Under the Grit

Coincidence

"All right, let's run through this one more time," John said, tapping the edge of the clipboard he was holding. His voice carried over the faint buzz of the crowd outside, muffled through the thick, worn walls of Trelawney's backstage area. The air was alive with a mix of anticipation and the faint scent of stale beer and wood polish, a reminder of the countless acts that had performed here before them.

The room itself was small and cluttered, with an old couch pushed against one wall, its upholstery faded and fraying at the edges. A couple of mismatched chairs surrounded a scratched coffee table strewn with empty water bottles, sheet music, and a tangled mess of cables. In the corner, Sean tapped out an uneven rhythm with his drumsticks against his knees, Charles calmly tuning his guitar, and Lenny quietly adjusting the strap of his bass. Everyone seemed at ease, their pre-show rituals grounding them in the moment.

Evangeline, however, felt like she was floating somewhere far away. Her hands rested on her lap, fingers absently twisting the silver ring on her right hand as her mind wandered. She tried to focus on the set list John was rattling off, but the noise of her own thoughts drowned him out.

Her chest tightened as she thought of Ben. The image of him casually mentioning Lacy's name before she left the house had haunted her all evening. Why would he do that? she wondered for the hundredth time, the knot in her stomach tightening. She hadn't told the band or her friends, didn't want to ruin the night or have them worrying about her when she needed to focus. But the memory of his smug expression lingered, gnawing at her concentration.

The buzz of the crowd outside faded into the background as her thoughts drifted to what lay beyond the performance. She thought of Arthur-his steady presence, the way he'd encouraged her to take the leap and sing with them tonight. She wondered what he'd think of her now, sitting here, completely zoned out when she should've been going over the songs in her head.

"Evangeline," Arthur's voice broke through her spiral, soft but firm, pulling her back into the room. Her head snapped up, her green eyes locking onto his as he stood a few feet away, his arms crossed and his brow slightly furrowed.

"You alright?" he asked, his tone laced with quiet concern.

She blinked, realizing everyone was looking at her now. Her cheeks flushed, and she gave a quick nod, straightening in her seat. "Yeah, sorry," she said quickly, her voice steady despite the lingering anxiety in her chest. "I'm good."

Arthur's gaze lingered for a moment, as if he wasn't entirely convinced, but he nodded anyway. "Good. Just makin' sure you're still with us." His lips quirked into a small, reassuring smile, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease.

John glanced between them, raising an eyebrow but choosing not to comment. "Alright, as I was saying," he continued, tapping the clipboard again, "we're starting with-"

Evangeline took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus, her hands steadying as she listened to the rhythm of John's voice. Whatever else was happening in her life, she reminded herself, tonight was about the music. Just for tonight, she could leave the rest outside.

Evangeline took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus, her hands steadying as she listened to the rhythm of John's voice. Whatever else was happening in her life, tonight was about the music. Just for tonight, she could leave the rest outside.

Before John could continue, the door to the backstage area creaked open, drawing everyone's attention. A man stepped inside, his presence immediately commanding but undeniably smooth. He was dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, its deep burgundy color almost too refined for the casual setting. A silk pocket square peeked from his breast pocket, and a gold chain glinted faintly against his vest. His hair was slicked back neatly, and a charming, almost mischievous smile played at his lips.