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capnjackk · 18 days ago

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Lost in the Darkness | Chapter Two

rockstar!joel au

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warnings: meet-cute, fluff, mega slow burn (I’m talking >5 chapters of tension), idiots in love, hurt/comfort, little baby sarah, singledad!joel, girl-dad!joel, drinking, gossip, Rosemary has secrets, Joel is kind about it, Joel is 31, Rosemary is 26, Sarah is 5

a/n: I hope if there’s anyone out there reading this that you like it :) Please listen to ‘One Crowded Hour’ by Augie March, which is the song Rosemary plays later in the chapter! More updates coming soon <3

word count: 6.2k

masterlist

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Chapter 2

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

4 Months Later, Nashville, TN

Rosemary was nervous. A rare emotion for her.

Playing in front of a small crowd, she could handle. Playing in front of a festival? What difference. But meeting with her label about an “exciting new project”… now that was something she felt deep in her stomach.

She’d only been picked up by the label six months ago. After a whirlwind of showcases and online buzz, they’d sent her to the Solstice Festival as a sort of trial run. A litmus test.

She passed.

Blew it out of the water, really — reviews rolling in calling her “haunting,” “thrilling,” “enigmatic.” Everyone talked about the girl with the velvet voice and the shadowy image, the one no one could quite pin down.

With that momentum, the label had greenlit her debut EP, which was now finished — raw and aching and everything Rosemary had poured into it. But this meeting had “Nothing to do with the EP,”.

That’s what had her and Dina on edge as they walked the long hallway to the meeting room.

Dina, as always, was steady beside her, guiding her with a touch and a whisper — pulling out her chair, leaning in close when needed. She was Rosemary’s anchor, her confidant, her younger sister and fiercest protector. And lately, she’d become the final say in everything visual: album art, photo shoots, lighting moods. They decided to lean into the mystique, hiding Rosemary’s eyes in every shot. Never fully showing her face. Letting her music do the talking.

And the fans? They were eating it up.

Still, today felt different.

The room began to fill — familiar voices, a few new ones. Executives chatting, smiling, shaking hands. One sat across from her.

“I’m Tess. Nice to meet you, Miss Mystery,” she smirked, shaking Rosemary’s hand.

Rosemary offered a polite nod, but her senses were crawling, ears tilted toward the hallway.

Then she heard it.

“On time for once. What’s gotten into you, man?”

“Tess said this meeting was actually important. And for once… I agree.”

Joel. Her stomach dropped.

She had regretted that morning after the music festival every day since. She left no number, no contact information. At the time it just felt too good to be true. Too much to have for someone like her. But that didn’t stop her from wanting it. Wanting him.

She had to get her hopes down. He had to be here for something else. Probably signed to the same label. Coincidence. He was here for his own project. Obviously. But he said Tess…?

But then the door opened. And there he was — tall, broad, cap pulled low. And beside him: Tommy.

Joel stepped in and the room dimmed in her ears. His gaze scanned once, then landed on her — sharp and unmistakable. He froze for half a second. Then smiled.

Rosemary stood instinctively, hand extended. Her fingers brushed his before their palms met.

“Hey,” he said softly. Like no time had passed at all. “Nice to see you again.”

“And you,” she said, voice steady despite the quake inside her.

Joel turned to Tess. “So. Haven’t started without me have you?”

Tess leaned forward, steepling her fingers. “No. Take a seat. Rosemary, we’ve been looking for the right opportunity to introduce you to something bigger than just press and playlists.”

She glanced at Joel. “Joel’s going back out on tour next month. Full run. And he’s been real specific about his opener.”

Joel smiled, a little sheepishly. “Guess I only wanted one.”

Rosemary blinked.

“We would like you to open for Joel,” Tess said. “If you’re willing. Full access. Real exposure. No pressure, but... this could be your moment.”

Rosemary’s mouth parted, words stuck behind her lips.

Dina reached over under the table, squeezing her hand once.

“I’ve been doing this a long time, and voices like yours don’t come around often. You don’t just sing — you gut people. I want the world to hear that. Every night.” Joel said earnestly.

Silence hung for a beat — then Rosemary nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m in.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Good,” he said. “Didn’t have a backup plan.”

After the meeting, the tension dissolved like steam off a kettle.

