30. Luke
luke
. . .
There’s a glass in my hand.
I don’t remember pouring it, I don’t know where I am.
The ice has melted enough that it’s just cloudy water now, something amber sitting at the bottom like it’s been forgotten too.
I stare at it like it might tell me something. Like if I focus hard enough, I’ll remember how I got here. There’s a TV on somewhere behind me. Voices pitched too high and laughter that feels forced.
Applause. Maybe… It feels far away. Like it’s happening in another room.
Or another life.
I blink slowly, my head feels heavy. Not sharp pain anymore.
That was days ago.
Or weeks.
Now it’s just this constant pressure, like something is sitting behind my eyes and refusing to leave. I lift the glass and take a sip.
It tastes wrong.
Everything tastes wrong.
I set it down, or I think I try to. I miss the table slightly, and it tips… spills.
I don’t move to fix it.
I don’t move at all.
I watch the glass roll and settle.
My chest feels tight.
What day is it?
That thought feels familiar and somehow foreign. Something shifts on the TV.
Music.
It’s soft at first. But then I hear it. I would know that voice anywhere.
“I’ve stood on a thousand stages…”
No.
No, not…
I turn my head slowly.
A picture they keep reusing, fills the screen.
Bailey is in a studio, her hair down. Soft light around her. It feels familiar, like a dream made real. But it’s not me beside her. It’s not our dream made real. It’s a nightmare. It’s him beside her.
Jackson.
Always Jackson now.
My jaw tightens.
“But somewhere in the noise and neon…”
I look away, too late. The pictures of them are everywhere now.
It’s already in my head.
It’s always in my head now.
I hear it in elevators.
In cars.
Through walls.
People hum it like it belongs to them.
Like she belongs to them.
Mine. Bailey is mine.
“There’s no place I’d rather be…”
I laugh once. It comes out hollow.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Yeah, I said that, didn’t I?”
But, I don’t remember saying it. People keep saying I did. That I started this…
That’s the part that won’t settle.
I remember the stage.
The lights.
The noise.
Kacey is too close. Her hand on my arm. Her voice in my ear.
But the words?
Those words?
Gone.
Just… gone.
And now they’re everywhere. My name tied to them like a joke I didn’t mean to tell. People sing the words out loud in front of me and then whisper behind my back that they are the words that ended my marriage.
But… My marriage isn’t over. I just need…
The TV volume spikes suddenly.
Someone must’ve turned it up.
Or maybe I did.
I don’t know.
“Every voice, every heart, every memory…”
“Turn it off,” I say.
No one answers, because there’s no one here. Just me and the sound. Her voice. His voice…
I push up from the chair too fast.
The room tilts and my stomach lurches.
I grab the counter, knuckles going white.
Breathe.
Just…
Breathe.
The song keeps going.
“Through the miles and through the years…”
I reach for the remote and miss. It clatters to the floor, as I fall to my knees. I want to move. To stop this ride I am on. But I can’t. It’s like I'm frozen in my own personal hell.
I am frozen.
Listening.
Because I can’t not.
Because it’s in me now.
Because it’s her.
And no matter what people say. She is mine and I am hers.
I lay on the ground or maybe I fall over.
I stare at the picture of her on the tv and imagine it was me singing beside her.
Bailey… My sunshine.
There’s a knock at the door, or maybe there was already a knock.
Maybe it’s been knocking for a while.
I don’t know.
The door opens anyway.
Dave steps in like he owns the place.
He always does.
Just like he owns me.
He takes one look at me, then the spilled drink, the TV that somehow keeps getting louder and his mouth tightens just slightly.
“You’ve been up?” he asks.
I don’t answer, I look down and I am back in bed… How?
I blink trying to remember what I was doing and gesture vaguely toward the screen.
“That’s new?” I ask. My voice sounds like gravel.
Dave glances at the screen and then back at me.
“It dropped early,” he says. “Single push before the album is released next week.”
My chest tightens. Album?
