Page 29 of Unfinished Noise

And the moment the first chord hit, the room exploded.

People screamed the lyrics back at them, voices rising like a wave. Lighters and phone flashlights flickered across the crowd, tiny stars in the dark. Bodies moved in rhythm—dancing, jumping, swaying. The floor vibrated under Spencer’s boots.

Something inside Spencer tightened, then snapped into place—quiet, sharp, unmistakable. The noise of the club fell away in layers: the shuffle of bodies, the clatter of glasses, even Billy’s bass warming up at his side. All of it blurred into the background until only the heat of the stage lights and the thrum of the opening chord remained. The sound wrapped around him, vibrating through his ribs, pulling him forward. He leaned into the mic, voice catching the exact rhythm of the room, and the crowd surged with him, shouting the lyrics like they were part of the band.

Nathan slammed the drums as if he were exorcising something. Spencer looked over; their eyes met. Nathan gave a sharp nod—we’re back—and Spencer nodded right back.

Billy stepped up beside him, shoulder brushing Spencer’s as they rocked in sync. It felt like old times—Billy grinning, Spencer laughing under his breath, both of them leaning into the same rhythm as if they’d never spent years apart.

Farlan’s keyboard soared. Nathan’s drums thundered. Billy’s bass growled. Spencer’s voice carried.

For one perfect minute, the band operated like they hadn’t missed a single day. No drama. No tension. No years lost. Just music. And the high Spencer felt—nothing compared to it. Nothing even came close.

They took a break after the fourth song, ducking into the back room where the noise softened into a muffled roar behind the walls. Spencer grabbed his phone immediately.

He called Jamie.

It rang. And rang.

No answer.

Spencer frowned, pacing a slow line across the room. He tried again. Straight to voicemail.

“Come on, sunshine,” he muttered under his breath.

He typed out a message:

Spencer: Hey. Break time. You okay? Miss you.

He stared at the screen, waiting for the little typing bubble.

Nothing.

He refreshed the screen.

Still nothing.

A tightness crept into his chest—not panic, an uneasy twist he had gotten whenever Jamie went silent. He shoved the phone into his pocket, exhaled hard, and tried to shake it off.

But the silence from Jamie followed him back toward the stage like a shadow.

Spencer stepped back onto the stage when the break ended, the lights warming his skin instantly. The crowd spotted them returning and erupted—loud, wild applause that rolled through the club like a shockwave.

It hit Spencer right in the chest.

He grinned without meaning to.

Nathan twirled a drumstick and shouted over the noise, “They’re loud tonight!”

“Hell yeah they are,” Billy added, slinging his bass into place.

Spencer stepped up to the mic, the crowd chanting their band name in an uneven rhythm. He felt the floor vibrating under his boots, felt the heat of the stage lights, and felt the pulse of the room syncing with his heartbeat. He wished Jamie could see this. He wished Jamie could see him like this.

Nathan counted them in, and the next song launched like a firecracker. The crowd jumped right back into singing, screaming, dancing, and waving their phones like tiny stars. Spencer leaned into the mic, voice steady and strong, and the room swallowed every word.

The time they’d spent apart didn’t cross his mind. He didn’t think about the fights, the drama, the mess behind the scenes. He thought about the sound. The sound and the people and the way it felt to be wanted.

For a moment, it felt like they had never left. Like the band had been frozen in time, and tonight someone hit play again.