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Jon assures me everything sounds great. I want to believe him. I have no clue how I’m going to do that.

Sticks in hand, I wipe my arm over my forehead to clear the sweat.

I drag in a deep breath, resisting the urge to demand another full sound check. This is already going to be a long day.

With a deep breath, I signal Jon to start the track. The click thunders in my ears. My previous piano recording chimes the intro, and I command my brain and body to engage.

But as soon as Luke’s voice explodes in my ears, the vise around my ribs constricts with a jolt. My rhythm stumbles for a beat. I miss a hit on the snare. My kick beat is slightly off.

God, it’s all wrong. I’ve prayed for this moment for so long and nowI’mthe one blowing it.

By the time the song comes to an end, my heart is in my stomach. My throat is tight with restricted emotion and I blink back a threatening burn. I can’t imagine what the others are thinking. I was so excited for Callie to see me play, and all I feel is humiliation thatthismess was what we got. I don’t even need to hear it back to know it was a disaster.

It’s been too long. I’m too nervous, too rusty. I should have worked out more of the components to cement them into memory instead of trusting myself to ride the moment like I used to do.

Shaking, I lift the hem of my tee to scrub at my face and give myself a chance to recover. Really, it’s my eyes I’m clearing as I drag the fabric over them. Luke is watching. Callie, Jon, and who knows who else. They can’t see me fall apart.

Get it together. You built this ship. Steered it. Now you’re going to sink it too?

“Can we run that again?” I say to Jon after composing myself.

“Yeah, no problem. Sounded like a decent first take out here, but we can run it again.”

Decent first take. He’s being generous.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

I settle back into my seat. With a few measured breaths, I flex my hands around the sticks and twirl them a few times to center myself.

Breathe. Just do what you do.

My gaze crosses to the window of the control room and catches on Callie, then Luke. Both look the opposite of what I expect—not disappointment or confusion, but quiet anticipation.

Like they believe I’m as strong and brave as they are.

Maybe I have it wrong. Maybe I need to trust myselfmore,not less.

Tick, tock, tock, tock.

The click fills my ears.

Piano intro.

I take a deep breath.

And let myself go.

“That was good,man. Great take. What’d you think?” Jon says when I enter the control room.

Callie’s grin feels amazing and lifts my already heightened spirits.

The second take was much better. Not perfect, but enough to believe in myself again.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I’m still not sure about the bridge. Can we hear it?”

Jon plays it back, and I brace myself.

As the song goes on, I begin to relax. Up until the bridge, it’s not bad. In fact, it’s better than not bad. It’s pretty freaking perfect, until I hit a weak fill into Sweeny’s lick.