Chapter 28

Brighton could barely breathe in this crowd, but she kept ahold of Adele's hand and wove them through the bodies, the dim lights casting everyone into shadow.

She was determined to be front and center for this show.

3rd and Lindsley was a popular music venue and bar, but it was small, the audience space just a freestanding area in front of a raised stage. The Katies used to play here right after they booted Brighton from their midst—they were never even big enough to get into this place when Brighton was at the mic—and soon after, their popularity exploded. So it was no surprise they still played here, the origin of their more humble beginnings.

And it was no surprise the place was absolutely packed.

Brighton finally worked her way to the front, Adele cool and calm beside her.

"We're gonna get a neckache this close up," Adele said. Her eyes scanned the empty stage, mics, and guitars that Brighton recognized, a teal-and-navy paisley rug spread out on the floor.

Brighton just smiled. "I want them to see me."

Adele nudged her shoulder. "Look who's the badass now."

"I'm not," Brighton said, shaking out her hands, which felt tingly with adrenaline. "I'm just ready, you know?"

Adele hooked her arm through Brighton's. "I know, baby girl. Proud of you."

Brighton pulled her friend closer, and they stood like that for a while, the crowd wild and queer and beautiful around them. Brighton let herself feel it all, feel the jealousy, the bitterness, the rage.

The sadness.

For all her hurt and anger, she missed Emily and Alice as her friends. They'd been her first touchstone in Nashville, her first everything after she blew up her life with Charlotte. She didn't think she'd ever not miss them. And she didn't think it would ever not hurt, the way they'd cast her aside so easily. The way they'd taken her words, her music, her heart without even a phone call, a fuck-you, anything.

And what was worse, what hurt the most, was that they clearly just expected her to accept it. They didn't expect any recourse, any consequences. It was like they had seen some sort of smallness in Brighton that made them unafraid.

The same kind of smallness she'd let rule her for the last nine months.

Well, for the last five years, really. She'd been carrying what she'd done to Charlotte for so long, letting it nearly crush her, letting it rule how she felt about herself. But as she stood there, people surrounding her on all sides, ready to hear the band she'd fucking founded, she knew she wasn't that person anymore. She wasn't sure when it had happened, the change. Maybe it was simply being with Lola again, talking through what had happened, knowing Lola saw her.

Or maybe it was Lola's leaving. The crushing blow of it, the realization that she wanted Lola. She wanted Lola so much. For all their messy history, the pain they'd inflicted on each other, Brighton would always love Lola. Always miss her. Always want her, maybe. But she wanted herself too. She wanted her music and a career. She wanted stages and lights and applause and that hushed awe that settled over a crowd when a song really landed. She wanted love and sex and passion, and maybe it'd take a while to find that with someone else, but she had to believe it was possible.

She took in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders as the lights went a little dimmer. A man with a beard and a Panama-style hat came onstage, and the crowd erupted. He held out his hands, then gripped the microphone as the audience quieted.

"We've got a real treat for your New Year's Eve," he said. "Your local faves, the national sensation, the one, the only, the Katies!"

Then there was nothing but noise—and whistles and claps—but Brighton felt a silence settle around her, like she was in the eye of a hurricane. Emily, Alice, and Sylvie stepped onto the stage, gorgeous and confident and powerful. Emily went to her keyboards, Alice settled behind the drums, and Sylvie took the center with her guitar, her red hair flowing like lava. Brighton was standing to the left of her, right in front of Emily. She stared up at her old friend, her old best friend, tears clogging her throat.

Emily was luminous, her dark curls like a halo around her face, striped crop top and charcoal-gray high-waisted pants, makeup subtle and perfect.

"You good?" Adele said, tightening her arm, still hooked through Brighton's.

Brighton could only nod.

She was okay.

And she was a mess.

"Hey, Nashville!" Sylvie said into the mic, and the room roared in greeting as the Katies launched into their first song. It was fast and energetic, one they'd written with Sylvie, and Brighton could only stare as they performed, mesmerized by their energy, their magnetic charm onstage.

Would she have been able to do that?

Would she have been like Sylvie, moving around on the stage, head tossed back, hair flying?

The Katies' style was certainly different from her own, she knew that. And as she watched them, each song high-octane, pulsing drums and roaring keys, she realized they'd made the right choice.

The Katies, as they were now, weren't Brighton Fairbrook.

And she wasn't them.

"Okay, we're going to slow it down now," Sylvie said after a few songs, mouth pressed to the mic, sweat shining on her neck and collarbones. "Take a breath, tell you a love story. You all like love, don't you?"

The crowd cheered.

Brighton's stomach tightened.

"Here we go," Adele said.

Brighton tried to breathe as the first notes of "December Light" started up. The audience cheered, then quieted as Emily played the opening on keys. Brighton stared right at her. She didn't think Emily had seen her yet, but god, she needed it to happen.

Needed it to happen now.

The song was quiet, mellow, and the audience had quieted with it. Just before she knew Sylvie would come in with the lyrics, Brighton clapped.

Three times, and that was it.

But the venue was small, the crowd hushed in anticipation, so the sound of her clapping echoed enough that Emily's eyes sought the source.

And found it.

Brighton watched the color drain from Emily's face, watched her mouth drop open slightly. Her fingers even faltered on the notes a little, drawing a look from Sylvie as she started to sing.

Winter lake, December light,

tears on your face, but I'll make it right.

