Page 21 of The Song We Lost

“Luke?” Bailey says, surprised.

“Hey,” I say quickly, stepping toward her.

The girl beats me to it. “Oh my God,” she gushes, already extending a hand. “You’re Bailey Brooks. I can’t believe this. I’m Kacey... Kacey Ray! I’m touring with Luke and the guys. I mean... who would’ve thought little ol’ me would get to perform and write with Luke Carter? And that he’d open for me on some nights?”

Her fingers tighten on my arm, and she keeps talking. I don’t hear most of it, because I am so focused on Bailey. I watch recognition give way to shock, shock flatten into something carefully blank. I watch her school her face into politeness like she’s done a thousand times before.

“Lucky girl,” Bailey says lightly.

Kacey doesn't stop, "Dave says I could be the nextyou... Isn't that exciting? That I could someday be in your shoes. It's my dream."

Bailey sucks in a breath, "Wow, in my shoes with my husband. Careful what you wish for."

Then she turns and walks away. She doesn’t wait for me, and she doesn’t look back. Noah’s already moving, catching up to her down the hall, his voice low and urgent. He pulls her into a hug, and that’s when I see it... the way her shoulders shake, the wayshe presses her face into his chest. She’s crying, and it's all my fault. My chest caves in.

I cross the distance in seconds. “Bailey...”

She shakes her head and pulls away before I can touch her. “I can’t,” she says, voice breaking. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“I didn’t mean...” I start.

“You didn’t talk to me,” she says, tears spilling now. “You didn’t even tell me. Are you... Are you sleeping with her?”

Her question feels like a punch to my gut.

“God no, Bailey. It’s not what it looks like,” I insist. I step closer, but she steps back, and Noah steps between us. “I could never be with anyone other than you... Bailey. I swear... This is just work...”

She laughs once, broken. “Do you hear yourself?”

I reach for her again, but she steps back, a look of contempt on her face.

“I’ve turned down every collaboration,” she says, voice rising despite herself. “Every single one.Because you asked me to. Because you said it mattered. And nowthis? What even is this, Luke? You couldn't open for me, couldn't sing with me... write with me. ButKaceygets too. She gets your time? Gets to doeverythingthat you refused to do with me?”

“I’m not replacing you,” I say desperately. “That’s not what this is.”

“How can it be anything else?” she sobs. “I did everything your way. I signed the contract you told me to sign. I became the thing you told me would keep us together, would give our families everything they deserved. I waited. I stayed loyal. And it’s still never enough.” Her words keep up their assault. “I can't do this anymore, Luke. I... I have a few shows left,” she says, wiping at her face. “Then I have a break so I can go home to help Sadie with the wedding. We can talk then. If we can’t fix thiswhen we are home… I don’t know what else I can do. Maybe it doesn't matter, maybe we are already over...”

“No...NO, Sunshine. I’ll be there,” I say quickly. “I have shows scheduled up until the wedding day, but I’ll make it. I promise.”

The words come out too easily, I don’t even notice.

I step toward her, panic clawing at my throat. “Don’t walk away from me.”

She holds up a hand. “I am not the one who did this, Luke.”

I can’t leave it like this, so I pull her into my arms, holding her tight, pressing my face into her hair like maybe I can anchor her there. She doesn’t fight me, but when I try to kiss her, she turns her head and collapses into my chest instead, sobbing harder. Footsteps approach. I look up and meet Noah’s eyes. He nods once, then turns, intercepting people before they reach us and steering them away. Bailey’s breathing eventually evens out. She steps back on her own, wiping her face. Rachel appears like she always does when things go sideways.

“We need to go,” she says gently.

Bailey doesn’t say anything to me. She just looks at me, a look so full of hurt it feels like it caves my chest in, then turns away without a word. Rachel slips sunglasses onto her face, wraps her in an oversized hoodie and guides her away from me. She never looks back.

Someone claps a hand on my shoulder behind me. “What do you want to do?”

The guilt is unbearable. “I don't want to feel like this anymore,” I say.

Later, lying awake in a hotel room that feels too big with a bottle of Jack dangling from my fingers, another memory hits me.

Baileywason the phone years ago, telling me she’d been offered a writing collaboration on Jackson Reed's upcoming album. That it was such a big deal, they wanted her to co-write the album and sing on one of the tracks. A surge of jealousy ripped through me, and I begged her to turn it down. And she did without question. She turned down a career-making offer, one that everyone said she’d be crazy to refuse.