The Reckless Collision

Ray.

~~~

I sat on the battered brown leather couch in the cramped, dimly lit dressing room, elbows on my knees, staring at the scuffed tiles beneath my feet. My leg bounced uncontrollably, a nervous rhythm only I could hear. Beyond the thin walls, the muffled clamor of the crew prepping for the show seeped in—voices shouting instructions, the occasional clatter of equipment—but none of it could drown out the anxiety tightening my chest.

The fluorescent lights overhead whizzed faintly, throwing a harsh glow over everything. I glanced at the mirror in front of me and caught my reflection. My face looked paler than usual, my dark eyes sunken, shadows clinging to the corners. I raked a hand through my hair, forcing myself to breathe.

Just another show. You've done this a million times before. I repeated it in my head like a mantra, but the knot in my stomach didn't loosen. This wasn't just another show—it was the first night of the tour, the first time Purple Rain would take the stage with Elena on lead guitar. Everything felt uncertain and untested. The fans—so much more of them now— would be watching, judging, hungry to see if we'd evolved or if we'd just fallen apart.

The word "evolved" left a bitter taste in my mouth. It made me think of outgrowing something, of leaving something—or someone—behind. James, we would never leave him behind but in a way, it felt that way.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, scrolling out of habit. Sam's name hovered at the top of my messages. No new texts. My thumb hovered over her name, tempted to call her, but I stopped myself. She was probably busy writing, lost in her own world. That was fine. I got it. But still, the silence between us lately had been heavy, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.

The door burst open, and Andrew strode in like a whirlwind, a grin plastered across his face. "Dude, you ready? The crowd's wild out there. It's electric, man. You can feel it."

I forced a smile, straightening up on the couch. "Yeah. Ready as I'll ever be." My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "How's Elena?"

Andrew flopped down beside me, his bass-pick necklace clinking against his chest. "She's cool. A little nervous, but who wouldn't be? She's solid, though. Trust me—she's gonna crush it."

I nodded, his confidence doing little to soothe my doubts. Elena was solid—technically brilliant, and quick to pick up the band's vibe—Logas was an exception since they bickered for no apparent reason.

But tonight wasn't about technique. It was about proving she belonged, that the risk of bringing her on had been worth it. The band had to feel tight, and seamless. I couldn't afford any cracks to show, so the clear hostility from my brother truly fried my nerves.

As on queue Logan's voice boomed from the doorway. "You guys good? Elena's already tuned up, and the crowd's getting loud. Like loud loud."

I stood, grabbing my guitar case. "Yeah, we're good. Let's go."

Logan raised an eyebrow at me. "You good, Ray?"

I hesitated, rubbing my chin. "Yeah. Just... first-show jitters, you know?"

He smirked, folding his arms. "You? Jitters? Come on, man. You live for this. Once you're out there, you'll be in your zone."

I wanted to believe him. Hell, I needed to. I slung the guitar case over my shoulder and nodded. "Yeah. Let's do this."

As we walked toward the stage, the sound of the crowd grew louder, a rising wave of energy that seemed to vibrate through the walls and floor. My pulse quickened, matching the hum of anticipation in the air. This was the moment—the edge of the cliff, right before the jump.