A Twist of Fate SERIES (Pentatonix)

(34) Standing By

PART TWO

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( SCOTT )

There's a soft knock on my dressing room door, and then it's slowly pushed open.

Through the mirror, I see Kirstie standing in the doorway, her hand resting on the handle and a sympathetic smile on her face. Her long ombré hair is braided, draped over her right shoulder; she wears ripped-at-the-knee jeans and Mitch's green baseball jersey. Even from several feet away, the color of the shirt brings out the color in her eyes, though it's been long gone for a few months now. My eyes begin to water when I stare at the shirt for too long, and I have to turn my gaze back down to my old white V-neck and light gray sweatpants.

"You almost ready?" she asks gently, her soft voice barely carrying over to where I'm standing less than twenty feet away. "Soundcheck is starting." When I don't respond right away, she adds quietly, "There aren't many people tonight, I already checked. Maybe twenty-five."

I hadn't even realized I was holding in air until I let it all out in a loud exhale of relief. I find myself subconsciously nodding, reaching up to pull down my T-shirt even though it's already stretched out enough.

"Yeah," I reply in a whisper, looking back up at her through the mirror. She looks tired and rundown, no amount of concealer able to hide the dark crescents tattooed under her eyes. The toner does make her face look a little less pale, though—although, if anyone were to see her without makeup, I doubt they'd even question it.

Kirstie gives me a small lop-sided smile, though it doesn't reach her eyes. "Last night of tour," she breathes. "I don't know if I should be excited or heartbroken."

I run my hands through my hair as I turn around, though I dodge her statement and instead nod in her direction. "Why are you wearing that?" I ask her, trying to sound gentle but it comes out more like a whine mixed with a groan.

Kirstie glances down at it for a moment, and I can see tears well up in her eyes even though she's not looking at me. "I wasn't going to put it on until tonight, but then I kind of felt like I'd be betraying him if I didn't. The rest of the crew already has on theirs, too."

I nod stiffly, pulling my lips into my mouth for a second, my hands still in my hair. "So, we're all wearing those tonight? Like, for the show?" My voice is tight, strained, thick with unshed and built-up tears. I'm surprised it hasn't cracked yet.

Kirstie slightly nods. "Yeah, we decided we would last night on the bus. You must have already gone to bed when we talked about it. I'm sorry."

I shake my head, letting her know that it's not her fault. I've made a beeline for the tour bus after nearly every show since we restarted last month, barely talking to anyone or even so much as looking at anyone. There have been occasional good days, of course, but The Pentatonix Reunion Tour sans a member is not necessarily a cause for light chatter and easy, genuine smiles.

Needless to say, I really don't think I'm going to be able to make it through tonight without breaking down into tears—especially while wearing a shirt that radiates Mitch. And especially because I've broken down in almost every single show since tour recommenced.

I move my eyes back down to look at the baseball jersey once more, and suddenly have an idea. "Wait," I say, more to myself than to Kirstie. I glance behind me at the couch, where my unopened suitcase sits, and then return my attention to her. "You go on ahead without me. I'll be out in a few minutes."