Chapter 3
three
That Same Night
Tonight’s gonna be epic if I can just calm myself down.
Cold air burns my lungs as we inch forward in line outside The Mission. My hands stay buried in my jacket pockets, fingers flexing against the fabric to ground myself.
Everything else is insanely loud. This nightclub situation isn’t my scene.
“You good?” Daniel bumps my shoulder.
“Yeah.” The word comes out too fast.
Jamie looks me over. “You don’t need to defend a goddamn thesis.”
“A thesis is a piece of cake.” I gesture toward the line of people who all seem to know precisely where to stand, how to move, what to say. “This is my worst nightmare.”
Jamie grins. “Well, there’s no code to hide behind.”
He’s not wrong.
The line shifts. We step forward. The doorman stamps my wrist, the ink cold and damp. I stare at it for a second. Proof I made it this far.
Inside, everything smacks me in the face at once. Sound. Heat. Motion.
Bass rolls through the floor from the system overhead, steady and low, setting a pulse under everything. Light cuts across the room in shifting colors, catching on bottles, metal, faces who all seem to belong here in a way I don’t.
I pause just past the entrance, marveling. This is her world.
Hope.
“Dude.” Daniel turns in a slow circle. “This place is insane.”
“Yeah.” I force my shoulders back, try to match the energy around me. “Maybe I’ll work up the courage to talk to her tonight.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
Jamie freezes mid-step. “Seriously?”
“Don’t start.” I wince.
“I’m not starting shit.” Jamie frames my face with his hands. “I’m trying to picture it.”
Daniel laughs. “When was the last time you talked to a girl you didn’t meet through a shared Google doc?”
“I talk to women all the time,” I protest.
“Name one who isn’t from work.” Jamie folds his arms.
I open my mouth. Nothing.
They both crack up.
“Alright,” I mutter. “Point made.”
Jamie claps me on the back. “Look, you’re brilliant. No one here can do what you do. You’re an awesome dude who’s aggressively inexperienced with hooking up.”
“What a polite way to say virgin,” Daniel adds not-so-helpfully.
Heat climbs my neck. “Can we not announce this in public?”
“No one’s listening.” Jamie waves a hand at the chaos. “Honestly, it’s not even a bad thing. The problem is, you’re lusting after a girl who’s more worldly than you.”
“Look, shoot your shot.” Daniel slings an arm around my shoulder. “You’re up for the challenge.”
“I’d think so.” I look down at the ground because I actually don’t think so.
She’s magic. I’ve witnessed Hope turn noise into silence at Pike Place Market. Observed many stop mid-step, drawn in without understanding why. Experienced how she closes her eyes on a note and holds it like her soul is beckoning the spirits.
It’s crazy, but I know her even though I’ve never said a word to her.
“C’mon. Liquid courage time. Let’s get some drinks.” Jamie turns and moves toward the bar.
We push through the crowd, weaving between bodies until the bar comes into view. I scan it. Left. Right. Nothing.
My chest tightens with disappointment. She’s nowhere to be found. “She’s not here.”
“Maybe she’s in back.” Daniel stands on his toes to see past a group pressed three deep. “Or on break.”
Some guy in a mesh top takes our order and hands us three beers.
I take a sip. Immediate regret. I cough, wiping my mouth. “People drink this on purpose?”
Daniel snorts. “It’s craft brew. An acquired taste.”
Suddenly, a ripple of energy moves through the room. Subtle but enough to shift attention. A guy bounds onto the stage, and a buzzing energy snaps into place.
“Wow. It’s Zane Rocks,” Jamie says under his breath.
I barely register I’m in the presence of a bona-fide rockstar. Hope follows him and she’s all I can see. Center stage. A new guitar in her hands catching the light. She looks different. Edgier in black jeans. Black tank. Gorgeous.
My grip tightens around the bottle. “That’s Hope up there.”
Daniel exhales. “Holy shit. She’s stunning.”
Jamie lets out a low whistle. “You’re screwed.”
Hope steps to the mic, makes a small adjustment, then starts to play.
The first chord spreads through the room and hovers, full and clear in a way I’ve never heard from her before. At Pike Place, I have to catch pieces of her between footsteps, voices, and the constant movement of people coming and going. Here, she’s the focus.
