The Song We Lost (Soundtrack #3)

Bailey

. . .

Tonight I look perfect, even by industry standards.

The mirror in the hotel suite reflects what the world wants to see.

My hair is big tonight, not the loose, beachy waves I wear when I’m pretending I still belong to myself, but full, blown-out volume teased and shaped for stage lights and high-definition cameras. Country-princess big.

My makeup is polished and stage-ready: bronzed skin, lashes thick and dark, eyes rimmed softly so they glow instead of glare. My lips are lined and glossy... Perfect.

This is the version of me they sell.

I take myself in with a shaky exhale. The only thing I am wearing that I chose for myself are the diamond earrings my sister, Sadie, gave me the day I left our small town in Alberta. Everything else was approved, tailored, and signed off by the entire team.

What the mirror doesn’t show is the empty space beside me. Luke was supposed to be here by now. I let my eyes close for a second, just long enough for memory to slip in before I can stop it.

Us at eighteen.

It was my birthday... it was everything...

Me with my thrifted heels in hand, barefoot running down the courthouse steps because we couldn’t afford a venue.

During the ceremony that wasn't really a ceremony but felt perfect because it was just him and me. It never mattered what we were doing or who was around us, because he was my moon, my gravity, and I was his sunshine, his light.

Sadie was crying harder than I was, clutching a wildflower bouquet she’d wrapped herself.

Luke’s hands were shaking when he slid the ring on my finger, whispering, "I don’t ever want a life where you’re not in it, Sunshine."

His parents were there with his brother, Noah.

Back then, he couldn’t be away from me longer than a day. Slept with one arm stretched across the bed even when I wasn’t there, like muscle memory might keep me close. Called me just to hear my voice. Followed me from room to room like he was afraid I might disappear.

Opening my eyes, and I instinctively roll my wedding band on my finger. I refused to get it replaced; I didn't want anything fancy or big. I just wanted... want us, and the promises we made. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror doesn’t look like she belongs to that girl anymore.

The suite smells faintly of hairspray, perfume, and hotel coffee.

My glam team finished up a few minutes ago: last curls pinned, lipstick reapplied, a final approving nod in the mirror.

They’d buzzed around me with so much excitement that I almost felt guilty I was having to fake it.

I felt like crumbling when I should have felt on top of the world.

"You look incredible."

"You’re opening the show."

"This is huge."

"This is your night, Bailey."

Now I am alone, and it’s too quiet. I cross the room and stop at the window.

The city hums below, electric and impatient.

Barricades already line the street. My travel plans were leaked, and fans are crowded shoulder to shoulder, holding handmade signs with my name and song titles scrawled in marker.

A few have guitars slung over their backs like offerings.

People are wearing shirts with my face on them, crying at the barriers, waiting to catch a glimpse of me on what should be one of the happiest days of my life.

A thousand people who think they know me because they’ve memorized my lyrics.

I check my phone again.

No missed calls.

No texts.

Nothing new since last night.

A message buzzes in before I can lock the screen.

Sadie

I wish I were there. You’re going to shine tonight. No matter what, win or lose. I am so proud of you. I love you.

My throat tightens.

I love you too

I type and hit send. I wish she were here. My big sister, my mom in every way that matters, and my safe place.

I sit on the edge of the bed, the fabric of my dress tight and unforgiving around my hips.

A lace corseted top, that I had to bargain with my team to loosen just enough so that I can actually sing, the skirt is layers of sequins, draped beading and fringe.

Tiny in all the ways that photograph well.

I am a pretty package that makes stylists nod and publicists smile, wearing a dress that costs more than the trailer Sadie and I grew up in.

I think about that trailer sometimes, about how Sadie used to braid my hair at the cracked bathroom mirror before school and Luke leaning against his truck, watching me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

We said we’d take care of our families.

We said we’d build something together.

We said this wasn’t the point.

I dial his number anyway. It rings until voicemail, just like I knew it would.

“Hey,” I say softly, forcing steadiness into my voice. “It’s me.”

I stare at my reflection across the room. The woman in the mirror looks strong, untouchable. The kind of woman people assume never needs anyone.

“I don't know where you are,” I continue. “I guess maybe you are running late or the plane was delayed... but...” I swallow. “They’re about to take us down to the venue.” I pause, my chest rising and falling too fast, the corset constricts my breathing further, and I close my eyes so I can say what I need to.

“They keep asking if you’re walking the carpet with me.

If you’ll be sitting in the front row, at my side.

” I try to take a shaky breath. “I keep telling them yes. That you’ll be here. That you wouldn’t miss this.”

My knee bounces, so I stand and pace to try and stay calm. I try to remember the way to centre myself like Sadie taught me when panic threatened to take over.

“I’m opening the show,” I whisper. “They want me on stage first. I am up for Female Vocalist of the Year. Can you believe that?” A hollow laugh slips out. “I just… I don’t want to do it alone.”

The silence on the line feels louder than the crowd outside.

“I miss you,” I say, quieter now. “And I know that sounds stupid, because we’re married and you’re supposed to be my person, but lately it feels like I’m reaching for you and you’re already gone.”

The words hurt more once they’re out.

“Please,” I add. “Just call me when you get this.” I hesitate, then let the truth slip out, bare and unguarded. “I love you.”

I end the call before my voice can break. A knock sounds at the door.

“Bailey?” Rachel’s voice reaches me, steady and familiar. “We’ve got to move.”

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Coming.”

She steps inside anyway, her tablet tucked against her chest, eyes scanning me the way she’s learned to. Rachel’s been with me since dive bars and broken mics, since we were all pretending this was temporary, she sees everything without needing me to say it.

