Reaching- Elvis Presley Fanfiction

Doubt

"Daddy, wake up!" Olivia whispered urgently, shaking her fathers shoulder. "You're going to miss the sound check!"

Elvis groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He squinted against the harsh hotel room light, trying to make sense of the world. The curtains were drawn open, allowing a sliver of daylight to cut through the darkened room. "Olivia?" He croaked, his voice thick with sleep

"Yes, it's me." She said, her smile audible in her voice. "You've got fifteen minutes before we need to leave."

Elvis sat up with a jolt, the reality of the day's schedule crashing down on him. Every moment on this tour was nothing but disastrous so far. Unfavorable headlines were appearing in newspapers regarding Elvis' recent performances. Fans had even called the shows stale and unappealing to this newer generation of the music industry. Quite frankly most were disappointed and had been calling Jerry nonstop for refunds to the point where Jerry had to change his phone number. He had taken a break from the spotlight for a reason, but Olivia's excitement and belief in him had been too much to resist. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Alright, I'm up." He yawned, pushing himself to his feet

Olivia beamed, watching her father gather his strength. She knew he was scared, but she also knew he was a performer at heart. The thrill of the stage, the roar of the crowd, it was in his blood. She handed him a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air. "You've got this." She assured him, her voice a gentle pep talk. "Just remember why you started."

Elvis took a sip, the warmth spreading through his body, a comforting reminder of countless mornings just like this one. He nodded, a hint of determination flickering in his eyes. "I'll be there for the sound check." He promised, gently patting her hand. "But I need a few minutes to get my head straight."

Olivia stepped back, giving him space. She knew the feeling all too well, the pre performance jitters that could either fuel you or consume you. She had seen her father conquer them a hundred times before, but she also knew that the fear was real. She watched him pull on a red button down shirt, the one that had seen so many stages and so much history. It was like watching a knight don his armor

The hallways of the hotel were quiet, the carpet muffling their footsteps as they made their way to the elevator. The air was charged with anticipation, the kind that only comes before a grand performance. Elvis took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, his eyes distant. He looked at Olivia and she gave him a nod of encouragement. They stepped into the elevator, the doors closing with a soft ding as if the world was giving them a moment of privacy before the chaos began

The ride down was a blur of numbers and lights, each floor passing by in a silent countdown. Elvis stared at his reflection in the mirrored walls, his hand trembling slightly as he smoothed back his hair. He recognized the face looking back at him, the same face that had captivated audiences for decades, but it felt like a stranger's. The elevator doors slid open, and the cacophony of the venue greeted them, the sound of instruments tuning and the low murmur of the crew setting up

Olivia led the way through the maze of corridors, her arm threaded through his as if to remind him she was there, grounding him in reality. They reached the stage door, and the sound of the crowd grew louder, a pulsing rhythm that seemed to echo in his chest. He took a deep breath, the scent of the venue a potent mix of sweat, stale popcorn, and the faint scent of the ocean from outside. It was a scent that had once been as familiar as home, but now it only served to heighten his anxiety. The stage manager, a burly man with a headset and a clipboard, spotted them and waved them over. "Elvis, you're just in time," he said, slapping him on the back a little too hard. "The band's ready and waiting for you."