Page 17 of Unfinished Noise

Jamie’s hand covered his, squeezing once. And that was all Spencer needed.

When Nathan tapped the mic and called everyone to places, Spencer sighed, gave Jamie’s knee one last brush with his thumb, and pushed himself up from the chair heading back onstage.

He squeezed Jamie’s shoulder on his way past. “Be right up there.”

Jamie smiled at him, soft and sure. “Go, Daddy Spencer.”

That carried Spencer the rest of the way.

He stepped back onto the stage, the hum of amps vibrating under his boots, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. The energy hit him like a warm wave—loud, messy, alive. Performing was like breathing again.

The crowd was louder now, buzzed from drinks, warmed up, ready for more. Spencer loved that energy. It made performing feel like breathing.

Spencer let the moment settle in his chest, a quiet beat before the noise of the pub swallowed everything again. Then Spencer tapped the mic, the sharp pop echoing through the room. “Alright, folks, we’re jumping back in!”

The crowd reacted instantly—chairs scraping, voices rising, people shifting toward the stage like a tide pulling forward. The lights brightened overhead, casting long shadows across the floor.

He glanced at Jamie before the next song. Jamie was laughing at something Uncle Bob said, relaxed and happy. That helped settle Spencer’s nerves… at least for a moment.

The band kicked into the next set. Spencer’s voice sounded strong, the guitar humming under his fingers. The audience clapped along, some people standing again, cheering as if they’d been waiting years for this comeback.

Billy drifted closer during a harmony, leaning in with that too‑bright smile. “Sounding good tonight,” Billy said under the music.

Spencer didn’t look at him. “Focus on the song.”

Billy laughed low. “I am. You’re the one distracting me.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened. Not tonight. Not ever. He stepped away, putting physical space between them, making it clear he wasn’t playing that game.

Billy backed off, but the grin stayed.

During the next song, two men approached Jamie’s table. Younger than Uncle Bob, dressed in denim and leather, clearly regulars. They leaned in, talking to Jamie as if they were trying to charm him. One even rested his arm on the back of Jamie’s chair.

Jamie didn’t look uncomfortable, but he didn’t look thrilled either.

Spencer’s stomach dropped.

Nope. Absolutely not.

He kept singing, but his voice had an edge now, sharper, more intense. His eyes locked on Jamie between lyrics. Jamie noticed—his brows lifted, his mouth forming a tiny “It’s okay” smile.

It wasn’t okay.

One man said something that made Jamie laugh politely. Spencer’s grip tightened on the guitar neck.

Why are they at his table? Why are they leaning in? Why is Jamie being polite to them?

He hated how fast jealousy hit him. It wasn’t rational. Jamie wasn’t flirting. Jamie wasn’t interested. But seeing other men try to pick him up while Spencer was stuck onstage made his chest burn.

Nathan shot Spencer a look mid‑song—you good?

Spencer wasn’t. But he kept going.

Billy stepped up for their duet, smiling like he knew exactly how tense Spencer was.

“You ready?” Billy asked, voice low.

“Just sing,” Spencer muttered.