The executives stood, exchanging handshakes and promising follow-ups. Tess gave Rosemary a warm smile, telling her someone from the tour team would be in touch soon. Dina gave a polite nod and tucked that away to follow up herself within the hour.

Joel lingered.

He didn’t rush over — just waited near the door as the room gradually cleared. When Rosemary lifted her head slightly in his direction, Dina, sensing the space they needed, murmured that she’d grab coffee and vanished down the corridor.

Joel walked around the table and sat beside Rosemary in silence for a minute. Then he ran a hand through his hair and looked over at her, his voice low.

“I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that,” he said. “But I meant every word in there.”

Rosemary gave a small nod, one arm folded gently across her middle, grounding herself.

“You sure about this?” she asked, her voice softer now. “I’m not exactly… I don’t even know.”

Joel chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

“That’s kinda the point, Rosemary,” he said. “You don’t fit the mold. You break it. And I think people are ready for that.”

“I might not be easy to work with, I’ve never gone on tour before… What if you find out that I’m crazy?”

“If it means anything, I was pretty damn crazy eight years ago, when my first tour began. Pissing all the execs off, partyin’ too much, being late to everything.” He chuckled a little. “Hell, I’m still late to most of my meetings. But it really doesn’t matter. Point is, this business isn’t about any of this part.” He gestured to the room around them. “It’s all about the music. And you’ve got a vice fuckin’ grip on it. Got it?”

She didn’t answer right away — just let the quiet settle around them like a blanket. Then she nodded once more, slowly this time, a smile flickering at the corners of her mouth.

“Then I guess we’ve got a tour to plan.”

Joel grinned at that. A real one — slow and honest.

“Damn right we do.”

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

The warehouse looked unassuming from the outside — just another industrial building tucked behind an empty Nashville lot. But the moment Dina pushed open the heavy steel door, Rosemary felt the thrum of it in her chest. Music — low and full-bodied — spilled into the hallway, drums and bass bleeding through soundproofing like the heartbeat of something alive.

“Okay,” Dina murmured, looping her arm through Rosemary’s. “This is it.”

Inside, the space opened up like a cathedral of sound. High ceilings, exposed beams, lighting rigs. A stage setup on one side, both bands using the shared space on alternating schedules. Joel’s band was deep into a run-through, the guitars roaring in controlled chaos, the rhythm section tight as a fist. A handful of crew moved around with purpose — sound techs, lighting designers, managers in headsets.

Joel noticed her the moment she stepped in.

He stood off to the side, hands busy adjusting something on an amp, nodding along to the tempo. His curls were damp with sweat, shirt clinging to his frame.

Dina guided her further in. “They set up your station over here — we’ve got your amp all rigged up, but you’ll have to talk to the techs about your pedal board. Guitars are on this stand but we can move them.”

Rosemary nodded, absorbing it all through sound and touch. The subtle scent of polish on strings. The way her boots tapped against the concrete. The warmth of stage lights simmering above.

“You’ll rehearse after lunch,” Dina said quietly. “We’ve got the room for the afternoon block.”

Joel broke away from his band and wandered over, grabbing a towel off a chair. “So… what do you think?” he asked.

Rosemary smiled, small and tight. “It’s... a lot louder than I imagined.”

He chuckled, wiping his face. “Yeah, that’s fair. Tess likes to make the rehearsals replicate the big stage as much as possible, and she's pretty picky about audio. It’s always a little insane at first. But you’ll make it your own.”

She reached out, trailing her fingers across the frets of her guitar. “I hope so.”

Joel tilted his head. “No rush. You’re not here to impress anyone. You’re here because you already did.”

She glanced toward the noise, toward his band still tuning and laughing and not paying her a lick of attention. But he was.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

She was quickly whisked away by a guitar tech, wanting to talk through her levels and pedal movements through her songs.

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

A couple hours later, the energy in the rehearsal space had shifted. Joel’s band had cleared their gear to one side, and Rosemary’s team had stepped in — a tight trio of musicians she’d been working with in recent sessions: Ty on keys, Wes on drums, and Mae on bass. They were all seasoned, kind, and, more importantly, gentle with the space she needed to take up.

The rehearsal space had a kind of low-lit stillness, the kind that settled into the bones; part anticipation, part nerves.

Rosemary stood just off the riser, guitar in hand, the strap already resting on her shoulder. She exhaled slowly. Dina appeared at her side without a word, looping an arm through hers.

