Meanwhile, I’m just trying to breathe.
Trying to get my head on straight.
The arena is massive. Bigger than anything we’ve ever played. Screens are already looping promotional graphics, giant digital letters spelling outCatastrophically Charismatic—Live Tonight. One of the looping images stops me cold: a photo of me on stage that Mia had taken. Every piece of promotional material the label is using tonight ishers.
Is she coming?
I haven’t asked. Can’t. I don’t want to know, especially if it’s something I can’t handle. Johanna hasn’t said anything, which is probably its own kind of answer. She’s been quiet since we got here, hovering around without being too obvious. She’s justwatching me—knowing better than to promise something she may not be able to deliver.
“You’re up for soundcheck in ten,” Jake says, coming up behind me. “They want to run throughShatter Me Louderand…Collapse.”
I nod, but don’t move.Collapse Into Youhas become iconic. Of course they’re expecting us to play it tonight. But it’s hard to picture playing it without Mia here.
“You good?” Jake asks, lowering his voice.
I shrug. “Depends on your definition of good.”
He gives me a dry look. “You and Johanna can’t use that response for everything.”
“Debatable.”
He doesn’t argue.
We make our way towards the stage, weaving through the crew and cables with Jake using his new clipboard as a shield.Everything seems to move so much faster here, the weight of the night ahead on everyone’s shoulders.
Eric tosses me a water bottle once I make it to my mic. “Setlist is locked in. Another sold out house. You ready for this?”
I wish everyone would stop asking me that.
I look out across the empty seats, trying to imagine them all filled, but there’s only one seat I care about. Mia used to say the best shows are the ones where you can’t tell if the crowd is singing with you or for you.
“Ask me again in an hour,” I say, hoping by then she might be here and I really will be ready.
We make it through the run throughs the Label Gods have requested. Slowly, I start to fall back into the role. Front man. Performer. Professional.
Backstage, I find a stool in a quiet corner and sink into it before my phone starts buzzing in my pocket and my pulse jumps.
Incoming Call:Spam Likely
I let out a breath I don’t realize I’m holding.
Still not her.
“Grayson.” Johanna’s voice cuts through the haze as she steps into view, arms crossed and expression unreadable. I stand and basically launch myself at her. I can’t take it anymore—I have to know.
“Did she—?”
She holds up her hand to stop me from barreling into her like an unhinged buffoon. “Slow down, crazy. I don’t know.”
“Youdidtalk to her, right?”
“Yes, Grayson,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I told her everything. The show. The plane ticket. That you wanted her here. I did everything I could—you’re welcome, by the way.”
“And?”
“She didn’t say yes,” Johanna says carefully. “But she didn’t say no either.”
I try to swallow around the ever-present lump in my throat.
