Chapter Twenty-Two
SAbrINA
Eight Months Later
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Tori Westwyld! Tonight, she performs her latest single, ‘Even When You’re Gone,’ nominated for Best Original Song in a Television Production.”
My heart leaps as I step onto the stage.
The first step is always the hardest. My guitar feels heavy in my hands.
My pulse is hammering, threatening to betray me in front of this glittering crowd.
But I keep moving. One step, then another.
Then I reach centre stage, the spotlight cutting through the darkness like a spotlight on my very life.
It’s been over a year since I performed for an audience this size—not since just after my grandmother passed. Tonight isn’t just a performance; it’s a declaration that I’m back, that I’ve reclaimed my music, my voice, my life.
The room is filled with elegantly dressed guests, the soft murmur of conversation blending with the occasional clink of crystal glasses.
Cameras flash from every angle, broadcast lights creating halos and shadows that make the space feel alive, electric.
There are no familiar crowds of cheering fans—just the weight of expectations, the scrutiny of the industry, the hum of a thousand eyes on me.
This new album is all of me: stripped-down, soulful ballads instead of upbeat pop-country bangers. It’s raw. Emotional. Real. And tonight, everyone here will see that.
I step up to the microphone. My knees tremble. I smile into the dazzling lights.
“Hi,” I breathe, voice amplified but still fragile.
A polite ripple of applause echoes through the hall.
“I’m…a little nervous,” I admit with a shaky laugh. “It’s my first time performing in over a year. Thank you for being here, for letting me share this moment and this music with you.”
I take a deep breath and strap my guitar across my shoulder.
“This next one is from my new album, which drops at midnight,” I say with a small smile. “It’s for anyone who’s ever felt lost and clawed their way back. And for the people who stood by them while they figured it out.”
I glance toward the side of the stage. Mason. Even here, in this glittering sea of celebrities, he’s the calm in the storm. My chest tightens.
My fingers press the strings, and the first chords ring out clear and pure, reverberating through the massive hall. My voice follows, breathy at first, then steadying as I let the lyrics guide me.
I sing about the grief that nearly broke me, the nights I couldn’t sleep, the mornings I feared to wake. I sing about the fear and failure that haunted me until I rebuilt myself.
And then…I sing.
I sing about my grandmother. About a love and a loss so great that I’m forever changed.
I sing about Mason. About the love I never thought I deserved but will fight to keep until my last days.
Mason. The man who saw me, all of me, and stayed. The one who made me feel strong and safe at the same time.
As I come to the final verse, I let every emotion bleed out of me.
By the final chord, my cheeks are wet. A huge, liberating smile spreads across my face as the applause swells—not the familiar roar of a concert crowd, but a formal, appreciative standing ovation from an audience of peers, industry leaders, and cameras that will broadcast this moment to millions.
I blink against the spotlight, voice choked but grateful.
“Thank you,” I whisper, bowing. I step offstage—right into Mason’s waiting arms.
“You were incredible,” he murmurs, holding me like I’m fragile and precious.
“I feel incredible,” I reply, voice thick. “Totally…perfectly content.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. “And stronger than ever.”
“Fuck yeah,” I giggle, brushing my tears away. I hand my guitar to a stagehand, only to be pulled back into Mason’s chest seconds later.
“Who would’ve thought a year ago you’d be attending awards shows, and I’d be cheering at hockey games?” I murmur, inhaling his scent.
“Fate has a funny way of working out,” he says, kissing my temple. “Ever think about where we were this time last year?”
“All the time,” I admit, wrapping my arms around him. “I was hiding behind fake smiles, trying to survive. Until you came along and changed everything.”
We pause, letting the moment sink in.
“Everything changed when I met you,” I whisper. “Not because you were there…but because you let me be myself.”
He cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek. “You’ve always been extraordinary, Victoria. I was lucky enough to see you remember that.”
Hand in hand, we move deeper into the hall. Three quick squeezes—our secret way of saying I love you.
A lot has changed. After the Jess situation blew over, I moved into Mason’s condo permanently. The chaos of hockey schedules became our rhythm. Max and Sidney moved out, leaving us our space. We’d built a life together, day by day. Fights, flaws, makeups—we’d found our balance.
For our one-year anniversary, we celebrated where it all began, flying our families to Barbados. And at the very last sunset, Mason proposed. I’d said yes before he even finished asking.
We’ve survived grief, chaos, fake dating, and public scrutiny. We’ve fallen in love under spotlights and found peace in quiet moments.
And now?
We have it all.
“I’m ready to head home, my love.”
He grins. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning into him. “Home sounds perfect.”
THE END
***
Thank you for reading Damsel in Defense, book two in the Toronto Nighthawks series. Mason and Victoria’s love story is over, but don’t worry—you’ll see them again in Sidney’s book, Goading the Goalie, coming March 2026!
Curious about Henrik and Bryn’s wild Hollywood enemies-to-lovers story?
Start reading, Strung Along, available now.