Chapter 6 Zack
ZACK
Istood off to the side of the stage, guitar strap digging into my shoulder, pretending I was calm while absolutely not being calm.
The stage itself wasn’t even the real one yet. It was just a raised wooden platform bolted together in the middle of the park, but it still made my stomach flip.
Cables snaked across the ground. Black speakers flanked the front, humming softly between sets.
A small folding table sat a few feet away, angled just right so the judges could see everything.
Cooper was there, relaxed but attentive, with Cathy beside him and two others I didn’t recognize immediately, until I noticed the matching tumblers on the table, each stamped with the town seal.
Town council, then. Of course.
Even half-built, the whole setup already felt official.
Beyond the stage, the park was slowly transforming. Sections of grass were cordoned off with temporary fencing, banners rolled halfway down poles that would eventually hold strings of lights.
I could picture it easily: the Winter Festival in full swing, booths lining the paths, music carrying through the cold air, the crowd thick enough that you couldn’t see the end of it.
For now, it was just scaffolding and noise and a stage that looked important enough to make people stop and stare.
People were drifting over, curiosity tugging them closer.
Some stopped outright, hands in pockets, watching the current act with interest. Others hovered at the edges, unsure if they were meant to be here.
Not everyone looked pleased. A group of older men lingered near the chess tables, scowling like we’d personally ruined their morning.
A couple of joggers detoured around the construction area, irritation written all over their faces.
Parents at the playground cast annoyed glances our way, probably wishing for a quiet hour while their kids burned off energy.
We’d definitely interrupted the park’s usual rhythm.
I let out a slow breath, trying to shake the nerves tightening my chest. This wouldn’t be what the festival crowd felt like. Not really.
On the day itself, people would come expecting noise, expecting music. They’d want this.
At least, I hoped they would.
As the band onstage wrapped up their song, something prickled at the back of my neck. A sensation I couldn’t quite name.
It felt heavy, close, almost suffocating. My wolf stirred uneasily, hackles rising for no clear reason.
I scanned the park without really knowing what I was looking for, then frowned when I found nothing obvious.
Probably just nerves, I told myself, and shoved the feeling down.
I turned my attention back to the stage, and then to Mark.
He stood beside me, shoulders loose, gaze fixed forward, like this was just another performance instead of an audition that could decide our winter.
His scent brushed against mine, warm and steady. Something in my chest eased at the first inhale.
I anchored myself there for a second, then forced my focus back to the stage as the judges murmured among themselves.
The band finishing up onstage was festive. Like aggressively festive.
They were all in matching outfits. Red and green everywhere.
One of them had pointy ears that screamed elf, another was wrapped in white and blue like a walking snowman, and the third—
I squinted hard. I really hoped that was supposed to be a reindeer.
I scoffed under my breath. Weren’t the auditions technically for New Year’s?
Winter-themed, sure, but this felt like they’d missed the memo by a week and a half. Trying too hard was a thing, right?
The song ended, and applause rippled through the park.
It wasn’t wild or enthusiastic, more polite than anything, but it was there.
Even the old men by the chess tables were clapping now, slowly, begrudgingly, as if the music had won them over despite themselves. I stared at them, mildly offended.
Weren’t you all scowling just five minutes ago?
I glanced down at myself. Plain black puffer jacket. Dark jeans.
The only thing remotely interesting was the tarnished silver zipper I’d been meaning to replace for months.
My stomach tightened.
I leaned toward Mark. “Should we have planned outfits?” I asked quietly. “Like, worn something festive or—something. What if they’re judging based on crowd reaction too?”
Mark was still clapping, but he stopped and looked at me like he was seriously considering it.
“I mean,” he said, deadpan, “I did pass a party shop on the way here. I can run and grab something real quick. Or we could hit a thrift store. I’m sure they’ve got a bin of tragic Santa hats somewhere.”
I blinked at him.
Then he smiled. “I’m kidding,” he said. “We’re fine. It’s just an audition. And honestly? That was a little too try-hard.”
Relief washed through me. Good. We were on the same page again.
Before I could respond, one of the organizers waved us over.
She checked a clipboard, then looked up expectantly. “You’re up next. Do you have a name you’re performing under?”
My brain stalled.
A name. Of course we needed a name.
I opened my mouth, panic flaring, but Mark beat me to it.
“Not yet,” he said easily. “But we can change it if we get in, right?”
The organizer shrugged, already lifting the mic. “Sure. I’ll just announce you individually.”
She glanced back down at the sheet and turned toward the stage.
“And next up,” she said, voice carrying across the park, “we have Zack and Mark.”
Well. That was one problem solved.
I tightened my grip on my guitar and followed Mark toward the steps, heart pounding, the noise of the park falling away.
The wood creaked softly beneath our weight as we stepped onto the stage together.
Up close, everything felt louder and smaller at the same time.
The speakers loomed. The microphones waited, angled a little too high.
Mark crossed to his mic stand while I moved toward mine, setting my guitar case down and plugging into the amp.
I twisted the volume knob and strummed once, just enough to hear the hum, then again, lighter.
I didn’t really need to tune. I’d already checked it the night before. Checked it again this morning.
Still, my fingers found the pegs out of habit, making tiny adjustments, chasing a pitch that already felt right.
Before stepping back, I ran my hand along the back of the guitar’s neck.
The familiar notches were still there, small grooves worn into the wood where my dad’s thumb used to rest and where mine had followed over the years.
I leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the headstock, right where I used to every time before a show.
I hadn’t done that in a long time.
When I straightened, Mark was already watching me. His expression softened when our eyes met, something unspoken passing between us.
I gave a small nod. We counted in without words.
The first few seconds were a little shaky. Mark’s rhythm came in just a beat off, his fingers stumbling before finding their place.
