The lights were hot, the crowd louder than usual, and Stevie felt it—that rush she hadn't let herself lean into in a long time.
She was in the middle of Gypsy, spinning lightly, her shawl trailing behind her like it always did, the music carrying her. When the instrumental hit toward the end, something in her shifted—confidence, adrenaline, maybe a little defiance.
And she went for it.
The edge-of-stage walk.
At first, it was perfect—hands reaching up, fans lighting up as she moved along the edge, her fingers brushing theirs, her smile wide.
Then her foot slipped.
It was subtle—but fatal.
Her balance tipped, her ankle rolling just enough that she couldn't recover. There was a split second where she tried to catch herself—arms flailing slightly—but there was nothing to grab.
And then—
She fell.
Hard.
Not a stumble. Not something she could play off.
Her body dropped straight down off the stage, missing the hands reaching for her. She hit the ground with a brutal impact, her leg twisting underneath her at an unnatural angle as pain exploded through her—sharp, blinding, immediate.
A raw cry tore out of her before she could stop it.
Onstage, Lindsey reacted instantly.
His guitar slammed onto the stage as he threw it aside, already jumping down after her.
"Stevie!" he shouted, dropping beside her.
She was breathing fast, uneven, trying to move out of instinct—but the second she shifted her leg, the pain spiked so violently she gasped and grabbed his arm hard.
"Don't—don't—" she choked. "It hurts—"
"I know, I know," Lindsey said quickly, steadying her. "Don't move. I've got you."
By the time Christine, Mick, and John rushed backstage, Stevie's face had gone pale, her fingers gripping Lindsey's sleeve like it was the only thing grounding her.
"What happened?" Christine asked, already crouching beside her.
"I'm okay," Stevie tried—but her voice wavered.
"Can you stand?" Lindsey asked gently.
She tried.
The moment her foot touched the ground, she cried out sharply and immediately pulled back, shaking her head. "No—I can't—I can't—"
That was enough.
"I'm taking her to the hospital," Lindsey said, firm. "Do what you can out there."
No one argued.
⸻
At the hospital, the adrenaline wore off—and the pain settled in deeper.
It throbbed constantly now, pulsing through her leg, sharp with every tiny movement. Even adjusting in the chair made her suck in a breath through clenched teeth.
Lindsey stayed close, one hand lightly bracing her leg to keep it still.
"Steph..." he said quietly. "I'm right here."
She nodded faintly, eyes squeezed shut.
The X-rays confirmed it quickly.
"Broken leg," the doctor said. "Clean, but serious enough. No weight on it. Crutches, strict rest."
