The band had just finished a show honoring their years together, but the atmosphere backstage was anything but celebratory. Lindsey had been fired — officially, anyway — and the fallout between him and Stevie was explosive. Bitter words had been exchanged, and a heavy silence now hung between them like a dark cloud. Neither could stand being in the same room, and no one else seemed to notice or want to confront the tension.
Weeks later, the band was called to do a one-off gig — all five of them, Lindsey included. Stevie's jaw tightened the moment she heard the news. She'd made it clear: she never wanted to share a stage with Lindsey again. Karen, her assistant, mirrored that frustration quietly but firmly. Lindsey himself looked grim, knowing the awkwardness would be unbearable.
Backstage, the five members went through the motions of prepping for the show, but the air was thick with unspoken resentment. Stevie's eyes flicked to Lindsey every time he moved, her discomfort growing.
When the final song ended and the crowd's applause echoed through the venue, Stevie suddenly felt the familiar twist of nausea spiral up her throat. She excused herself and hurried backstage, barely making it to the garbage can before a dry heave shook her.
A hand landed lightly on her back. She stiffened, expecting Karen, but a low voice startled her. "You okay?"
It was Lindsey.
She froze, shock pinning her in place. "I'm fine," she said sharply, pushing away from him and moving toward the corridor.
But just as she took a few steps, the nausea hit again with cruel force. This time, she vomited fully into the garbage can.
Lindsey was instantly at her side, rubbing gentle circles on her back. "It's okay," he murmured. "I've got you."
He carefully guided her toward her dressing room, where Karen was waiting. The moment Karen saw Lindsey, her face tightened with anger.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, stepping protectively in front of Stevie.
Lindsey raised his hands in surrender. "Look, I didn't mean to intrude. She got sick, and I was the only one close enough."
Karen's eyes softened as she reached out, placing a hand on Stevie's forehead. After a moment, she nodded. "He's telling the truth."
Karen gave Lindsey a curt nod of thanks. "You can go now."
Relieved, Lindsey slipped away, leaving Karen to stay with Stevie.
The hotel room was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls like silent witnesses to Stevie's struggle. She lay curled on the edge of the bed, every muscle tense, her skin clammy and pale. The nausea had not eased since backstage; if anything, it had tightened its grip, relentless and merciless.
Karen sat nearby on the worn armchair, her eyes never leaving Stevie's face, scanning for signs of worsening. "Here," she said softly, handing Stevie a small paper cup filled with water.
Stevie took it with a trembling hand, her breath shallow. She tried to swallow, but the acid stung her throat and she choked on the tiny sip. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her and she bolted upright, barely making it to the bathroom before dry heaving violently into the porcelain sink.
Karen was immediately at her side, steadying her as she shook with exhaustion. "It's okay, Stevie. Just breathe."
Stevie's body convulsed again, and tears prickled the corners of her eyes, humiliation mixing with physical misery. When she finally steadied, Karen gently wiped her face with a damp cloth, murmuring soothing words.
Back in the bedroom, Stevie sank down onto the floor, pressing her forehead to the cool hardwood. She was barely aware of the quiet footsteps as Karen knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders.