She doesn’t look overwhelmed. Instead, she settles into it. I bet she’s been working toward this exact moment longer than anyone realizes. There’s no hesitation in the way she moves through the first verse. She finds it immediately and builds from there.
Around us, conversations fade out mid-sentence. People turn, shift closer, and stop moving altogether. It happens gradually, then all at once, until every bit of attention lands on her.
I’ve watched her for weeks and thought I understood how talented she was. I had no idea.
Up there, nothing stands in her way. The lights don’t swallow her, they frame her. Hope’s voice carries every detail, every shift, every edge I missed before. It fills more space than I thought possible. By the time she lifts into the chorus, the crowd is moving in sync.
Watching her take hold of a room, it’s impossible to ignore what’s right in front of me. This is where she belongs. Not fighting for scraps of attention in a crowded market.
Here.
On a stage built for her.
When she finishes her last song, silence hangs for half a breath. Then the room breaks. Cheers slam forward. Whistles cut through. People shout her name.
Hope. Hope. Hope.
Jamie nudges me. “Alright. Your turn.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“Go talk to her.”
I look over. She’s everywhere at once. Laughing, reaching, shifting between people without slowing down. A bottle turns in her hand, a glass placed in front of someone, a quick reply tossed over her shoulder before she pivots again. No one holds her attention for long, she’s too busy.
Then a coworker lifts her clean off the floor and whirls her around. She laughs, light, unbothered, and the second her feet touch down she’s back in motion, sliding straight into the next order.
Gulping my fear down, I move toward the bar.
Space tightens until there’s barely room to stand without brushing someone. I edge into a narrow gap and stop a few feet from the counter where Hope could hear me if I had anything worth saying.
I freeze. Every second fills before it opens. A question gets answered. A drink goes out. Another voice pulls her attention away. It keeps moving, faster than I can keep up.
A sentence forms. Falls apart. I try again. Same result. Anything I say is wrong before it leaves my mouth.
Her gaze sweeps past me, brief and unfocused, already moving on.
Fuck.
I shift back and let someone else step into the space I couldn’t.
Jamie exhales behind me. “Dude…”
I shake my head once. Not now. He needs to shut the fuck up. I’m too humiliated.
Daniel doesn’t push. His hand grips my shoulder, steady, grounding. “We can come back some other time.”
I nod, even though the idea lands flat. For me, the noise presses in, heavier now, less electric. More overwhelming. I’ve got to get outta here. Now. Ducking through the crowd, I lose my friends and call an Uber.
Outside, the cold air is a harsh slap, cutting through the buzz. The ride home is a blur. By the time I’m back at my condo, the silence is deafening.
For a long while, I sit on the edge of my bed, shoes still on, jacket half-zipped, staring at nothing. Her voice echoes in my head. I think about the two versions of her. Both real.
Both unreachable.
I lean forward, elbows on knees, hands pressed together till my knuckles turn white. I was right there. I had a shot. I blew it.
My phone lights up. Work. Some bug. Ordinarily, I’d jump all over it, but I ignore it. Code isn’t the answer tonight.
My hand trembles as I unzip my pants. I’m already hard, painfully so. My body’s compensating for what my mouth couldn’t do. I spit into my palm and grip myself too tight at first.
I close my eyes and there she is: Hope behind a mic in her tight black jeans and figure-hugging tank. Hope laughing, Hope’s fingers around a bottle neck when she’s behind the bar glancing past me.
My rhythm is desperate, clumsy. Not how I imagine she’d want to be touched, but I can’t slow down. My breath comes in short gasps as I picture her noticing me. Seeing me. I open my eyes when the tingles in my spine become unbearable and spurt pathetically all over my shirt.
In the window, the sight of my own desperation is reflected back at me. Hunched over, panting. Alone in my half-lit bedroom while she’s probably still commanding the bar and juggling the inquiries of dozens of confident men.
I wipe my hand on my jeans and sit back, disgusted.
This isn’t who I want to be. Not some shadow jerking off to the memory of a woman who doesn’t know I exist. She deserves better. Maybe I do too.
Tomorrow doesn’t look different yet. I make a silent vow that it will.
That gap won’t close on its own. If I want a change, I have to dive in.
All the way.
Next time, I won’t just stand there.
I’ll be someone worth seeing.