Page 20

Chapter Twenty

BLAKE

T he roar of applause still thunders in my ears, even here backstage, where the lights are dimmer, quieter. The heavy velvet curtain has fallen, a final punctuation mark on the performance that’s consumed every waking second of my life for the past week. Even though the music has stopped and the bodies are no longer in motion, the air backstage vibrates with kinetic energy, pulsing through the walls like the echo of a held breath finally exhaled. Laughter rings out behind me—soft and breathless and disbelieving. Cheers and whoops cascade like rain through the green room, God, even the tech crew is clapping. Someone howls, and the entire dressing room answers with a cacophony fit for a pack of wolves, not dancers and waitstaff choking on adrenaline and glitter.

I’m still holding my clipboard. Why, I don’t know. It’s blank now, the meticulous checklist of cues and emergencies ticked and solved. The pages are wrinkled, dented, a casualty of the seven-hour pre-show sprint and my iron grip whenever a cue threatened to go off-book. It was my sword tonight—my shield. Now, it feels absurd in my hands. Useless. Strangely sacred.

“Holy shit, we did it,” Amber yells near the costume tables, flinging herself toward Penny in a blur of fringe and rhinestones. They twirl in a celebratory arc, crashing into Clara from the stage crew, who’s still sobbing into a tissue like she just watched the finale of some romantic apocalypse. Erin is passing around a bottle of something that definitely isn’t water. There’s a lipstick smear on her cheek, hair escaping her bun like feathers in a storm, but she’s radiant. They all are.

And me?

My cheeks ache from how hard I’m smiling.

“I told you,” I yell over the chaos—half scold, half thrilled—but it comes out jagged, like my voice forgot how to climb the octaves without shaking.

Perry’s somewhere to my right, probably trying to coordinate final breakdowns before everyone burns this entire backstage down with their euphoria. He catches my eye and taps his watch meaningfully. I nod back, a private celebration just for the two of us. We did it. Tonight was a gamble, a whispered dare we made between lighting cues and budget panic attacks. And we fucking pulled it off.

“All right, all right!” I clap my hands once—sharp enough to draw some attention. A few heads turn. I raise my arms high. “Everyone—listen!”

A hush ripples through the tempest. Not complete silence, but enough.

“You did it. You crushed it. The audience was eating out of your hands. Every single one of you.” I pause, breath catching. “Get out there. Celebrate. But don’t drink too much. You’ve gotta do it all over again tomorrow.”

Cue laughter, groans, the good kind of theatrical eye-rolls.

“Post-show drinks?” Erin asks, already halfway into her hoodie as someone drapes a coat over her glittering shoulders. “Couple of us are heading out before this adrenaline eats us alive.”

“I’d love to,” I start—and I mean it. I want to. Part of me does. That part that’s still humming with performance fever, comforted by the warmth of these people I’ve grown to care about in such a short time. My cast. My crew. My miracle. But reality drips cold down my spine as I remember what waits for me past the velvet drapes and golden light. Or, more specifically—who.

“I wish I could,” I say without hesitation, still smiling. And I mean it—I really do. “Charlie’s with Tonya tonight, and I’ve got to pick her up. That, and I’m honestly ready to crash. I have no idea how any of you have energy to stay up to celebrate!”

Erin gives me a little salute. “You’re a damn rockstar, Blake. See you tomorrow.”

Amber swings by with a one-armed hug. “We’ll toast you anyway.”

“I’ll take it. Be safe, okay?”

I slip away in the noise, down the hall that cradles the dressing rooms in navy felt and unfinished dreams. The map of the theater is branded into my bones by now. Each creak in the floorboards sounds like a heartbeat. Still, I move fast, head down, craving the silence I know waits in the tiny office behind the racks and makeup mirrors and steaming kettles used for sore voices.

Inside, I let the door shut behind me, the latch catching with a clean click.

Silence.

Finally.

I lean my back against the door and close my eyes. Just for a second.

It’s not real silence. I can still hear echoes of laughter, the hum of equipment powering down, the muffled thud of the cleaning team dragging something heavy across stage left. But to me, to the marrow-sore woman in this tiny office padded in cracked plaster and pride—it’s silence.