My mind is creaming at me to catch up, I try to grab at the memories that feel so far off.
Bailey is releasing an album?
Dave watches me for a second longer, then walks farther into the room and sets a coffee down in front of me.
“Drink,” he says.
I don’t reach for it.
Instead I ask the same question that feels like it’s been on a loop in my mind for…
“What day is it?”
He pauses, just for a second. I think.
Then, “We are nearing the end of October.”
Wait… what happened to thanksgiving?
My brain tries to catch up.
Fails.
“What…” I swallow. “What happened to… last week?”
Dave exhales slowly. “You’ve been busy,” he says.
Busy.
That word sits wrong.
I look at him, really look at him. “Have I?”
He doesn’t react. “You’ve had sessions. Press. A couple appearances.”
I don’t remember any of it.
Not clearly.
Just flashes.
Lights.
Voices.
A room that felt too small, like I couldn’t breathe.
My hands shaking.
A glass.
Always a glass.
I look down at my hands now.
They’re still shaking.
“Phone,” I say.
Dave’s expression shifts.
It’s subtle.
“No.”
“I need it.” I croak.
“You don’t.”
“I need to call…”
“Her?” he cuts in.
I don’t answer, the only sound is my ragged breathing…
Because yes.
Because always.
It will always be her.
Dave sighs. “Luke,” he says, quieter now. “You’ve called her enough.”
My head lifts. I have?
“What?”
He holds my gaze. “You’ve left messages,” he says. “A lot of them.”
My stomach drops. “What did I say?”
Dave doesn’t answer right away. Which is worse.
“Luke…”
“What did I say?” I repeat.
He runs a hand over his jaw. “You weren’t… clear,” he says finally. “It’s probably better you don’t…”
“What did I say?” My voice cracks.
Dave studies me for a moment before nodding and stepping closer to me. “What you said isn’t the important part,” he says. “What she said was that she didn’t want to hear from you anymore and that she was done… moving on.”
The words hit harder than anything else he could’ve said.
Done.
Moving on.
I look away.
Back at the TV.
At her.
Still singing.
Still steady.
Still…
Dave follows my gaze again, then reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his phone, taps through a few screens and then turns it toward me.
Another clip, a different angle. Bailey laughs in between Jackson and Rhett Hayes.
They are all standing so close to each other, she looks so comfortable with them…
Jackson across from her with a guitar.
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
“They’ve started feeding this for the album,” Dave says casually. “Little drops. Teasers. It’s working.”
Working.
I stare at the TV.
But it’s off now…
No…
Where’d she go?
“They’re building a narrative,” he continues. “And right now? You’re the obstacle they had to move out of the way.”
I shake my head. “No.”
Dave’s voice doesn’t change. “You see the comments?” he asks. He scrolls and doesn’t wait for my answer. “‘She looks happier.’ ‘He never deserved her.’ ‘Finally with someone on her level.’”
Each one hurts… Why is he doing this?
“You see?” he says softly. “She’s already moved on. ”
Something in my chest caves in and I lie on my side, I feel so tired.
“And you,” he adds, just as calm, “are the villain in her story.”
I look at him, really look at him, and for the first time… It doesn’t feel like a strategy. It feels like the truth. But Bailey wouldn’t make me the villain in her story… would she?
The studio is worse now. I haven’t gotten a single song recorded properly and the label is pissed. People talk quieter around me. Like they’re waiting for something. Like they don’t know which version of me they’re going to get.
I sit in the booth, headphones on, with the track running.
I miss the cue.
Again.
“Let’s take that again,” someone says.
We do.
I miss it again.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
My voice won’t hold.
It cracks.
Drops.
Disappears halfway through a line.
I close my eyes.
Try to find it.
The feeling.
The thing that used to come easy.
The thing Bailey used to pull out of me without trying.
Nothing.
Just…
Hollow noise.
“Cut it,” the producer says.
Dave steps in immediately.
