She owns them completely.
Lark
The second the words leave my mouth, I know there’s no taking them back.
This song. The one I wrote about Jack at two in the morning while crying at my kitchen counter. The one I’ve never performed for anyone. And I’m about to sing it in front of hundreds of strangers. With Jack somewhere in this same venue.
My fingers find the opening chords and my chest tightens, but I don’t stop. The first verse comes out raw, every word pulled from somewhere deep. The crowd has grown now, people drawn over by the music, and they’re listening.Reallylistening.
The chorus builds and I’m pouring everything into it. Every ounce of hurt and hope and confusion from the last two weeks. The way he made me feel seen and terrified all at once. The way I pushed him away because I was too scared to believe any of it was real.
People are swaying. Some are filming. Near the stage, a woman wipes her eyes.
The final chorus swells and I let my voice soar, every bit of longing and regret bleeding into the words. When I hit the last note and let it fade, there’s a beat of complete silence.
Then the applause erupts. People are cheering. Someone yells “YEAH!” from the back.
I did it.
I performed live without freezing up, without letting the fear win, with my own songs instead of the watered-down versions Maya wanted.
“Thank you so much,” I say into the mic, grinning now, adrenaline flooding my entire system. “Thank you, Vegas!”
More cheers, more applause. Then I’m walking offstage with my guitar and my heart pounding and this wild, electric energy coursing through me.
I feel powerful, like I just proved something to myself. That I could get on that stage and perform. That I could overcome the fear that’s held me back for years. That I could choose my own vision over someone else’s sanitized version of who they wanted me to be.
Brandon’s voice, the one that’s been living rent-free in my head for years telling me I’m too much, too loud, too ambitious? Finally quiet. Finally gone. And I know now that it’s never coming back.
I’ll find another way. Another label, another opportunity that doesn’t require me to sand down every edge that makes me who I am. And if that doesn’t happen, I’ll keep working at the Black Lantern, keep making music on my own terms until something clicks.
Because I’m done compromising. Done shrinking myself to fit into someone else’s box.
JACK
As the song built to the final chorus, I caught pieces of our relationship woven through the melody. Things I said to herin Banff. Moments we shared that I thought I’d ruined. It cuts through every wall I’ve built in the last two weeks.
And when she finished, the crowd erupted.
Now she’s gone and I’m still clapping hard, whistling with two fingers in my mouth like I’m at a stadium.
She’s gone from the stage, but she’shere.
Lark is here. In Vegas.
She performed her own songs instead of the newer ones the label had been pushing. And it was the right fucking call because the crowd ate it up. She was incredible up there, fearless in a way that makes what I’m about to do in a race car look like nothing.
I’m so fucking proud of her. Underneath that is this desperate, clawing need to find her right now. To tell her I heard every word of that song. To tell her I’m sorry for walking away, for letting my fear win when I should have stayed and fought for us.
LARK
I can’t access the paddock area where the drivers are, despite trying to sweet-talk the security guard into letting me past. When I mentioned I was one of the drivers’ girlfriends, he actually laughed and said he hears that from like a hundred girls a day. Fair enough, I guess.
I should just be thankful Maya didn’t rip my backstage pass away and kick me out of the venue entirely. Instead she just gave me this look of pure disappointment and told me my career with Tidal was over. She’s probably right. But weirdly, I feel better than I have in years. Lighter, like I just put down somethingheavy I didn’t realize I’d been carrying. The only thing missing is Jack.
I’d tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. Then I vaguely remembered him mentioning once that he leaves his phone in his driver’s room for a few hours before races because he hates distractions.
So here I am, leaning against the railing with a vodka soda, watching the pre-race chaos unfold. The high from performing is still buzzing through me, this electric feeling I can’t quite shake. I just performed my own songs in front of hundreds of people and didn’t completely fall apart. The contract might be gone, but I proved something to myself tonight that feels bigger than any record deal.