My breath leaves me in a gust. Exhaustion sinks claws into the base of my spine. A new kind of heaviness weighing behind my ribs—not hurt. Not quite.

Relief. Almost rich enough to taste.

I’m still riding the high. But underneath that victory, grief unfurls slow and bitter like smoke after fireworks. I wish Charlie had been here. I wish she’d seen it. I flip my phone open, needing that scrap of connection. A single notification blinks?—

It’s a photo from Tonya. Charlie passed out, curled up on Tonya’s couch, held hostage by a massive blanket and a tray of snacks. Her hand is tucked under her cheek, sound asleep with her current favorite show on in the background. My girl. My baby. Safe.

A message from Tonya below it: “She was out by 9. Why don’t you let her sleep and pick her up in the morning?”

The message was sent an hour ago, sometime after the intermission between acts. I press the call button next to her name, and she picks up before the third ring.

“Hey, honey,” Tonya says, voice warm and familiar. “How did tonight go? Amazing?”

“Yeah.” I exhale, the answer catching in my throat even as I grin again. “It was better than I hoped. Everything just… clicked. I’m so proud of the team.”

“I knew it would.” She smiles through the line, I can hear it.

“I just saw your message. Are you sure it’s okay if Charlie stays over?”

She lets out a soft, knowing laugh. “That girl was snoring before the credits rolled. She’s fine, sweetheart. Let her sleep. You’ve got enough on your plate tonight.”

I exhale, relief loosening something tight in my chest. “Thanks. Really. I didn’t expect her to knock out so early.”

“Big nights wear out little bodies. And big hearts.” There’s a pause. “You did it, Blake. You made something beautiful tonight.”

The words land harder than I expect, and my throat tightens.

“I keep thinking about the girl I met at seventeen,” Tonya continues, her voice going thick. “Barely holding it together. Walked into my club with a six-month-old on her hip and fire in her eyes. Asking for work like she didn’t have the right to beg.”

“Tonya…” I murmur, but it’s useless. My eyes are already burning.

“You gave up a full ride to art school for Charlie. You didn’t even blink. And now look at you. Running the show in a place like The Place. That’s not luck, baby. That’s grit. That’s all you.”

I press a hand to my chest, blinking fast. “You can’t say stuff like that. I’m still wearing mascara.”

“Good,” she says, smiling through the line. “Let it run. You earned every smudge.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Now go breathe for a minute. I’ve got our girl. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Pride twists under my skin, tangled with guilt.

The past week has been a blur of tech rehearsals, lighting adjustments, costume crises, and twelve-hour days that bled into sleepless nights. Especially the last two nights—ever since someone broke into our home, everything’s been shifted sideways. Malachi didn’t hesitate. He got us out. Got us safe.

I’ve barely seen Charlie. Barely sat with her for more than a bowl of cereal or a quick check-in between comms calls and caffeine. And she never complained. Not once. She made her own lunches. Texted me bad jokes. Left notes on my laptop that said things like “ You’ve got this, boss lady. ”

And still, through all of it, Charlie didn’t complain. Not about the upheaval, not about the tension hanging between me and Malachi, not even about sleeping in a borrowed bed that wasn’t ours.

She’s twelve, and already more resilient than most adults I know.

I hate that my dream to provide came at the cost of time with her. Hate how much she had to give up too, just so I could chase something that wasn’t even promised. But I’m glad I didn’t walk away. I’m glad I took that second offer. That I came in, even when it felt too late, even when everything in me screamed I wasn’t ready.

Because this wasn’t just for me.

Down the road, Charlie will remember the break-in. The chaos. The fear. But I want her to remember this too—that we didn’t crumble. That I stood in the fire and finished something. That dreams aren’t disposable just because things get hard. That she won’t have to sacrifice everything to survive.

And for all the damage our shared mother caused—for all the trauma and mess she left behind—she still gave me Charlie. Dropped her in my arms when I was seventeen and forced me to become something stronger than I ever planned to be.

No matter what else she broke, that was the one thing she got right. For that, I’ll always be grateful. I breathe deep, letting that gratitude settle. Letting it shore up the cracks I’ve been patching all week.

And then?—

Three slow taps at the door.

Not loud. Not impatient. Just... deliberate.

My breath catches.

Because I already know who it is.