"You got this," Adele said quietly, and Brighton just nodded, kept staring. She'd never looked at anyone so hard in her life. It might've been slightly comical, the way Emily seemed to start sweating more, her expression one of pure panic as she struggled through the notes. Brighton didn't necessarily want her to choke during a performance. That wasn't her goal here. But she had to admit, this was a little satisfying, if only as evidence that Emily knew what she had done, and knew it was fucking wrong.

As hard as it was, Brighton maintained her serene expression as she continued to watch Emily. She watched her sing harmonies and get the words wrong, watched her blow a curl off her forehead, watched her swallow so hard Brighton could see her throat moving with the effort.

Three and a half minutes, the longest two hundred and ten seconds of Brighton's life, and it was over. The Katies moved on to "Cherry Lipstick," getting the crowd hyped again, but the damage was done. For the rest of the show, Brighton stood in front of Emily, and Emily kept glancing at her, a worried expression filtering up through her smile every time she did.

When it was finished, the last note sung, Emily took a bow, waved, and scuttled offstage before the other two, but Brighton was ready. She tugged Adele along, heading for the door to the side that led to the backstage area. There was a guy there—a bouncer for all intents and purposes, a barrier to the artists Brighton hadn't considered.

"Shit," she said, stopping a few feet from him while the crowd demanded an encore. "I need to get past this guy."

Adele waved a hand. "I've got this." Then she walked up to the man, hands in her pockets, completely chill. "Jack, is that you?"

He frowned at her. "I'm Sam."

Adele clapped, then shot a pair of finger guns at him that would make any bisexual proud. "Sam, that's right. God, it's been a while, hasn't it?"

Sam tilted his head, studying Adele to place her, totally oblivious to Brighton scooting past him in the dim light. Adele was a literal goddess, and Brighton couldn't help but smile as she hurried down a small hallway, searching for the greenroom.

It wasn't hard.

On the left was a small room with a leather couch and an armchair, a coffee table covered in magazines, and a stainless-steel mini-fridge.

And right there, sitting on the couch and packing her bag, was Emily.

"They're calling for an encore," Brighton said, leaning against the doorframe.

Emily's head shot up, her eyes wide.

"Brighton."

Brighton just smiled, no teeth. She felt wild inside, her pulse in her throat, emotions just at the surface. Adrenaline kept her moving, kept her focused on her goal.

"It's been a while," she said.

Emily nodded, stood up. "It has."

"Things are going well for you."

Emily just nodded again, stuck her hands into her back pockets. "Brighton, I—"

"Emily, what the hell are you doing?" Sylvie called, and Brighton turned to see the redhead barreling down the hall, hair licking at the air behind her like flames. "We've got to get back out there."

She stopped short at the door, eyes narrowing on Brighton.

"Brighton?" she said.

"Hi, Sylvie."

"Brighton, oh my god, hey," Alice said, appearing from behind Sylvie and angling around their front woman to wrap her arms around Brighton's neck.

Brighton patted Alice's back but released her quickly.

"Good to see you," Sylvie said, her voice tight.

Brighton didn't respond to that. "Listen, I'll get to the point." She had to do this fast, rip off the proverbial Band-Aid before she lost her nerve. "I need you to stop playing my song."

Sylvie frowned, her mouth pursing. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Ask Emily," Brighton said, nodding toward Emily. "Or Alice. They know."

Sylvie folded her arms as Emily sighed and looked down at the poured-concrete floor. Alice shifted on her feet, her eyes focused on Emily.

"I thought you said she gave you permission to use it," Alice said.

Emily opened her mouth, closed it.

"What?" Sylvie said. "Gave who permission for what?"

Before the open mic at Watered Down, Brighton had only ever played "December Light" for three people—Lola, Emily, and Alice. The song had been like a bruise during Brighton's first days in Nashville, and she'd played it for Emily and Alice as a sort of exposure therapy, a way to tell her story without telling them everything. Emily had convinced Brighton to upload it to the cloud where they kept all their lyrics and charts, but then they'd all forgotten about it.

Or, rather, Brighton had made sure they forgot about it.

"Emily, what is going on?" Alice asked.

"What song?" Sylvie asked. "Someone tell me right the fuck now."

Emily just sent her hands through her hair.

"?‘December Light' is mine," Brighton said finally. "And no, Alice, Emily never asked my permission to use it."

"Wait a second, what?" Sylvie asked. "You told me you wrote that song." She jabbed a finger in Emily's direction.

"Emily, Jesus," Alice said, dropping her face into her hands.

"Look, we needed a ballad," Emily said. "It's a good song, and I—"

"Stole it," Brighton said.

"You left it with us," Emily said. "It was the Katies' property."

"That's not how copyright law works," Sylvie said, lifting her hands and letting them drop with a slap. "Goddammit."

Brighton was ready to get the hell out of there. She didn't want to get into this with Emily, didn't want to rehash the levels of betrayal, didn't want to end up soothing Alice and Sylvie in their outrage either.

Her hands shook as she readied to say what had to be said—her threat, as it were—so she stuffed them into her coat pockets, squared her jaw.

"Look, I've got dated notebooks and a recording done in a studio to prove I wrote it before I met any of you," she said. "Stop playing my song, and remove it from your discography on all platforms, or I'm getting lawyers involved."

She let her words settle for one…two…three…

Let Emily's eyes meet hers.

Let Sylvie whisper a quiet fuck .

Let Alice say her name, which she ignored.

Then she turned and walked away and didn't look back until she found Adele, still chatting it up with her new friend Sam.