Page 75 of When the Sky Falls

Then the arena erupts.

Thunderous applause. Screams. Whistles. People on their feet, shouting their names.

But I can’t move.

My camera’s still on.

And I’m still staring at Fletch.

Because while the rest of the band leans into the applause, soaking it in…

He doesn’t.

He’s still sitting there, shoulders hunched, chest rising and falling too fast. Like he’s not on stage in front of twenty thousand people.

Like he’s somewhere else entirely.

Maybe somewhere we were.

Maybe somewhere we never got to be.

Chapter Sixteen

MYA

By the time the final chord crashes and the house lights flare like the sun after a storm, my spine feels like it’s been welded straight and my knees are two seconds away from staging a full-blown rebellion. Three hours. Three sets. Six costume changes. A sold-out Garden and enough sweat, light, and sound to short-circuit the entire eastern seaboard.

I’m wrecked.

Every cell in my body is humming. Every emotion stretched thin. And still—I wait.

The band trickles off stage, high on adrenaline and validation. Carson’s grinning like a lunatic, a towel slung over his neck. Benji gives me a sweaty half-hug in passing and tells me I “crushed the content game.” Thorin nods at me, all sharp angles and sweat-soaked gratitude, Reese trailing beside him like a flame softened by ash.

They all pass me.

Except for one.

Fletch doesn’t even come this way.

I see it just before he disappears—him veering offstage to the left, alone, silent, a ghost wrapped in black.

And suddenly, exhaustion has nothing on the ache in my chest.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I mutter, handing the rig off to Penelope and ignoring her raised eyebrow. “You don’t get to disappear again.”

I take off down the hallway, legs screaming in protest, Converse sticking slightly to beer-slick linoleum. The lights back here buzz overhead like they know something I don’t. My heart’s pounding, adrenaline ping-ponging between my ribs as I round the corner and⁠—

There he is.

Fletch.

Back to me, shoulders tense, hands on the wall like it’s the only thing holding him up.

He doesn’t hear me at first. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t move.

“Hey.”

His head lifts.