“He’s exhausted,” he says. “We will get him rested and we can push it tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
Always tomorrow.
I pull the headphones off.
My ears ring.
My chest feels tight.
Like I can’t get a full breath.
“I’m fine,” I say.
No one answers.
Because they don’t believe me.
Because I don’t believe me.
Dave presses something into my hand.
A pill.
I stare at it.
Longer this time.
“Just one,” he says quietly.
Just one.
I swallow it, because I don’t know what else to do.
There’s a woman in my room.
I don’t know how she got here.
But I know she isn’t Bailey.
She’s talking.
I’m not listening.
She leans in.
Touches my chest.
My arm.
My neck.
“I’ve always loved your music,” she says.
My stomach turns.
“I need…” I start.
She smiles.
“I know what you need, Luke. I am here to make sure you get it.”
Her hand slides lower.
Something snaps. “Stop.”
She laughs like it’s part of the game. “Relax…”
“I said stop.” My voice is sharper now.
She pulls back. Annoyed. “What’s your problem?”
Everything.
I stand too fast.
The room spins.
Harder this time.
I barely make it to the bathroom.
Drop to my knees.
And it hits.
Violent.
Everything comes up.
Again.
Again.
Nothing left and still my body tries.
My hands grip the edge of the toilet so hard they ache.
I hear her behind me.
A pause.
“Jesus.”
Then the door.
Opening.
Closing.
Gone.
Good.
I stay there.
Breathing.
Shaking.
My heart is racing too fast.
My skin feels hot.
Too hot.
Wrong.
What day is it?
I look at my hands.
They won’t stop.
“I don’t…” I swallow. “I don’t feel right.”
The words echo.
Different than before.
Heavier.
Real.
A memory cuts through.
A cruiser, bright lights.
The officer’s voice. “Son… you need help.” He sounds kind, his voice is clear and steady. “You should consider rehab.”
I remember that.
I remember nodding.
I remember thinking…
Maybe.
I push myself up slowly, I think I am still in the bathroom… or maybe back in the bedroom.
I lean my back against the wall.
“Maybe I should,” I say out loud.
The room doesn’t answer.
When I mention it to Dave later…
“You don’t need rehab,” he says. “You need to get through this cycle.”
Cycle.
Like this is temporary.
Like this is manageable.
Like this isn’t…
I don’t argue.
I don’t have the energy.
But the thought stays.
The song is everywhere now.
Cars.
Studios.
Phones.
People hum it without thinking.
“When the lights were fading…”
I hear it in the hallway.
“You held them high…”
In the lobby.
“And when I felt like falling…”
In my own head.
“You taught me how to fly…”
I laughed once.
It sounds wrong.
Because she did.
She flew…
And I…
Bailey… I need…
I look at my hands again.
Still shaking.
I don’t know how to stop.
Dave gives me my phone.
“Thought you might want to see the narrative,” he says. “See that she doesn’t care about you, so you can finally get over her and move on.”
Narrative.
I take it.
Bailey…
Like it might disappear again.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he adds.
I nod.
I scroll.
Fast.
Headlines.
Clips.
Her.
Him.
Them.
Always them.
The door closes and I am alone.
I go to contacts.
Search.
Bailey.
Nothing.
Why don’t I have her number?
My chest tightens.
Think.
Think.
Who would have it?
Who…
My mind blanks and I don’t know how much time passes. I think the light in the room is different.
What was I doing?
I feel the weight of the phone in my hand, my heart beating too fast…
Rachel.
My thumb hovers.
Shakes.
Presses call.
It rings.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I almost hang up.
Because what do I say?
What is there left to say?
Then…
“Hello?”
Rachel’s voice.
My throat closes.
For a second…
Nothing.
Then it breaks.“Rachel…”
Silence.
Then… “Luke?”
My hand shakes harder.
My chest is tight.
Everything is wrong.
Everything is spinning.
“I…”
The words won’t line up.
Not excuses.
No explanations.
Just…
truth.
“I need help.”