Chapter Two #3
The mix settled. I crossed the platform without losing breath, caught the harmony, and ended on the exact count that would trigger the lighting change Saturday night.
Cassidy stood below the left wing.
She wasn’t smiling. She was checking the service opening, the stairs, and the empty rows beyond the barricade.
Then I peeled the tank away from my damp skin for one second and let it fall back.
She glanced at me.
I walked to the edge of the riser. “Was that a security assessment?”
“Your left wing is still open.”
“That wasn’t the part you were assessing.”
“The clock is running.”
“You could admit I’m good.”
“I haven’t heard the guitar section.”
I looked over my shoulder. “Bring me the acoustic.”
A crew member passed up the guitar. I slipped the strap over my head and settled the instrument against my torso.
“From the bridge,” I said.
The keyboardist gave me the opening chord.
I played the first progression alone, then sang over it.
The arrangement stripped the production away until nothing remained but the guitar, my voice, and the song I’d written after Sunday Drive ended.
The pavilion’s empty seats returned the sound without the roar that used to swallow every quiet line.
At the final chord, I let the strings fade beneath my palm.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Then Cassidy said, “You’re good.”
I looked down at her. “I’m sorry. The guitar was ringing. Could you repeat that?”
“No.”
“I’m sure Isabel heard you.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Isabel said from the aisle.
“Professional betrayal,” I told her.
Cassidy pointed toward the piano. “You have twelve minutes.”
I handed off the guitar and followed her signal toward the rear riser. A technician started to cross the route, but Cassidy raised her hand. He stopped, let us pass, and continued after she cleared him.
The grand piano waited under a protective cover at stage right. I pulled the cover free, sat, and tested the keys.
The first chord vibrated beneath the bench.
I played the ballad’s intro, then shifted into the shortened arrangement planned for the concert. I widened the melody where the vocal needed space. The song ended with a high note I’d been protecting for weeks.
I took the breath low, released it steadily, and held the note until the sound engineer lifted his thumb.
When I stood, sweat ran beneath my tank. Cassidy stepped beside me with a cold bottle.
She held it out.
“Hydrate.”
I took it. “You enjoyed that.”
“I enjoyed seeing you follow the schedule.”
“Your eyes were on me, not the schedule.”
“My eyes were on every person who approached you.”
“And when nobody approached me?”
Her gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.
“Then I checked the exits.”
Cassidy stepped closer and pressed two fingers to the center of my chest, moving me half a step away from a cable behind my heel.
“Watch your footing.”
Her touch lasted less than a second.
I wanted it back.
Isabel approached from the aisle. “We can give you one final run of the entrance before we need the platform for lighting.”
I turned to Cassidy.
She checked her watch. “One run.”
“Full chorus?”
“One.”
I smiled. “You’re learning how to spoil me.”
“I’m learning that bargaining takes longer than the song.”
The band reset. I returned to center, waited for Cassidy’s nod, and called, “Count us in.”
Cassidy’s phone rang before the first beat.
She lifted one hand. The drummer stopped.
Cassidy checked her screen and straightened.
“Carlos,” she said.
She answered and placed the call on speaker.
“Cassidy, I’m at Shane’s cottage,” Carlos said. His voice had gone tight. “Housekeeping found an envelope on the private patio table.”
“Did anyone touch it?”
“No. I cleared the staff away and locked the cottage from the corridor side.”
“Can you see what’s inside?”
“The flap is open. There are photographs.”
Cassidy met my eyes. “Photographs of what?”
“One is partially exposed. Shane is wearing the aqua shirt from this morning, and your hand is around his waist. It appears to have been taken outside the restaurant’s service exit.”
The plastic flexed beneath my grip.
“That was hours ago,” I said.
“I know,” Carlos replied. “There’s a message beneath the photographs, but I can’t read it without moving the envelope.”
“Don’t touch anything else,” Cassidy said. “Keep everyone away from the patio and the cottage. We’re coming back.”
“I’ll secure the path until your team arrives.”
The call ended.
Cassidy turned to Isabel. “Soundcheck is over. Keep this area restricted and preserve the current access list.”
“I’ll lock it down.”
Cassidy took it from my grip and set it beside the piano before I could crush it.
“We’re leaving by the route we used.”
I stepped down from the riser. “I’m with you.”
At the corridor entrance, her phone vibrated with a photograph from Carlos. The envelope sat on my patio table beneath a clear water glass. Several glossy prints protruded from the open flap.
The top one showed Cassidy’s hand locked around my waist as she drove me through the Salty Spoon’s service door.
The person who’d turned breakfast into a trap had reached the place where I slept.