Everything tilts.
The lights are too bright, the air too thick, the heat crushing down on me like a tidal wave.
She wasn’t supposed to come.
She said she wouldn’t.
So why?—
Why is she here?
I rip my gaze away, but it’s too fucking late.
She’s here.
And now, everything is different.
The song nearly derails because I forgot how to breathe.
I rip my gaze away.I try to shake it off, to pretend I didn’t just see the one person I was certain would never show up.
But it’s too late.
For some insane reason, shecame.And I don’t know what it means.
The next song is hers.
Hell, they’re all hers.
The crowd doesn’t exist.The club doesn’t exist.The lights, the heat, the bass shaking the floor—none of it matters.
Because she’s watching me.
She’s hearing everything.
Every lyric I wrote about her—even before I realized I was doing it.
Every moment I’ve spent aching for her.
Every second I’ve waited for her to see me the way I see her.
And she’s still standing there.
Why hasn’t she left?
She should have stormed out the second she realized what this was—what this has always been.
But she doesn’t.
I don’t know what thatmeans.
I don’t know what the hell to do with it.
The final song is coming.
I know it.
The band knows it.