36. Chapter Thirty-Six #2
Miles's eyes narrowed. "You're playing it."
My fingers curled around the pick in my hand. I didn't need to ask what he meant.
"Linger," Miles said.
"Yeah."
Miles stepped closer so the crew noise wouldn't carry the words. "One last time."
"One last time."
"You sure?"
"I need to."
Miles exhaled. "Okay."
Jax wandered over, adjusting an in-ear monitor. Jax had the kind of blunt honesty that made him useful and annoying in equal measure.
"Premiere tomorrow," Jax said, like he was commenting on the weather.
My pulse jumped. "Yeah."
"Premiere eve," Jax corrected, then shrugged. "Same tension."
I stared at the stage curtain. "Yeah."
Jax smirked. "You going to tell her?"
My jaw tightened.
Miles shot Jax a look. "Dude."
Jax lifted his hands. "What? It's a fair question."
I exhaled.
"If she lets me."
The words came out without effort, because they had been living in my chest for months.
Jax's expression shifted, the smirk fading. "Okay."
Miles nodded.
A crew member waved from the side. "Thirty seconds."
I stepped forward, the curtain edge brushing my shoulder.
The intro track started, a low rumble that made the crowd scream. Stage lights shifted, sweeping over faces in the dark. Phones went up. Bracelets blinked.
I walked out, and the roar hit me in the chest like a punch I welcomed.
Festival crowds were different from tour crowds. Less intimate. More feral. They wanted a show. They wanted moments.
I gave them one.
The first song hit hard, drums steady, guitars loud. My body moved on autopilot through the set, breath controlled, locked into the music. The band was tight. The sound was clean.
Between songs, I spoke less than usual. No rambling. No teasing the front row just because I could. I kept the focus on the music, because tonight was already loaded.
Halfway through the set, Miles shifted closer, tapping his guitar neck in the signal we used when it was time.
I nodded.
The lights changed, dimming slightly.
The crowd noise softened into anticipation. Phones rose higher. People screamed the title before I said it.
"Linger!"
My hand tightened around the mic stand.
This song had been a weapon. A confession. A story I had once told wrong on purpose because I didn't know how to hold grief without turning it into blame.
I had introduced it that way early in the tour. The girl who broke me. The crowd had eaten it up.
I wanted to erase that version of myself. Instead, I had to correct it.
I leaned into the mic.
The crowd screamed again, hungry.
"This is the last time I'm going to play this song on this run," I said.
The crowd groaned, then cheered. Someone shouted, "No!"
My mouth twitched. "I wrote it a long time ago."
I paused, letting the noise settle enough to carry the words.
"This song started as pain," I said. "Then I let people turn it into blame."
The crowd quieted, the shift tangible even in a field full of thousands.
"I used to introduce it as a song about the girl who broke me."
A few sounds moved through the crowd. Surprise. Recognition. A couple of screams from people already building the clip in their heads.
I kept going.
"That wasn't fair."
The words landed heavier than I expected. Good.
"It's a song about someone who made me better, even when I didn't deserve it."
For one suspended second, the field held still.
Then the crowd erupted. Not the same kind of scream. Higher. Sharper. Phones shook. People shouted Lila's name. People shouted Twilight. People shouted things I couldn't control.
I didn't react to the shouting. I didn't confirm anything. I didn't deny it either.
I stepped back, lifted my guitar, and started the opening chords.
The band came in behind me. The song rolled out into the night, familiar and heavy. My voice hit the first verse, and my chest tightened.
I didn't picture Lila crying in a dressing room. I didn't picture her walking away mid-performance. I didn't picture the booth.
I pictured the coffee shop. The messy kiss. Her pulling back with clarity.
I need to prove it to myself first.
I pictured her in that bold dress, choosing herself.
I sang like a man who had learned that love didn't mean grabbing.
When the song ended, the crowd screamed again, but I didn't soak it in the way I used to. I nodded once, brief gratitude, and moved into the next track.
The set ended in a blaze of lights and noise.
I left the stage with sweat on my neck and adrenaline in my blood. Crew swarmed. Someone handed me a towel. Someone offered water.
I wiped my face, breathing hard.
Miles stepped beside me and clapped me on the shoulder. "That intro."
I exhaled. "Yeah."
Miles's expression shifted. "That was the right way."
"I'm trying."
Jax wandered over, eyes sharp. "You're going to get asked about that."
I nodded. "I know."
"You ready?"
"No."
Miles snorted. "Good."
My mouth twitched.
Ready was overrated. Intentional was better.
I walked toward the dressing tent, the festival noise fading behind me. My phone stayed off. My team stayed away. I had told them I needed quiet. I had told them I would be at the premiere tomorrow, and I would behave.
I would. If she let me.
Tomorrow's carpet would be cameras, questions, and public lines that could cut. It would be the collision of everything we had tried to keep separate.
I didn't know what Lila was preparing to say across the country. I didn't know she had written herself a sentence.
Honesty and credit.
But I knew what I owed her. I owed her the part where I stayed quiet unless invited.
I sat on a folding chair in the tent and stared at my hands, still buzzing from the set.
I had played "Linger" one last time. I had introduced it properly. Now I had to survive tomorrow without turning my growth into a show.
Lila
In the back of the car on the way to the pre-premiere dinner, I was clutching my purse like it was a life raft. Harper nudged my knee, probably to check if I still had circulation.
"Breathe," she said.
I inhaled.
Finn watched me in the dark window reflection. "Say your sentence."
"Now?"
"Now."
I swallowed and tasted it.
"I'm proud of this film and my music, and I'm here to celebrate the work with full credit where it belongs."
Harper nodded. "Again."
I repeated it, steadier this time.
Finn's mouth twitched. "Good."
The car rolled toward a sea of lights and cameras, and a room full of people ready to slap a new name on me before the carpet even got a shot.
I stared out the window, dress cool against my skin.
I wasn't nervous about whether Evan looked at me. I was nervous about being seen as myself.
Tonight, the room could call me whatever it wanted.
I knew my name.