“That’s early.”
“It’s awful,” I confirm. “If I go out tonight, I’ll regret it before sunrise.”
He accepts it immediately, without argument, which somehow makes it harder to refuse him.
“So,” I continue, “separate evenings today. But I have the gig tomorrow night.” The Crazy Dogs were happy with my audition, but before they confirm me they want to see me perform live, so I’m joining them for one of their gigs.
He goes quiet for a moment.
“Where?”
“At the Devil’s Barrel.”
He exhales.
“That’s a rough pub.”
It isn’t criticism. Just recognition.
“It can’t be helped,” I say. “The Crazy Dogs play there regularly, and if I want in, I need to sing there.”
“You’ll get in,” he says simply.
I smile, even though he can’t see it.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
The certainty in his voice makes something inside me settle.
“You don’t have to come,” I add automatically.
“I want to,” he says.
He pauses, then adds, “I’ll bring the others.”
“The others?”
“Mountain Rescue. We’ll make enough noise that they won’t have a choice but to hire you.”
I laugh, the sound lighter than anything I’ve felt all day.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
He pauses again.
“But I want them to see you.”
The words land gently, but their meaning is unmistakable.
He isn’t hiding me.
He’s choosing to stand beside me where everyone can see.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.