She holds her hand out and I pass her my phone without looking at it. That’s become our system. She keeps it so I don’t keep checking. So I don’t keep hoping.

The hallway outside the suite is already chaos, security moving fast, assistants murmuring into headsets, someone calling my name from the other end. The elevator ride down is silent except for the hum of cables and my own breathing.

Outside, the evening air hits me with the sound of fans screaming my name and the noise level is insane. My team surrounds me, keeping me moving forward, keeping me safe.

The car door opens. I slide into the backseat alone, the leather cool against my bare skin. Rachel takes the seat across from me, already fielding messages.

As the car pulls away, the city blurs past the window, neon lights, flashes, faces pressed too close to the glass. A motorbike keeps pace for half a block, paparazzi leaning dangerously close, camera clicking through the tinted window.

Where’s Luke?

Is everything okay at home?

Are the rumours true?

I close my eyes as another memory rises.

Of our first apartment in Nashville. We had no money and slept on a mattress on the floor in the living room. We had a folding table that was more duct tape than anything else in our tiny kitchen.

Luke used to sit cross-legged beside me with a guitar, writing until sunrise because we couldn’t afford anything else to do. Because it is all we wanted to do.

Music was our way to better our families lives, to give us all a future to be proud of.

One day stands out. We were laying on our mattress sheets tangled around us, I was stressed about money, about the decision we made to leave our families and take this risk. Luke had pulled me close, kissed my temple, and whispered "One day, Bailey, this’ll all be worth it. I promise you."

The car slows, and I can hear the crowd react. We've arrived.

The door opens, and the noise intensifies instantly, shouts, cheers, cameras firing in relentless bursts. I step out, smoothing my dress, lifting my chin. The red carpet is a blur of lights and voices.

“Bailey!”

“Look this way!”

“Opening the show tonight, how does it feel?”

"Where's Luke tonight?"

"Are the rumours true?"

“You won New Artist last year, and are up for Artist of the Year tonight! With your upcoming tour are you going for the triple crown?”

“Any chance of a collaboration with...”

I don’t answer. I smile. I wave. I move. There’s no time to stop. No time to pose. Security ushers me straight inside, down a corridor that feels charged with electricity.

The stage manager taps my arm. “Thirty seconds.”

The lights drop and inside the venue, the sound swells. The noise crashes over me in a wave so loud it vibrates in my bones. My band is in place, I hear my intro and there is no stopping this. I take a deep breath, put on my practised smile and walk onto the stage.

The spotlights blinds me for a second, but practice and muscle memory takes over.

My voice fills the room, strong, steady, exactly what they expect from me.

I let go of everything else and I sing. I sing about endless love while my heart is breaking.

I sing about forever when I don't know if I believe in it anymore.

I push the pain away and give them what they want.

The Country Princess version of me. For three minutes, nothing exists but the music.

When the song ends, the crowd is on its feet, and then in a blur, they call my name.

They say words like icon and breakout and voice of a generation. They talk about records sold and charts climbed and barriers broken, when I win Single of The Year. They hand me an award before I’ve even caught my breath.

My team meets me backstage and they clip on a tulle and crystal skirt that turns my Country Siren look into that of a Perfect Princess.

They hand me over to an usher who guides me toward the front row, a gentle hand light at my elbow. My stomach knots as we move closer to our seats... Luke’s seat.

I can already see it in my mind, the empty chair, the questions that will follow, the way people will notice even if they pretend not to. I brace myself for it, heart thudding, breath shallow.

And then I see him.

For a split second, my heart soars and relief crashes through me so fast it almost knocks me off balance. He came. Somehow, impossibly, he made it. I take another step and the world corrects itself.

It’s not Luke.

It’s Jackson Reed.

He stands as I approach, tall and composed, dark suit cut clean over polished cowboy boots, his hat tucked under one arm instead of on his head. The kind of man who knows he belongs in rooms like this. His dark hair is brushed neatly back, his expression open and warm.

He is the label’s favourite suggestion. The collaboration I’ve refused for years. The safe choice.

My heart doesn’t break. You can't break what's already broken.

Jackson smiles, sincerely, and leans in as we sit. “You were incredible,” he says quietly. “Opening the show like that… hell of a way to remind everyone who you are and why you are here.”

I return the smile automatically, polite and grateful.

“I am sorry to hear that Luke couldn't make it tonight,” he adds, glancing toward the stage.

I don’t answer. Instead, I redirect. I am good at that, "Thank you for filling in and sitting with me."

His smile is warm, and his eyes are saying so many things that I know he would never say out loud. His arm brushes mine as he settles back into his seat, brief and harmless. Still, I feel the cameras shift, lenses finding us, freezing the moment into something it isn’t.

From the outside, it probably looks like a possibility.

From the inside, it just feels like the space where my husband should be.

I feel almost numb, even as I win every award I was up for tonight.

Even when they call my name again, for Female Vocalist of the Year.

I want to feel happy. I want to laugh and cry and feel. I want Luke at my side, hugging and kissing me.

From the stage, the crowd looks like a sea, faces glowing, smiling, cheering for me, and I have never felt more alone in my life.

I scan the audience once.

Just once.

I know I won’t find him.

When I speak, my voice doesn’t shake. I thank my team. I thank the fans. I thank Sadie, Cole and Luke's family. I thank the people who believed in me when I was just a girl with a guitar and a dream. For the first time in my career, I don’t thank my husband.

When the lights dim and the music swells, I hold the award to my chest and wonder when exactly the view stopped feeling worth the climb.