Page 62 of A Tragic Melody

“We are not cutting a song,” Wyatt replies. “Give us like two more minutes.”

“Fine.”

“Wyatt make it stop,” I groan.

“I’m trying, Tues,” he says softly. “Relax, take a deep breath.”

“Hard to do when blood is dripping down my throat.”

“Try,” he says, his eyes looking at me. “Your heartbeat is fast, and it’s not helping.”

I sigh, taking a deep breath and swallowing a bit of blood.

“Good,” he says as I slowly exhale. “Do that again.”

I repeat it, and this time less blood goes down my throat.

He keeps the ice against my nose for a bit longer, with his sleeve pressed against my nostrils.

“Ready yet?” Paulie asks, exasperated.

“One more fucking minute.”

“Hey, I’m just doing my job.”

“Yeah, we’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

After a moment, Wyatt pulls his sleeve away. His hand tilts my head down as he examines my nose.

“Did it stop?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He nods. He grabs a napkin, and dabs at my face.

“How bad do I look?”

“You could never look bad, but hold still and let me fix you up a little.” He pats at my nose and lip for a moment. “There, all good.”

“Thank you.”

“We’re ready now,” Wyatt says.

“‘Bout fucking time,” Paulie mutters.

Wyatt thrusts my mic into my hand, wiping his hands on his pants after.

“Wyatt…”

“Let’s go knock them dead.” He offers me a small smile before following David out on stage.

“He’s kind of amazing,” Quinn says.

“Only kind of.” I shrug as Quinn takes the stage.

I wait for my sign to take the stage, taking a moment to look at Wyatt on the other side. I can barely make him out since the stage lights are dim, but I can see his fingers strumming over the strings on his guitar. They play a low beat as I stroll onto the stage. It takes all my effort to peel my eyes off Wyatt and look out towards the crowd.

“Good evening!” I say to the crowd. “I’m Tuesday Blue, but I’m sure you already know that.”

They scream, and I smile as the band moves into playing our opening song.