I adjusted, listening harder, guiding the tempo instead of fighting it.
It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t bad either, especially considering we’d only managed two rushed practices between everything else.
A part of me knew this would’ve been easier with Noah and Ethan. Muscle memory. Songs we’d played a hundred times before.
But then Mark started singing.
The sound of his voice cut clean through the noise of the park, warm and sure, and something in my chest loosened.
I watched him for half a second longer than I meant to, caught in it.
When he glanced back, his eyes widened just a little, worried, like he thought I had noticed a mistake. I hadn’t.
I looked away quickly and came in on the second vocal line, my voice threading under his, softer but steady.
From there, things started to line up.
The rhythm steadied. Our timing still wasn’t perfect, but it stopped fighting itself. We leaned into the same phrases more often than not, caught the same breaths when it mattered.
When we hit the chorus, our voices found each other, not effortlessly, but well enough that the harmony held. Enough to feel right.
By the final note, my hands were steady, my heart racing for all the right reasons.
The sound lingered for half a second before the applause hit, fast and loud. Heads turned. People stepped closer.
The moms by the playground clapped with real smiles now, kids bouncing at their sides.
A couple of joggers had stopped altogether, hands on their hips as they cheered. Even the chess-table guys looked impressed.
For this crowd, it was wild.
I let myself grin, breathless and buzzing, and glanced over at Mark. He was smiling like he felt it too.
Before I could fully catch my breath, one of the organizers was already motioning for us to clear the stage.
We unplugged quickly and exchanged a thumbs-up with the next performer waiting at the steps.
As soon as our feet hit the grass behind the stage, the voices, laughter, and clapping of the crowd rushed back in, louder now that the pressure was gone.
“That was great,” I said, turning to Mark, unable to stop grinning. “We were a little out of tune at the start, but we pulled it together at the end. Maybe we could try it in a different key next time, something lower.”
“Agreed. A lower key would suit it better.”
The voice hit me like a shove.
I turned, frown already forming. There he was. Theo.
My wolf surged forward, hackles rising, a low, instinctive growl curling in my chest before I could stop it. I clenched my jaw.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, sharper than I meant to.
Theo smiled, like this was all amusing to him. “It’s one of the bigger winter festivals in the area,” he said easily. “Of course I’m auditioning.”
His gaze flicked between Mark and me. “Didn’t expect to find you here, though. So this is where you’ve been all this time.”
He glanced around the makeshift backstage area, but his eyes didn’t stop there.
They swept across the park beyond the stage, taking in the half-assembled festival, the banners rolling down the poles, and the small clusters of people lingering around.
I recognized that look. I knew that look. He was sizing everything up.
Theo looked exactly the same as when I last saw him two years ago, back in the green room before our last show together.
Same smug curve to his mouth. Same air of quiet condescension, like he was always half a step above everyone else.
Same dark jeans. Same worn leather jacket thrown over a thin T-shirt that looked deliberately distressed and not actually lived-in. Completely impractical for the cold.
I hoped he was freezing.
Before I could respond, Mark shifted closer. He leaned in, voice low. “You okay?”
I kept my eyes on Theo, anger coiling tight, but managed a stiff nod.
Mark straightened, turning his attention fully to Theo. His tone was calm, polite, but firm.
“Sorry,” he said. “And you are?”
Theo’s smile sharpened. “Theo.”
Just that. Like it was enough.
Mark waited a beat, then tilted his head. “Right. Is that your full name, or is it a stage name?”
I choked back a laugh before I could stop myself, turning it into a cough.
Theo shot Mark an irritated look, rolled his eyes, and decided to pretend he didn’t exist. His attention snapped back to me.
“You should’ve sung lead,” he said. “Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t do that anymore,” I said, eyes narrowing slightly.
“A pity.” He finally looked at Mark. “Zack has a great voice, you know. Incredible breath control. He does this thing with his throat when he holds a note—”
“Who are you again?” Mark cut in, this time without bothering to soften it.
Theo’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, the speakers crackled overhead with a garbled announcement calling the next act forward. He checked his watch and sighed.
“Guess that’s us.” Theo looked back at me, eyes lingering. “Wait for me after. We should catch up.”
I scoffed as he walked away, the leather jacket disappearing into the cluster of performers near the stage.
The tight, suffocating pressure in my chest eased the moment he was gone, and I frowned, unsettled by how sudden the relief felt.
I turned back to find Mark watching me. His irritation softened into something more careful, more concerned, and I realized it was because my eyes were still locked on Theo as he set up.
“Zack?” he asked quietly.
I forced a smile and looked away. “We used to be in a band together.”
It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
The tension didn’t fully loosen until Mark shifted closer, his presence steady at my side in a way that felt instinctive.
Before Mark could ask anything else, I spotted Cathy scanning the backstage area. I waved, hoping she was looking for us.
“There you are!” she said, practically bouncing. “Great job out there. Nothing’s confirmed yet, obviously, but you’re pretty much a shoo-in for the New Year’s Eve stage. You guys sounded really solid together.”
“That’s—” I laughed, my voice pitching just a little too high. “That’s great. Seriously.”
I gently steered her toward a nearby bench, already firing off questions on everything I could think of: notes from the judges, tweaks we might need, any feedback she’d heard so far. Anything to keep talking.
Mark followed and sat beside me. I bumped his shoulder lightly with my fist, a quiet, celebratory gesture.
He smiled back and nodded, but the concern didn’t quite leave his eyes.
I pretended not to notice.
Instead, I leaned forward, elbows on the table, all my attention on Cathy as she answered.
I could feel Mark beside me, silent and patient, waiting. I knew he had questions. I knew this wasn’t over.
Just not right now. Not yet.