Luke
. . .
It feels like surfacing from a black ocean.
My tongue is thick, my throat burns, and my head feels like it is splitting in half, as light knifes through my eyelids.
I groan and roll over and the room tilts violently, my stomach lurching.
A hand yanks the curtains open, forcing sunlight to flood the room like punishment.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Noah’s voice finds me, sharp and furious.
Noah? Wait, isn't he supposed to be at the wedding?
I blink hard, trying to focus. Noah stands by the window like he’s been carved out of anger, shoulders tense, eyes red rimmed.
“What day is it?” I rasp.
Noah’s laugh is harsh. “Are you kidding me?”
My head is pounding and it feels like everything is spinning out of control around me, I try to focus on Noah, on something that isn't moving in the room.
I blink and I am in a different room, a different time.
A moment I wish I could change, but I don’t know if I still can.
The hotel room smells like stale cologne and last night’s sweat and the sharp bite of something I spilled near the desk.
My boots are by the door, tipped over like I kicked them off without thinking.
There’s a suit jacket slung over the back of a chair I don’t remember wearing.
My guitar case sits half-open on the floor, like I started to pack and forgot how.
My phone is on the nightstand, face down.
I stand at the window and look out at the city and try to convince myself I can still fix this if I move fast enough. If I pick the right words. If I say the right sorry, in the right tone. If I stop being the version of myself that keeps doing this.
My manager’s voice is still in my head from earlier, slick and certain.
You can’t leave now.
Not tonight.
Not when the room is finally paying attention.
She's had her time, now it's yours.
He said it like a fact. And then Kacey was there... too close, too eager, had laughed and touched my arm like she had a right to.
“You don’t get it,” she’d said, eyes wide like she couldn’t believe she was inside this moment. “This is your in. This is the kind of thing people talk about forever. One night can change everything.”
One night.
That phrase should make me sick. Because one night is exactly how this started.
One night I chose work over Bailey, and it was so easy to call it temporary.
One night I didn’t get on the plane. One night I told myself she’d understand.
One night I told myself it was for us. One night turned into a pattern and that pattern turned into a life.
I’m standing here with my suitcase half-packed and my stomach hollowing out, because I can’t remember the last time my wife looked at me like I was safe.
I look at the phone again.
I tell myself I’ll call her after I talk to Noah. After I make Noah understand. After I get Noah on my side, because if Noah is on my side, maybe Bailey will soften.
Maybe she’ll listen.
Maybe she’ll believe that I still love her.
Because I do.
That’s the part that keeps twisting in my chest. I love her so much I can’t even stand the idea of anyone else touching her hand, looking at her, standing beside her like they belong there. I love her so much it feels like drowning when she’s not in the room.
So why do I keep doing this?
Why do I keep choosing the thing that hurts her?
Every time I see the lights, every time I hear people chant my name like I matter, something inside me wakes up that I don’t know how to shut off.
It’s not even about the music anymore. Not fully.
It’s about the part of me that’s always been scared of being nothing.
Bailey was never scared of being nothing.
She came from nothing and still believed she could build something beautiful. She came from loss and still chose softness. She came from grief and still found ways to be kind.
I came from nothing and swore I’d never feel powerless again.
That’s the difference and I hate myself for it.
The knock comes before I can think too hard.
Three sharp knocks.
My manager doesn’t wait. Dave pushes in like he owns the room, already talking.
“Alright,” he says, clapping once like we’re about to start rehearsal. “I’ve got updates. Big ones.”
I blink at him. “I’m going to the wedding.”
He stops like I said something in another language. Then his mouth twists.
“Luke,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining math to a child. “You can’t leave now.”
“I can,” I snap. The word comes out harder than I mean. “I’m leaving.”
He walks farther into the room anyway, pulling his phone out, scrolling.
“There are people here,” he says. “Real people. Decision people. People who can change your career in one conversation.”
“I don’t care.” I lie.
He looks up, eyes flat. “You do care. That’s why you’re here, instead of already being back home with Bailey.”
My chest tightens. Because he’s right, and I hate that he is.
“You can go tomorrow morning,” he continues. “You will miss the wedding but we can get you a few days at home with your family. A few days with Bailey.”
