The crowd beyond the wall swells again.
I look back at Piper. Her breathing is shallow enough that one strong breeze might tip her over.
She turns toward me, and before I can ask if she’s okay, she blurts, “Griffin, I’m going to shit myself.”
“Real classy, Pipes.”
“I’m serious!” she hisses, eyes wide. “I can’t do this.”
“Of course you can.”
“No, I can’t.” She gestures wildly toward the curtain. “There are so many people out there.” She comes toward me with the violin and bow held against her chest. “I can’t do this. I said yes without thinking, and I thought it was a good idea, but it was not a good idea.”
I peek around the backstage curtain again.
Yeah, it’s fucking full.
Bodies are packed together. People are shouting for drinks. The lights are low, and the energy is high. It’s the kind of crowd that devours live music.
“You’ve played to thousands of people,” I remind her.
“That was before.” She grips the violin tighter.
“Before what?”
“Just… before.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
For the first time all week, she looks genuinely afraid.
She’s been wild and loud and alive here. Dancing, laughing, throwing herself into everything. But right now, she’s vulnerable in a way she doesn’t let many people see.
“Hey,” I say, stepping close. “Breathe.”
She tries, but it comes out uneven.
“Talk to me,” I say.
She swallows hard. “I feel…” She tries again. “It’s different now. It feels… exposed.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it before she looks in the direction of the crowd.
Before tonight, she was playing in a field with strangers and laughing. Before that, she was in a music shop in Mira Cove because an old man with a sign told her to play. Before all of that, she was a woman who hadn’t touched her instrument in months.
She looks up at me, eyes glassy. “Maybe,” she whispers.
“It’s not a bad thing.” I take her chin gently and make her meet my eyes. “Go out there and smash it, baby. This is what you were born to do.”
Her breath stutters. She searches my face like she’s trying to find something steady to hold onto.
Then she shoves the violin at my chest. “Can’tyoudo it?”
“I can barely clap on beat.”
I swear she stomps a foot. “Just go out there and… do something!”
“What?” I ask. “Stand there and look tall?”
