Page 2 of The Song We Lost

My throat tightens.

I love you too

I type and hit send. I wish she were here. My big sister, my mom in every way that matters, and my safe place.

I sit on the edge of the bed, the fabric of my dress tight and unforgiving around my hips. A lace corseted top, that I had to bargain with my team to loosen just enough so that I can actually sing, the skirt is layers of sequins, draped beading and fringe. Tiny in all the ways that photograph well. I am a pretty package that makes stylists nod and publicists smile, wearing a dress that costs more than the trailer Sadie and I grew up in.

I think about that trailer sometimes, about how Sadie used to braid my hair at the cracked bathroom mirror before school and Luke leaning against his truck, watching me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

We said we’d take care of our families.

We said we’d build something together.

We saidthiswasn’t the point.

I dial his number anyway. It rings until voicemail, just like I knew it would.

“Hey,” I say softly, forcing steadiness into my voice. “It’s me.”

I stare at my reflection across the room. The woman in the mirror looks strong, untouchable. The kind of woman people assume never needs anyone.

“I don't know where you are,” I continue. “I guess maybe you are running late or the plane was delayed... but...” I swallow. “They’re about to take us down to the venue.” I pause, my chest rising and falling too fast, the corset constricts my breathing further, and I close my eyes so I can say what I need to. “They keep asking if you’re walking the carpet with me. If you’ll be sitting in the front row, at my side.” I try to take ‌a shaky breath. “I keep telling them yes. That you’ll be here. That youwouldn’tmiss this.”

My knee bounces, so I stand and pace to try and stay calm. I try to remember the way to centre myself like Sadie taught me when panic threatened to take over.

“I’m opening the show,” I whisper. “They want me on stage first. I am up for Female Vocalist of the Year. Can you believe that?” A hollow laugh slips out. “I just… I don’t want to do it alone.”

The silence on the line feels louder than the crowd outside.

“I miss you,” I say, quieter now. “And I know that sounds stupid, because we’re married and you’re supposed to be myperson, but lately it feels like I’m reaching for you and you’re already gone.”

The words hurt more once they’re out.

“Please,” I add. “Just call me when you get this.” I hesitate, then let the truth slip out, bare and unguarded. “I love you.”

I end the call before my voice can break. A knock sounds at the door.

“Bailey?” Rachel’s voice reaches me, steady and familiar. “We’ve got to move.”

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Coming.”

She steps inside anyway, her tablet tucked against her chest, eyes scanning me the way she’s learned to. Rachel’s been with me since dive bars and broken mics, since we were all pretending this was temporary, she sees everything without needing me to say it.

She holds her hand out and I pass her my phone without looking at it. That’s become our system. She keeps it so I don’t keep checking. So I don’t keep hoping.

The hallway outside the suite is already chaos, security moving fast, assistants murmuring into headsets, someone calling my name from the other end. The elevator ride down is silent except for the hum of cables and my own breathing.

Outside, the evening air hits me with the sound of fans screaming my name and the noise level is insane. My team surrounds me, keeping me moving forward, keeping me safe.

The car door opens. I slide into the backseat alone, the leather cool against my bare skin. Rachel takes the seat across from me, already fielding messages.

As the car pulls away, the city blurs past the window, neon lights, flashes, faces pressed too close to the glass. A motorbike keeps pace for half a block, paparazzi leaning dangerously close, camera clicking through the tinted window.

Where’s Luke?

Is everything okay at home?

Are the rumours true?