Chapter 44 Josh
JOSH
“Hey everybody,” I say into the microphone.
The crowd goes wild. I laugh, scanning the audience, waiting for them to quiet.
Mark, Chip, and Gary are in the reserved seats in the front row.
And next to them…my parents, who shocked the hell out of me when they called me this morning to say they are in town.
Behind them are all the guys from the old neighborhood and their wives.
Sophie is sitting down in front on a blanket in the grass, holding up a cellphone, no doubt facetiming Frank.
The crowd stretches before us like a patchwork quilt of people spread out on folding chairs, lawn chairs, and beach blankets.
It’s not a sold-out tour stop under stadium lights, but I’ve played enough shows to know, this is better—this is home.
It’s the kind of crowd I grew up playing for, where people show up early, with coolers, some people know every word, some just wander up to see what’s going on.
Some may have seen us on TikTok, some may have seen me open for someone bigger.
But tonight, I’m back. This is our town and they’re here for us, for Cara.
But it’s my first time back on stage in a while, Melanie’s first time—maybe ever.
It’s not just a show—it’s our shot. To show the world what she and I are capable of together.
For the first time in a long time, I’m not nervous.
I’m proud of what they’re about to hear.
Melanie sits down next to me on her stool, but I remain standing.
“Thank you all for being here,” I murmur into the mic.
“If you don’t know me, my name is Josh.” A few wolf whistles erupt through the crowd.
A husky laugh escapes me. “Many of you probably know this already, but twenty-five years ago, my sister Cara was killed in a car crash. She was just entering her senior year of high school, and she was going to be the captain of the girls’ soccer team.
” I pause, letting that sink in. “I know when someone dies, everyone says they lit up a room, that everyone loved them. But Cara really did light up the room. She made everyone feel like they were her best friend.”
A hush follows, a ripple of “awws” through the crowd that people make when their chests tighten a little. Like the sound of their hearts quietly cracking open. I glance at my mom, already holding a tissue to her nose.
“But this beautiful woman,” I say, gesturing to Melanie, “she was actually Cara’s best friend. And then she became mine.”
Another chorus of “aww” and I’m pretty sure I see Melanie’s cheeks flush.
“Melanie and I started playing music together when we were sixteen and seventeen, and we fell in love. That kind of first love that makes you think you’re invincible, nothing can touch you, and all that matters is each other.
Well, we wrote a song about that, and it’s called ‘Every Song.’ We’re going to sing it for you now. ”
The crowd erupts and I grin into the mic, glancing over at my girl. “Take it away, baby.”
The crowd quiets. People lean in, nudging each other, eyes glued to the stage. Some of them take out their phones to record, like it’s something they want to remember.
And then Melanie’s voice fills the air.
Just the first few notes, hanging in the warm summer air. The sound is pure and clear, but her voice has a tremble in it too, like she’s holding back.
Goose bumps rise on my arms as my fingers find the chords. Performing publicly may be unnerving to her, but she glows as if she belongs here. She looks at me as she sings the first verse of our song, and the rest of the world falls away.
I sing the song like I always have, watching couples holding hands, my mom in the front row wiping her eyes, and a little girl in a sundress twirling around. I watch them, watching her.
But none of them see what I see.
I see the girl I fell in love with at sixteen, wearing my hoodie, playing guitar on the front porch with nothing but a flashlight to see. I see the strength it took her to get back here. The fear and sadness she had to push through to get to this moment. The way she almost quit, but didn’t.
Our voices meld together on the second verse like they were never meant to stand alone. We alternate verses, harmonizing on the chorus, seamless and strong, picking up where the other leaves off. The crowd is silent, reverent even, waiting for the last note to fall.
I strum the final chord, giving the last line to Mel, and she sings it softly:
“But our love lives on in every song.”
The moment the last note fades, the crowd goes wild.
Cheers roll across the lawn like a wave, loud and joyful. Someone lets out a long whistle. Phones rise up and the applause is deafening. I glance at Melanie and her eyes are lit with something I’ve never seen in her before.
Belief.
She looks at me for just a beat, a grin plastered across her gorgeous face.
You did it, I mouth at her.
And we keep going.
* * *
We roll through the rest of the set list with ease, like we’ve been doing this every night for years. The crowd knows most of the lyrics and sings along—in it with us fully. That gives us momentum. Mark never takes his eyes off us, a good sign for sure.
As the final song fades out, we get a standing ovation. People shout our names, waving their hands in the air. Somewhere in the chaos, I glimpse Sophie, tears in her eyes, holding up the phone so Frank can watch.
“Thank you, everyone,” Melanie murmurs into the mic.
I marvel at how comfortable she is after eight songs.
“Thank you all. Cara would have loved this,” I add, stepping back and holding my hand out to Melanie.
