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Laz rocked from foot to foot, hands in his pockets, eyes on the floor. “Play the show tomorrow night.” His tone was soft, cautious. “The guys are ready if you are.”

The mounting ache in his eyes spread to his throat. He swallowed the mess of snot and despair, only to lodge it in his chest.

“Tomorrow’s show is in St. Louis.”

He choked, wobbled, and leaned against the edge of the counter. “St. Louis.” Where he met her. Where he lost her the first time.

Don’t give up, Jay. Do you hear me? If you do, he wins.

“Yeah.” Laz looked up, the skin around his eyes creased and tired. “I know what that town means to you and—”

“I’ll do the show.” He would stand on that stage and prove she wasn’t wrong about him. Then, he would come out the other side and take down Roy Oxford.

As he forced down the cold hamburger and packed up his things, he felt the shadow changing over him, shedding its suffocation, and clearing the way.

93

The stadium roared, filling Jay with the energy of thousands. He rolled his neck and bounced in place off-stage, secure in his purpose and driven by an overpowering commitment. No more dark corners. No more triggers. His curl-up-and-cry button was broken.

Charlee’s medicinal nudging had been light-years ahead of modern day PTSD therapies. She would continue to be his cure, his solace. The memory of her huge blue eyes and brilliant smile soared through him, taking the edge off his persistent ache.

“Hey, man.” A roadie stepped beside him and dropped his voice. “Need a hookup? I can get you anything you want.”

Jay closed his eyes and sucked in a long breath. Not even a whisper of a craving for what the man offered. Instead, his blood boiled at the thought of using drugs. It would’ve been like spitting on her grave. He looked over his shoulder and caught Tony’s eyes.

She pushed away from her post and closed the distance. “Problem, Mr. Mayard?”

“Have this man searched for drugs and escorted out of the arena.” He glared at the roadie. “I emailed our drug policy to every member of the crew yesterday. Apparently, you didn’t read the memo.”

The man gritted his teeth. “I thought it was just a procedural thing.”

Jay turned his back, leaving him in Tony’s capable hands.

“Good evening, St. Louuuuey.” Laz’s shout rocked the speakers and rumbled through the stadium. “Boy, do we have a surprise for you tonight.”

The crowd erupted in shrills, and the lights dimmed. Jay reached up, grabbed the collar at his nape, and yanked off his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind him. Readjusting his headset, he accepted his guitar from a wide-eyed crew member and strode across the stage, past his grinning friends, not stopping until he reached upstage center.

Hands whipped and slapped at the edge of the stage, bodies doubling over the metal gates with straining eyes, gaping mouths, and blaring tonsils. The throb in his chest reminded him why he was there, shirtless and exposed. She was dead, but she could never die. His heart beat for both of them.

An overhead spotlight blinked on, illuminating a circle around his feet. He plucked out the beginning chords. The melody penetrated him, and he felt her in the tune, her musical laughter sifting through him. He felt her.

The heat of thousands of eyes rested on his bare skin, the vibration of his soul chanted her name, and the ghost of her touch tingled over his tattoo. He felt her everywhere.

He squared his shoulders and switched on his mic. “This is calledYouWeren’t Just a Girl.”

Laz approached his side, a small smile pulling his lips as he strummed, blending with Jay’s notes through the eerie riffs. Jay phased out his guitar chords, and the instruments dropped off. A hush fell over the stadium.

“When I walk into your eyes, I see forever.” Jay straightened his back as the burden of her absence tried to curl him forward. “I see you sleeping next to me. I see you holding me.” He bit down on his trembling lip. “I see you loving me.”

His voice was breathy as he huffed through the speakers. “You weren’t just a girl.” His heart swelled, strengthened with the refrain. “You were a vision. And with that vision, I will endure.”

Wil joined his other side, his shoulder touching Jay’s as he slapped and plucked the bass strings in a creeping rhythm. As the guitars reentered, Rio accelerated the tempo.

Jay climbed the fret, the energy of the crowd powering him through the finger slides. “I know something about pain. I have enough to liberate. I’m letting it go.” His vocals rose. “But I will never let you go.”

His skin pulsed beneath the tattoo. With the reinforcement of his friends’ sidelong glances and their approving smiles, he sang the chorus with the steadiness of steel. “You weren’t just a girl. You were a vision. And with that vision, I choose to live.”

I envisioned you on stage in a crowded arena proudly baring your tattoo. The tattoo I hoped you’d grow to appreciate. The one I hope to finish.