Stevie's final show of the tour in Phoenix carried a different kind of energy—something deeper than excitement. It was the last night, the final bow after weeks on the road, and everyone felt it. The crowd was louder, the band tighter, every moment stretched just a little longer like no one wanted it to end.
Lori had been invited out personally.
"Last show," Stevie had told her over the phone. "You don't get to skip this one."
So she came.
She stayed mostly backstage, lingering near the wings with Sharon and Marilyn, watching the show unfold. It felt safe there—familiar but removed. She could enjoy it without being in the spotlight, without thinking too much about how different things felt now.
But just before the encore, Stevie slipped offstage and made a beeline straight toward her.
"Hey," Stevie said, a little breathless, eyes bright. "Quick question."
Lori smiled faintly. "That never ends well."
"I'm doing the new song for the encore," Stevie said. "And since all three of you are on it..." she tilted her head, softer now, "come out and sing it with us. Just this once."
Lori's stomach tightened immediately.
"Oh—Stevie, I don't know..."
"It's Phoenix," Stevie reminded her gently. "Your home crowd."
That didn't help.
Lori's fingers curled slightly at her sides. "I haven't done that in a while," she said quietly. "And I don't... I don't look the same."
Stevie's expression softened.
"My hair..." Lori added, almost self-conscious. "It came back grey. And my voice—it's not what it was. People remember something else. I don't know if I can stand out there and have them compare."
Stevie stepped a little closer. "They're not comparing. They're just going to be happy you're there."
Lori hesitated.
Inside, the anxiety had already started—tight in her chest, creeping up her throat. She knew that feeling. And she knew what came with it if she let it spiral.
You'll be fine. Just don't let it turn into nausea. Stay calm.
She took a slow breath.
"It's just one song?"
"Just one."
Lori nodded, more to herself than anything. "Okay... yeah. I'll do it."
Sharon gave her arm a reassuring squeeze as they moved into position. "We've got you."
Lori nodded, but her heartbeat had already picked up.
Then they stepped out into the lights.
The reaction was immediate—surprise rippling through the crowd as people realized Lori was there. Cheers grew louder, scattered at first, then building.
And suddenly it felt like all of it was aimed directly at her.
The lights were harsher than she remembered. The stage bigger. The air thicker.
She started singing anyway.
At first, muscle memory carried her. Her voice found its place, blending with Sharon and Marilyn, falling into rhythm.
But underneath it, the anxiety kept building.
A slow, uneasy twist started in her stomach.
No. Not now.
