Ray.

~~~

I sat on the battered brown leather couch in the cramped, dimly lit dressing room, elbows on my knees, staring at the scuffed tiles beneath my feet. My leg bounced uncontrollably, a nervous rhythm only I could hear. Beyond the thin walls, the muffled clamor of the crew prepping for the show seeped in—voices shouting instructions, the occasional clatter of equipment—but none of it could drown out the anxiety tightening my chest.

The fluorescent lights overhead whizzed faintly, throwing a harsh glow over everything. I glanced at the mirror in front of me and caught my reflection. My face looked paler than usual, my dark eyes sunken, shadows clinging to the corners. I raked a hand through my hair, forcing myself to breathe.

Just another show. You've done this a million times before. I repeated it in my head like a mantra, but the knot in my stomach didn't loosen. This wasn't just another show—it was the first night of the tour, the first time Purple Rain would take the stage with Elena on lead guitar. Everything felt uncertain and untested. The fans—so much more of them now— would be watching, judging, hungry to see if we'd evolved or if we'd just fallen apart.

The word "evolved" left a bitter taste in my mouth. It made me think of outgrowing something, of leaving something—or someone—behind. James, we would never leave him behind but in a way, it felt that way.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, scrolling out of habit. Sam's name hovered at the top of my messages. No new texts. My thumb hovered over her name, tempted to call her, but I stopped myself. She was probably busy writing, lost in her own world. That was fine. I got it. But still, the silence between us lately had been heavy, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.

The door burst open, and Andrew strode in like a whirlwind, a grin plastered across his face. "Dude, you ready? The crowd's wild out there. It's electric, man. You can feel it."

I forced a smile, straightening up on the couch. "Yeah. Ready as I'll ever be." My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "How's Elena?"

Andrew flopped down beside me, his bass-pick necklace clinking against his chest. "She's cool. A little nervous, but who wouldn't be? She's solid, though. Trust me—she's gonna crush it."

I nodded, his confidence doing little to soothe my doubts. Elena was solid—technically brilliant, and quick to pick up the band's vibe—Logas was an exception since they bickered for no apparent reason.

But tonight wasn't about technique. It was about proving she belonged, that the risk of bringing her on had been worth it. The band had to feel tight, and seamless. I couldn't afford any cracks to show, so the clear hostility from my brother truly fried my nerves.

As on queue Logan's voice boomed from the doorway. "You guys good? Elena's already tuned up, and the crowd's getting loud. Like loud loud."

I stood, grabbing my guitar case. "Yeah, we're good. Let's go."

Logan raised an eyebrow at me. "You good, Ray?"

I hesitated, rubbing my chin. "Yeah. Just... first-show jitters, you know?"

He smirked, folding his arms. "You? Jitters? Come on, man. You live for this. Once you're out there, you'll be in your zone."

I wanted to believe him. Hell, I needed to. I slung the guitar case over my shoulder and nodded. "Yeah. Let's do this."

As we walked toward the stage, the sound of the crowd grew louder, a rising wave of energy that seemed to vibrate through the walls and floor. My pulse quickened, matching the hum of anticipation in the air. This was the moment—the edge of the cliff, right before the jump.

Elena stood near the stage's edge, adjusting her strap. The neon lights from the equipment cast a faint blue glow over her sharp features. She looked up when I approached, a nervous smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

"You ready?" I asked, keeping my voice low but steady.

"Yeah." She nodded, her grip tightening on the neck of her guitar. "Let's do it."

I gave her a reassuring nod, even as the nerves buzzed in my chest. She needed to see confidence in me. We all did.

The moment I stepped onto the stage, the floodlights hit me like a tidal wave, blinding me for a split second. The roar of the crowd hit next, a deafening rush that sent a shiver down my spine. For that brief moment, everything else melted away—the doubts, the silence from Sam, the weight of the night. It was just me, the music, and the sea of faces beyond the glare.

I gripped the mic stand, the cool metal grounding me. The heat of the lights soaked into my skin, and adrenaline surged, replacing the unease with something primal, and electric.

"Let's go!" I growled into the mic, my voice low and rough, and the crowd erupted.

The first chord tore through the speakers, Andrew's bass thrumming low and heavy, Logan's drums kicking in like a heartbeat. Elena's lead riff sliced through the noise, clean and sharp.

And just like that, we were on.

The music consumed me. My body moved without thinking, instinct taking over as the lyrics poured out of me, raw and unfiltered. I scanned the crowd, their energy flowing back to us, amplifying every note, every beat.

My eyes flicked to Elena. She stood her ground, fingers flying over the strings, her expression intense, fierce. She wasn't just playing the part—she was owning it. When her riff climbed higher, sharper, the crowd roared, and I grinned. She fit. She belonged here.

I gave her a quick nod, a silent acknowledgment. She caught my gaze, her lips curling into a small, determined smile.

The set built to a stillness, and I grabbed my guitar, slinging it over my shoulder. The weight of it was familiar, comforting. The final chorus hit, and my fingers flew over the strings, the notes spilling out in a fiery cascade. The room buzzed with the sheer force of the sound, the crowd screaming the lyrics back at me.

By the time the song ended, my chest heaved with exertion, sweat dripping down my face. The applause washed over me, a tidal wave of pure energy.

"Thank you!" I shouted into the mic, my voice hoarse but alive. "You're the reason we do this!"

