Page 3 of The Fake WIfe Playbook

“I think I might actually die,” I groan and drop onto the arm of the chair.

“Could you dieafterthe set?” Shay, my best friend and unofficial hype woman, doesn’t even look up from where she lies across the bed in a fluffy white robe. “Because if you’re gonna flatline, I’d really rather it not happen before you walk onstage in front of thousands of people who’ve never heard of Kate Riggs but are about to lose their damn minds over her.”

She always knows how to cheer me up.

“I’m opening for Rose Maghee, Shay.Rose freaking Maghee.Hell, she sells out every stadium.”

“You’re not some nobody, you’re Kate. You’ve got a voice that makes people shut up and feel things. You’ve earned this.”

I swallow. My mouth tastes like dry popcorn. “I’ve never played for a crowd this big. What if I screw it up? What if I forget my lyrics? What if I trip over a chord and flash the entire front row?”

Shay smirks. “Then you go viral for the most badass recovery in live music history. And maybe you’ll get invited to do a collab with Lizzo.”

A shaky laugh escapes me.

Still, I can’t ignore the gnawing inside me—the part that remembers every no, door that never opened, and every half-chance that fizzledinto nothing. This gig isn’t just a step forward. It is a cliff jump—a make-or-break moment disguised as a fifteen-minute set.

I check the time on my phone for the fifth time in three minutes.

Shay sits up and starts ticking things off with her fingers.

“Guitar?”

“Packed.”

“Setlist?”

“Printed. Double copies.”

“Backup earrings?”

I shoot her a look.

“What? It’s Vegas. Rose has three platinum albums and an engagement ring that can be seen from Mars, and she has the shiny band that matches. The least you can do is sparkle a little.”

I snort. But it works—the nerves don’t vanish, but they break just enough to let the adrenaline through.

“Come on,” she says, swinging her legs off the bed. “Let’s go make history.”

I grab my guitar and stand.

One night.

One shot.

One version of my life I’m not willing to let slip by.

All I can do is my best. I hope it’s good enough.

2

FINN

WHERE LEGENDS ARE MADE

Legends are made…

The year has been grueling, painful, and downright brutal. We play every game like we’re playing for the Cup. It’s balls to the wall. Every night our skates hit the ice, we go all out.