Nash’s face twists in panic. His hands are shaking as he turns left and right, searching for an escape that isn’t there. For help that isn’t coming. For a way to stop his legacy from burning to ash. And his voice keeps rising higher and higher. “Cut the feed.” He whips toward the sound crew. "Cut the feed!"
But the truth is blaring across the speakers, flashing across screens too large to ignore.
“They’re not good enough, Pat,”Past Nash is saying on screen.“But I promise, if you ever write something good enough, I’ll make sure the world hears it.”
He stumbles back to the mic, voice frantic. "Kill the sound! Now!"
But they don’t.
They won’t.
I glance at Manny, who stands firm, arms crossed, making sure every second plays, even as Greer is screaming, shrieking, gesturing wildly to Lou, to Nash, to anyone and everyone.
And on stage, Nash is cracking.
His polished, media-trained composure crashes to the earth, his face a shade too pale.
Lou turns to me, her eyes fixed, her grin fierce and proud, and she starts clapping. My dad and brother join in immediately. Her family. Our friends.
Then, one by one, the entire crew stops what they’re doing. The only sound on the stage is Lou and our loved ones clapping for me.
But then Manny joins in. And Lou’s band. Rick and the sound techs.
Until suddenly, the stage explodes—cheers, whoops, shouts of my name. They’re all looking at me. Smiling at me. Applauding.
Forme.
I laugh, but I can’t breathe.
I cry, but I can’t move.
I can’t do anything—absolutely anything—but stand there and marvel. The truth that was buried for years is finally uncovered, finally out there.
To Lou.
To the fans.
To the press and the label.
To the world.
Nash built his empire on my stolen dreams, and it’s all crumbling down around him. He runs from the stage and screams at Greer, who’s only screaming back.
And then—his frantic eyes turn on Lou.
“YOU!” he yells. Practically cries as he runs to her, looking like he’s about to attack.
“You did this! You lying b?—”
Suddenly, Nash trips, slamming face-first into a stage monitor.
The video finishes playing, and a stunned hush falls over the hall.
And then, Winona Williams says, “Bless your heart.” She crouches down to grab Nash’s face, blood pooling between his fingers. "Did you trip?”
"It wasn’t me," Dad says, slapping his legs. “But I wish it had been.”
"I think it was one of the cords," one of the techs says, and I laugh when I realize it’s Jay, the guy who made a rude comment about Lou on my first day, all those months ago.