As we walked offstage, the adrenaline still coursing through me, I pulled my phone from my pocket. No messages. The ache of disappointment was sharp, but I shoved it aside.

"You good?" Logan asked, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "Just... catching my breath."

But deep down, as the cheers of the crowd faded, I couldn't ignore the hollow space inside me that no amount of applause could fill.

~~~

Sam.

~~~

I sat at the small round table in the hospital room, my laptop open in front of me, though I wasn't typing. The sterile scent of disinfectant clung to the air, sharp and unrelenting. It mixed awkwardly with the faint sweetness of roses from the bouquet I'd brought in earlier—a feeble attempt to soften the cold, clinical atmosphere. Behind me, the steady beep of the heart monitor counted the seconds like a metronome to my swirling thoughts.

I turned my head just slightly to glance at Grandma. Her frail chest rose and fell slowly under the thin hospital blanket, each breath labor, each pause between them long enough to make my heart stutter. Her skin was paper-thin, almost translucent, her face so still it scared me. I wrapped my sweater tighter around myself, but the chill I felt wasn't the kind of warmth could fix.

My phone buzzed beside me, the vibration rattling the table and jolting me out of my haze. Ray's photo lit up the screen, and I exhaled, tension draining from my shoulders. I swiped to answer, the relief of hearing from him like a light breaking through the fog.

"Hey," I said softly, trying to smile as his face came into view. He looked flushed, strands of dark hair falling messily over his forehead. The backstage lighting behind him was dim, but his eyes still sparkled with adrenaline. My chest tightened. Even through the screen, Ray had a way of grounding me, of making me feel seen.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice warm, a little raspy. "We just finished the set. How are you holding up?"

I forced a smile, though it felt heavy on my face. "You look wrecked."

He grinned, running a hand through his hair. "The crowd was insane tonight. Honestly, it felt like... I don't know, like magic out there. You should've seen it, love."

"I bet it was amazing," I murmured. I could picture him so vividly—his guitar slung low, his voice cutting through a sea of people, the stage lights catching the intensity in his eyes. A sharp twitch of longing twisted in my chest. I wanted to be there, to lose myself in the music, to feel his energy radiating from the stage. But instead, I was here.

Ray's smile faltered, his eyes narrowing as he studied the background on my screen. "Wait... where are you? That doesn't look like home."

I hesitated, glancing at Grandma's still form. The machines hummed softly, their monotony only amplifying the weight of the room. Turning back to Ray, I met his gaze, the concern in his eyes already making my throat tighten.

"I'm at the hospital," I admitted, my voice barely audible.

Ray straightened, his brows knitting in confusion and worry. "Hospital? What's going on?"

I hesitated, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. "It's Grandma," I said finally, the words cracking like fragile glass. "She's... she's really sick, Ray. They think..." My voice wavered, and I looked down, squeezing my hands together. "They think it might be soon."

The line went silent for a moment. When I looked up, Ray's expression had softened into something raw and heartbreaking. "Darling," he said gently, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Why...why you didn't tell me?"

I nodded, forcing myself to keep it together. "I didn't want to worry you. You've got the tour and everything. I didn't want to pull you away."

"You could never pull me away," he said, leaning closer to the screen. His tone carried a hint of frustration, but it was coated in so much care that it eased the ache in my chest. "I should be there with you."

"You can't," I whispered, shaking my head. "This is where I need to be, and that"—I gestured vaguely toward the screen—"that's where you need to be. I don't want to take you from that, Ray."

His jaw tightened, and he sighed deeply. "I hate this," he muttered, his voice low but tense. "You've been there for me through everything, and now, when you need me most—" He stopped, his hand running through his hair in frustration. "I just hate that I'm not there."

"You are here," I said, my voice breaking despite my effort to stay steady. "Just seeing you, hearing you, it helps. More than you know."

Ray sat back, exhaling a long, defeated breath. His eyes searched mine through the screen, the distance between us more tangible than ever. "How's she doing?" he asked softly.

I glanced at Grandma, my chest tightening. "Not good," I admitted. "She's barely awake most of the time. I don't know how much longer she has." The words tasted bitter, and I had to look away for a moment, blinking back tears.

Ray's voice cut through the silence, soft but steady. "I'm so sorry, love. I wish I could fix this for you."

"I know," I whispered, finally meeting his gaze again. "I know you do."

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. His face on the screen felt achingly close yet impossibly far.

"Promise me something," Ray said at last, his voice almost a plea. "Take care of yourself, okay? Don't try to carry all of this alone." I nodded, though my throat felt too tight to speak. "I mean it," he pressed, his tone firmer now. "You're the strongest person I know, but even you shouldn't have to handle everything by yourself."

"I'll try," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I love you," he said, the words quiet but weighted with everything he couldn't do or say in person. "When this tour's done, I'm coming straight to you."

Tears slipped down my cheeks despite my efforts to stop them. "I love you too," I said, my voice trembling. "And I'd like that. A lot."

When the call ended, the room felt impossibly still. I closed the laptop and let out a shaky breath, wiping at my face. The ache in my chest didn't subside, but Ray's voice still lingered, a small warmth in the coolness.

I stood and moved to Grandma's bedside, taking her fragile hand in mine. Her skin was cool, her fingers barely curling around mine. "I'm here," I whispered, brushing a gray strand of hair from her forehead. "I'll be here. For as long as you need me."

The steady beep of the monitor filled the silence, and I sat with her, my heart heavy but resolute.