I squeeze her hand as we take our bow, the crowd still roaring, and all I can think is why did I ever want to be a solo act? This moment right here with her? It’s everything.
* * *
It takes forever to leave the park. As soon as we step off stage, the world shifts—we’re flooded with hugs, photos, and congratulations from people we didn’t even know were watching.
But then I see them. My parents.
They make a beeline for us and for a moment, I brace myself. It’s been so long since we were close but when my mom’s arms wrap around me, it feels as if no time has passed at all.
“I’m so proud of you, Joshy,” my mother says, her voice thick with emotion as she presses her cheek into my shirt. The nickname makes something sharp and sweet twist in my chest.
My dad claps me on the back. “Me too, kid.”
I laugh, blinking back the heat behind my eyes. “Thanks, guys. That means a lot.”
“Hi, you two.” Melanie creeps up behind me, giving a shy wave, almost like she’s unsure if she fits in this part of my life.
My mom doesn’t hesitate. She pulls her into a hug so tight it makes her squeak. “Oh, Melanie. We’ve missed you both so much.”
“Where are you guys staying?” I ask.
They whirl around, practically in sync and wave at her across the lawn. “With Ellie,” they chorus together.
Melanie lets out a real laugh, open and bright. “I’d expect nothing less.”
“Let’s get dinner tomorrow?” I say, meaning it in a way I haven’t in so long.
“Call us in the morning,” my dad says, pulling me in for a hug. It feels good. Like a piece that was missing all these years has finally been found.
We say our goodbyes, and I turn back to help with the breakdown. People are still milling about, buzzing with the afterglow of a great show. Every few minutes someone is brave enough to ask for a selfie or an autograph.
I’m signing a poster for a teenage girl while Melanie takes apart the mic stand.
“Melanie, can I have yours too?” the girl asks.
Melanie can’t hide the shock that crosses her features. “Me?” she squeaks.
“Of course,” the girl says, nodding eagerly.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course!” the girl says again. “I want to say I met you before you were a huge star.”
A blush creeps into Melanie’s cheeks, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. She signs with a shaky hand, and the girl skips off like she just met Taylor Swift herself. I watch as Melanie’s eyes follow her—as if she still can’t believe this is happening.
We’re interrupted again by a throat clearing.
Mark. And with him is Gary, and a new guy in a crisp button-down and expensive-looking boots.
They’d been off to the side talking in hushed tones while Melanie and I busied ourselves breaking down the set and battling interruptions. Now it’s here. The moment of truth.
“We need to talk,” Mark says, grinning bigger than I’ve ever seen.
“Josh, Melanie—fabulous set,” Gary agrees.
“I don’t know that you’ve ever met Chip Michaels. He’s our new VP of Artists & Repertoire. Chip, meet Josh Cote and Melanie Glick.”
I hold out my hand to Chip and give him a firm shake. Melanie does the same.
“Josh, Melanie, it’s a pleasure.” Chip’s smile is friendly but assessing. He’s sizing us up. I know the type.
“Thank you all for being here,” I say. “Really.”
Mark says, draping an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s cut right to the chase. We’d like to sit down and talk about a future at SoundShift. For both of you.”
Melanie stiffens beside me. “I…um, need to get back to my dad,” Melanie says, voice careful.
I place my hand on her lower back, glancing at her.
“Go,” I say quietly. “I’ll stay. I’ll fill you in later.”
Melanie hesitates for just a second, then nods, sucking in a breath. “Yeah, okay.”
“We’ll sit down and talk in detail tomorrow sometime if you’re on board,” Mark says, patting Melanie’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” she says sincerely. “I’m sorry to duck out.”
“You’re fine,” Gary says. “We’ll see you soon.”
I kiss her softly on the lips before she goes, hoping it sends a we’ve got this message. “I’ll see you at home,” I whisper.
When she’s gone, Gary clears his throat. “Josh, Mark and Chip have an offer—for both of you.”
“Why don’t we find someplace to get something to eat?” Chip suggests. “Talk real numbers.”
* * *
It’s after midnight when I slip into bed next to Melanie. At first, I think she’s asleep, but when I slip my arm around her, she shifts, molding into me.
“I’m so proud of you,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She yawns. “What did they say?”
I grin, wide and uncontrollable. “They want us. Three albums. Full promo. A tour if we want to.”
Melanie turns over, facing me, cupping my jaw. She kisses me slowly, tired, but full of something that feels like wonder. “That’s incredible.”
I hesitate, the last part caught in my throat.
“We’ll have to…” I stop and swallow. I know the next thing I say will make or break the decision for us. “They want us to move to Nashville.”
Melanie stares at me for a beat and when she speaks, her voice is soft and faraway.
“Oh.”