Maybe it’s too late. Maybe I burned that bridge so completely there’s no rebuilding it. Maybe she’s done with me, moved on, decided I’m not worth the emotional energy.
Soon, I’ll race. I’ll prove to Ferrari and everyone else that I deserve my seat back. That I’m ready for this, that eighteen months on the sidelines taught me something about patience and control and fighting for what matters.
And then I’ll figure out how to prove to Lark that I deserve her back too.
Tonight everything changes. One way or another.
I just hope I’m not too late to fix what really matters.
CHAPTER 29
LARK
The small side stage is exactly that. Small. Set up near one of the main entertainment areas but not the huge stage where the headliners perform. The “emerging talent” stage, which is industry speak for “people will probably ignore you but we’re giving you a chance anyway.”
Through the gap in the curtain I can see the crowd. A few hundred people maybe, scattered around drinking, talking, scrolling on their phones. The sun is mostly down and everything is lit up like Vegas does best—neon and excess and way too bright.
Maya walks up as I’m hovering in the wings. “Alright, so you’re up in about two minutes. Remember what we talked about—big energy, really sell it. The executives are watching.”
My stomach churns. “Maya, I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait? You’re literally about to?—”
“I can’t do the pop versions.”
She stops mid-sentence. “What?”
“The songs. The arrangements we recorded. I can’t perform them. They’re not me, they’re not even the genre I want to do.”The words tumble out faster now. “And if I go out there and do them anyway, that’s what I’ll be known for. That’s what people will think I am.”
Maya blinks at me like I just told her I’m planning to juggle fire on stage. “Lark.” Her voice is carefully controlled. “That’s not what we discussed. That’s not what the label is expecting to hear.”
“I know. And I know this isn’t professional, and I should have said something way earlier.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “But I can’t do it. I should have told you that a long time ago, but I think I only just realized it myself. I completely understand if you’d rather pull me from the lineup.”
Maya looks at her phone, then at the stage, then back at me. Her jaw tightens. “We can’t have the slot empty. You’re already booked, your name’s been announced.” She crosses her arms. “Do what you need to do. But I can’t guarantee you’ll get the contract. They specifically wanted to hear this sound. So you might be losing everything here.”
The weight of that settles in my chest, but I nod. “I understand. I’m really sorry.”
“Are you sure about this?” She’s searching my face. “Because once you walk out there, that’s it. No do-overs.”
“I’m sure.”
She stares at me for another long moment, then sighs like I just made her entire evening exponentially harder. “Fine. It’s your career. Go tell the sound guy about the change. You’ve got ninety seconds.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She’s already lifting her phone back to her ear. “You might have just completely tanked your future.”
I catch the sound guy doing final checks near the stage entrance. “Hey, sorry, last minute change—I’m going acoustic. Just me and the guitar, no backing tracks.”
He looks at me like I just asked him to rebuild the entire sound system. “Are you serious? We set up the whole?—”
“I know, I’m so sorry. Can you make it work?”
He glances toward Maya, who’s very deliberately not looking in our direction, then back at me with obvious reluctance. “Yeah. I guess. But you’re on in like sixty seconds.”
“Thank you so much.”
I move back to the wings with my guitar. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The stage fright that’s been simmering all evening kicks into high gear now, mixing with adrenaline and terror and this weird sense of relief that I can’t quite explain.
