard my eyes stung.
I blinked fast.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
But then I spotted my dad in the front row, standing, eyes bright with pride, and I cried. I waved to the crowd as everything blurred. The lights dimmed around the edges of my vision. My throat tightened even as I bowed, so many emotions hitting me.
Somehow I made it safely off stage without stumbling and at this point, that was all I could ask for as I left feeling completely raw after giving it my all with that song.