I know that’s a lie, he knows it too, and still, my body reacts like maybe it’s possible. Like maybe I can thread this needle. Like maybe I can be both places at once if I just move fast enough. Dave steps closer and lowers his voice. “And there’s another thing.”
He smiles like this is a gift.
“There’s an after party tonight. Not just any after party. The kind you don’t get invited to unless you’re… in.”
My throat goes dry.
I can hear Bailey’s voice in my head, too clear, too steady. I can’t keep doing this, Luke.
“I have to go,” I say again, but it comes out weaker this time.
Dave tilts his head. “Do you want to just be a husband… or do you want to be an artist? A legend? Do you want to stand in the shadows waiting for someone who can stand in the spotlight with her to push you aside.”
The question hits hard because it’s not supposed to be a choice.
It was never supposed to be a choice. Bailey and I didn’t build this dream separately.
We built it on the floor of an apartment, writing with cheap strings and broken nails, laughing through hunger, telling each other it would be worth it one day.
We built it with her head on my shoulder and my hand on her back, making plans for a future that included orchards and kids and our families close enough to yell across a yard.
And somehow I turned it into a competition.
The door opens again before I can answer.
Noah walks in. He takes one look at my manager and then at me, and something dark passes through his face.
“Tell me you’re leaving,” he says.
Dave starts. “Noah...”
Noah lifts a hand. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
He steps into the room and stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him.
“Tell me you’re leaving,” he repeats, slower this time, like if he says it the right way my brain will finally work.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out and Noah reacts immediately. His jaw tightens so hard I think his teeth might crack.
“You are unbelievable,” he says, voice low. “Do you understand what day it is?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “I know what day it is.”
“Do you?” Noah’s laugh is short and ugly. “Because it sure doesn’t look like it.”
Dave tries again, all smooth edges. “Noah, we’re working on a plan. Luke can fly out in the morning...”
Noah’s eyes cut to him. “Shut up.”
Dave actually goes quiet. Noah turns back to me, and his voice drops even lower. “You are so lucky,” he says, like the words hurt him to say. “You are so lucky to have someone like her.”
I flinch. Because he’s right. Because I know it. Because the truth burns.
“She isn’t just beautiful,” Noah continues, and his voice is shaking now.
“She’s not just talented. She’s not just the girl everyone watches on stage and thinks they know.
She’s a good person, Luke. Like… actually good.
Caring. Compassionate. Selfless. She has been carrying you and your dreams and your ego and your family and her own family and that entire compound on her fucking back... ”
“Stop,” I warn.
Noah steps closer.
“No,” he says. “You stop. You stop acting like you’re the victim in a story where she treats you like a king and you behave like a spoiled child.”
My throat tightens.
“She understands you more than anyone,” Noah says. “She’s forgiven you more times than you deserved. She’s stayed loyal while you’ve been out here pretending the world owes you something. Acting like a single man instead of one who is married to Bailey.”
“I’m doing this for us,” I snap, because the words are automatic. Because they’ve been my shield.
Noah’s eyes flash.
“For us?” he spits. “You mean for you. Because if it was for us, you’d be on a plane. You’d be showing up. You’d be standing beside her while she builds the life you begged her to sign that fucking contract for.”
My stomach twists. That memory hits, sudden and sharp, like my brain is trying to punish me:
Bailey sitting on the edge of our bed years ago, contract in her hands, eyes wide and scared.
“I don’t want to do it without you, Luke.”
And me... me with my pride and my panic, telling her to sign.
Telling her I’d catch up.
Telling her it was temporary.
Telling her it was our dream.
Noah’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do, and he says the thing I’m not ready to hear. “You… I need you to hear me, Luke. If you miss this wedding, If you make this choice… I am afraid you won’t be able to come back from it.
Dave clears his throat like he’s about to negotiate. Noah turns his head with a snarl. “Don’t try and sell your shit to me, I’m not buying.”
And then he looks back at me, and his eyes are shining.
“I used to envy you,” he says, voice rough. “Do you know that? I used to envy what you had with her. The way she looked at you like you were the whole damn world.”
The words hit me like a fist.
“And you’re throwing it away,” Noah says, quieter now. “For what?”