Quinn perks up beside me, his eyes lighting with recognition as he glances between me and the stage.“Wait, isn’t that?—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, my glare sharp enough to silence even him.
Vivian, forever oblivious, leans in with a completely idiotic expression of confusion.“Who’s Johnny Rivers?Is he, like, one of those indie guys?”
“Not exactly,” I bite out, my voice tight.
Joel settles onto a stool at center stage, adjusting the mic stand with an ease that’s both infuriating and magnetic.He doesn’t look nervous.He doesn’t even look like he’s trying.He just… exists, completely at home in the spotlight.I remember when singing and being on stage was the single most terrifying thing he could think of doing.
The first chords of his guitar cut through the air, clean and deliberate, and the room seems to hold its breath.
And then he starts to sing.
Of course he can’t just choose a damn karaoke song.It’s gotta be something original and that thought makes me want to throw up.
The song is a raw, stripped-down melody—nothing like the flashy rockstar image I’ve spent years building up in my head from rage stalking his IG account.His voice is lower, softer, but it fills the space effortlessly.It’s vulnerable in a way that feels too intimate, like he’s peeling back a layer of himself and offering it to the room.
“Holy shit,” Quinn whispers, his eyes wide.“He’s good.”
“Shutup,” I mutter, my chest tightening with every note.
It’s not flashy.It’s not performative.It’s just… real.
And I hate it.
I hate that I can’t look away.I hate the way his voice tugs at something buried deep inside me, something I thought I’d locked up for good.I hate that he looks so at ease, like this is the most natural thing in the world for him.
My chest feels like it’s caving in, the weight of it pressing down harder with every word he sings.I grab my glass and down the rest of my drink in one long gulp, the sharp burn of the alcohol doing nothing to dull the ache in my chest.
“You okay?”Lily asks, her voice gentle as she leans closer.
“Nope,” I reply, shoving out of the booth with more force than necessary.People around us glance over at me like I’m making a scene.Hell, I could show them a scene.
“Anna—” Lily starts, but I don’t let her finish.
I storm toward the exit, feeling like the ghost of Valentine’s Day past has come back to haunt me.With more force than necessary, I push open the door and step into the cool night air, the chill biting at my skin as I let out an exasperated cry.
My breath comes too fast, too sharp.I press my hands against my thighs, trying to steady myself.
What the hell was I thinking?
I almost did it—I almost went up there.
My hands are still shaking.
The thought makes me sick.
Because what if Ihad?
For a moment, I just stand there, trying to catch my breath, trying to block out the memory of his voice.The way his face looked and his body moved.
But it doesn’t work.It lingers, haunting and infuriating, like an echo I can’t escape.
I run my hands through my hair, frustration bubbling to the surface.“What the hell are you doing, Anna?”I mutter to myself.“Get it together.”
But I can’t shake it—not with him in there, baring his soul for everyone like the world is begging to hear it.Especially after our talk this morning.It feels like a sucker punch, a reminder that his words have already taken up too much space in my head.
The door swings open behind me, the muffled music spilling out for a brief moment before it closes again.I turn, half expecting it to be Joel.