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“I know this is a no phones event. But pretty please, can I ask that nobody records this? Because I’m technically not supposed to be performing some of these songs.” The crowd cheers. I look at Luca. He shrugs. We agreed to just do a couple Atlas Falling songs and then do covers for the rest. If Bingo wants to sue us for playing our own stuff at a charity gig, they can go fuck themselves. “Anyway! We’re here for Sam tonight,” I tell the crowd. “You’ve already raised more than six thousand dollars. That is fucking incredible! But I’ve been informed Mountain Springs is full of wealthy students with poor impulse control.”

Laughter rolls through the room.

“Give what you can. Then we’ll give you everything we’ve got.”

I adjust my grip on the pick.

My gaze finds Bea.

“This first one’s called Sun on Glass.”

The crowd erupts.

I play.

Harrison built the song. I know that. I’ve never pretended otherwise.

But I know how to carry it.

I know where to let my voice roughen, where to pull back until the room leans closer, where to hit the chorus hard enough that every person in front of me feels it in their ribs.

I’m a performer.

A fucking good one.

The crowd belongs to us before the first chorus ends.

And the truth is that I love every second of it.

I love the heat. The noise. The faces lifted toward us. The way Luca’s bass meets my guitar so naturally it feels like muscle memory.

I’ve missed this.

My eyes find Bea again.

She’s swaying near the front, one arm around Sydney, singing along.

Green fabric moves around her legs. Her pretty face bright and open. For a few seconds, the entire room disappears around her. I might as well be singing directly to her.

I continue to hold her gaze through the final chorus.

When the song ends, the room detonates into applause.

Luca laughs into his microphone. I look across at him and feel the same wild charge reflected back at me.

“Now, I wanna play one of my favorite people’s favorite songs. I think she might have said it was the greatest song of all time.” Bea sticks her tongue out at me. I smile. “This is Quiet Year,” I say into the mic, looking at Bea. She grins back at me, hands clasped over her heart, and starts swaying the second I hit the first chord.

We play a few covers after.

Then the crowd demands an encore, so I give them one.

By the time we leave the stage, my shirt is damp against my back, and adrenaline is still racing through me.

Luca grabs the back of my neck and knocks his forehead briefly against mine.

“That,” he says, breathless, “was fucking awesome.”

“Yeah.”