Page 4 of The Song We Lost

Jackson smiles, sincerely, and leans in as we sit. “You were incredible,” he says quietly. “Opening the show like that… hell of a way to remind everyone who you are and why you are here.”

I return the smile automatically, polite and grateful.

“I am sorry to hear that Luke couldn't make it tonight,” he adds, glancing toward the stage.

I don’t answer. Instead, I redirect. I am good at that, "Thank you for filling in and sitting with me."

His smile is warm, and his eyes are saying so many things that I know he would never say out loud. His arm brushes mine as he settles back into his seat, brief and harmless. Still, I feel the cameras shift, lenses finding us, freezing the moment into something it isn’t.

From the outside, it probably looks like a possibility.

From the inside, it just feels like the space where my husband should be.

I feel almost numb, even as I win every award I was up for tonight.

Even when they call my name again, for Female Vocalist of the Year.

I want to feel happy. I want to laugh and cry andfeel. I want Luke at my side, hugging and kissing me.

From the stage, the crowd looks like a sea, faces glowing, smiling, cheering for me, and I have never felt more alone in my life.

I scan the audience once.

Just once.

I know I won’t find him.

When I speak, my voice doesn’t shake. I thank my team. I thank the fans. I thank Sadie, Cole and Luke's family. I thank the people who believed in me when I was just a girl with a guitar and a dream. For the first time in my career, I don’t thank my husband.

When the lights dim and the music swells, I hold the award to my chest and wonder when exactly the view stopped feeling worth the climb.

chapter 2

luke

. . .

The crowd is electric tonight, it's like I can feel them under my skin. Heat pours off the stage lights, sweat slicking my spine before the first song even ends. The noise is alive, hands in the air, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, the bass thudding so hard I feel it in my ribs. This is the kind of night you don’t forget. The kind you chase for years.

This is the kind of night that’s supposed to mean something, and yet, it wasn’t supposed to bemynight.

My phone buzzed early this morning, rattling across the cheap hotel nightstand before the sun was even up. I’d squinted at the screen, still half-asleep.

Dave Kline

I already knew it wasn’t good, or it wastoogood. And it was somehow both... A headliner had pulled out of a show last minute. Sick, rumoured relapse, but the details didn’t matter. The slot was open, in a prime time, at a Sold-out venue with industry people in the room. A real opportunity.

“You’re up,” Dave had said without preamble. “This is the kind of fill-in that turns into a permanent door opener.”

I’d sat on the edge of the bed, Bailey’s awards itinerary glowing on my laptop across the room. She was opening the show and nominated for three awards, including Female Vocalist of the Year. There was a front-row seat with my name printed in clean, official letters, just waiting for me.

“I can’t turn this down,” I’d said slowly.

“No,” Dave agreed. “You can’t.”

I’d pushed my hands through my hair, pulling at the ends. I had told myself I’d be further by now. That by the time Bailey was opening award shows and standing under spotlights meant for legends, I wouldn’t still be playing fairs and festivals, still hustling for rooms where people barely listened instead of singing along. I thought I’d have caught up. That I’d be standing beside her as an equal, not an asterisk.

She signed her contract because I told her to. Because I said it was our dream, not hers. Because I promised I’d be right behind her. But the truth sat heavily in my chest as Dave talked. Bailey wasn’t just carrying her career. She was carryingall of us. Her sister. My parents. The dream we used to talk about like it was something we’d build together. And every time she sent money home, every time she quietly made things easier for everyone, it felt like another reminder of how far behind I really was.