I lift my chin slightly, allowing the sound to seep through my lips. A timid hum escapes, a whisper of my struggle, but it falters into a breathy wisp. I wince, tension creeping back into my shoulders. “Raina, relax. Again, if you need to,” Dr. Shapiro encourages, her tone steady, coaxing.
With determination anchoring my resolve, I take another breath, feeling the weight of her words propelling me forward. I try again, the hum vibrating deep within my chest. It’s tentative, shaky, with a hidden flicker of strength, and I cling to it.
“Good, Raina. That was stronger,” Dr. Shapiro reassures, with a warm smile. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, relief washing over me in gentle waves.
“Now, let’s move on to lip trills,” she instructs, her confidence weaving itself into my own. I visualize the way the notes flowedfrom my lips during our last session. But as I launch into the drill, a slight tremor forces its way back, threatening to cut the trill short. My brow furrows in frustration. “Focus on your breath support,” she advises, her voice a steady guide. “You’ve worked hard to build this. Let’s not forget the basics when our nerves try to get in the way.”
I wince at her feedback. She’s right. It’s the first thing I forget when I let the nerves get to me. Which is crazy because I could sing to a stadium of thousands and never have an issue.
With a deep breath, I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing through the noise swirling in my head. The image of my men cheering me on flows into my mind, a reassuring tether drawing me back to shore. I refocus, letting the tension release, allowing my breath to open wide as I dive back into the trill.
It rises and falls like the gentle waves of the ocean, flowing steadily now as my confidence blooms. “Excellent!” Dr. Shapiro encourages, her eyes sparkling with genuine pride. “You’ve made considerable progress, Raina. Your breath support is improving remarkably.”
A warmth floods through me, igniting a spark I hadn’t felt in so long. My lips curl into a small smile, and I swallow down the lingering remnants of self-doubt. With renewed determination, I move on to the gentle scales she has laid out for me, each note weaving its way back into my being.
I reach for higher notes, and my hands tremble slightly as I take the leap. This time, the scales spill forth like honey, sweet and vibrant, each sound amplifying my sense of freedom. I see the way Dr. Shapiro’s brow furrows in concentration as she takes notes, and I breathe in her quiet approval. I might not be close to the octave I was at before, but I’m still happy that I’m able to reach anything decent at all.
The session rolls on, each exercise building upon the last until I finally reach the end. “That was wonderful,” she sayswith a gentle smile, her tone bathed in encouragement. “Your dedication is paying off. The damage may be permanent, but your adaptation is remarkable.”
Pride blooms in my chest. I nod, my face a blend of emotion as the weight of her words settles over me. “Thank you,” I reply, voice trembling slightly, still trying to find comfort in the new me that’s beginning to emerge.
As we conclude our session, I breathe deeply, gathering the fragments of newfound hope swirling in the air around us. I may have many miles ahead, but for now, I reclaim this moment of progress, letting it anchor me as I step further into the vast unknown.
When I first had the idea to start Survival Records, it felt like a dream—something wild and far away, like a star I could never quite reach. I never imagined it would come together this quickly.
Tristan likes to compare it to when I launched my debut album and went on my first tour. I used to think becoming a pop star was impossible too.
But now, both are mine.
The living room glows with warm afternoon light, and anticipation thrums through the air like a heartbeat. Multiple laptops sit on the coffee table like little islands of excitement, surrounded by scattered notepads brimming with ideas and dreams.
Today feels monumental… first my three-month evaluation for voice therapy, and now this, the launch of my newest passion.
I glance around the room, heart fluttering. Keaton lounges on the couch, tapping his drumsticks against the fabric. When he meets my gaze, the steady warmth in his eyes grounds me. Nash leans against the wall, champagne bottle in hand, grinning like he can barely contain himself. His exuberance draws a smile from me whether I want it to or not.
As I prepare for the digital meeting with Izzy and Gill, my fingers dance over the notepad in front of me, skimming over the list. Each bullet point carries the weight of dreams we’ve been weaving together for weeks, and I can almost taste the promise of our vision taking flight.
When Izzy’s face finally appears on the screen, she’s dressed professionally, but her enthusiasm is evident in the rapid gestures punctuating her speech. “Good morning, everyone! I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to share this news with you.” Her excitement is infectious, pulling everyone in as we settle into our seats.
A gasp escapes my lips when she pulls up the finalized logo on screen, the bold design shimmering like a beacon. “This is it—Survival Records,” she announces with a flourish, and a wave of exhilaration washes over me. My bandmates’ cheers echo through the air, enveloping us in a bubble of shared joy.
“Oh my god, that’s beautiful!” I exclaim, the words pouring from me before I can hold them back. Seeing our vision come to life before us ignites an ember of hope within me, kindling a spark that had felt dimmed for far too long.
“And with this push of a button, your website is officially launched, all of our to-do list is complete. Survival Records is official!” Gill shares, her smile reaching ear to ear. “Congratulations, everyone!”
Nash lifts the bottle of champagne like a trophy. “Let’s celebrate!” He removes the cork with a gratifyingpop, and thesound sends ripples of laughter and excitement throughout the room.
Tristan sweeps me into a hug, spinning me before setting me down—right into Blake’s waiting hands. He cups my face, kisses me soundly, and pulls back with a grin. Dare and Keaton share a high five while Nash pours champagne, the bubbles rising in the glass much like my joy.
“Now,” Izzy continues once we finish toasting, shifting seamlessly into a more serious tone, “we need to strategize next steps.” Her focus shifts from the celebratory atmosphere back to the grounded discussions about our future.
“We have your album underway,” she continues. “Recording and production are in progress while we wait for Raina to join in.” My fingers twitch, tracing my throat without thinking—a reminder of how much hangs on my recovery. “But we also need to start scouting. One band won’t sustain a label.”
The reality of Survival Records solidifying is almost surreal, each beat of excitement echoing through my chest. We’ve worked so hard to reach this moment, and yet, I’m acutely aware that this is just one stepping stone on a long journey ahead.
“That’s part of why we chose to move here,” Dare reminds us. “It’s a growing area with talent coming in every day. We just need to have the scouts sit at various open mic nights.”
“That’s exactly what we were thinking,” Izzy says, nodding her head in approval. “I also have contacts I’ve been nurturing for years that I can approach. We need to ensure Survival Records is synonymous with authenticity, talent, and raw creativity.”