“Four up, seven across,” she murmured under her breath, calm and steady.

Rosemary gave the slightest nod, then let herself be led toward the platform. Her boots found each step with deliberate precision, her fingers brushing the edge of her guitar as she counted under her breath — barely audible, even to Dina.

One. Two. Three. Four.

She stepped up onto the riser, the wood creaking faintly beneath her weight.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

She stopped, exactly where she needed to be. Her hand shifted, brushing the mic stand just to center herself — a small, practiced motion that could’ve meant anything. Nervous habit. Performer’s ritual.

Dina gave her wrist the lightest squeeze before stepping back into the shadows.

Rosemary shifted her stance, adjusted the guitar strap on her shoulder, and tilted her chin slightly toward the mic. Her hair fell into her face, and she didn’t bother to push it away.

The mic was live. The lights were on.

“Alright, give me a sec here guys, no in-ears for now I just want to make sure everything is connected, so play something all together and then I’ll get you to separate for troubleshooting and levels.” The sound technician, Bill, yelled from his table across the room.

The quiet hum of anticipation made the hairs on her arms rise. She took a slow breath. Then another. And then—

She played.

The first notes of “Still Water,” the lead track from her EP, poured out low and husky. Her voice followed, threading through the chords like a ribbon caught on wind. By the second verse, the band had found her rhythm, folding around her like they’d been doing this together for years.

A few people lingered along the edge of the room — stage managers, sound techs, someone from the label. Joel stood with his arms crossed again, leaning against a post in the corner. Watching. Really watching.

His expression didn’t shift, but something about the way his jaw moved said everything.

Dina let out a breathy whoop and clapped the loudest. Joel just stood there, arms crossed, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. When she turned slightly in his direction, he gave her a small, proud nod. The crowd shuffled out, on to the next job.

Bill slowly worked on each instrument, the band patiently playing and stopping to allow the older man to do his job well.

“Sweet. I’m happy with our base levels, if you guys wanna take a few days to run the set, figure out everything, I’ll be starting a proper mix for each song on Friday. Take some notes for me on any stereo stuff you want sorted, I’ll see what I can do.” Bill said.

By Friday, the set was tight, and so was the band. When they weren’t rehearsing onstage, they were stuffing their faces with food and talking about every detail of the music. Rosemary revealed her talent day by day, jumping at the chance to craft each element of her songs. She loved the way her team brought her thoughts to fruition - playing arpeggios exactly as described, or adding the harmonies right where she needed them.

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

The rehearsal break room had become a busy place to be. Paper coffee cups, half-eaten granola bars, gear lists scribbled on clipboards. People milled about — crew, label assistants, session players — all caught in their own quiet hum of activity.

Rosemary sat on the worn leather couch near the back, her guitar resting across her lap like a shield. Dina was across the room grabbing drinks, and Rosemary was taking a moment — letting the low thrum of conversation fade into background noise. Or trying to.

“—it’s not just the music, though,” someone near the hallway was saying. Rosemary muted her strings. “It’s the whole thing. She barely looks at the cameras. Never makes eye contact. And she walks so slow, like a fuckin’ snail. It’s weird.”

Rosemary’s shoulders tensed.

“Some kind of Orville Peck-style mystique, maybe,” another voice replied. “Gotta admit, it’s working. People are obsessed. But I get you.”

Rosemary shifted her grip on the guitar slightly, fingers curling tighter around the neck.

“Maybe she’s just shy,” a third person said with a shrug. “Or—”

“Or maybe she’s hiding something,” the first one cut in.

Before anyone could respond, Dina appeared — all easy charm and deflection. “Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt the gossip hour, but maybe find a way to shut the fuck up?” She smiled, but it had just enough edge to send the conversation scattering like birds startled from power lines.

The voices quieted. Footsteps shuffled away.

Dina crossed the room and set a coffee down in front of Rosemary. “Ignore them,” she murmured, crouching slightly so her voice stayed between them. “They’re just bored.”

Rosemary’s jaw was set, her expression neutral, but Dina knew better. So did someone else.

Across the room, Joel had been flipping through the tour itinerary when he looked up. He didn’t say anything, just watched — the way her mouth tightened, the way Dina leaned in like she always did when shielding her.

He clocked it. Noted it. Filed it away with all the other moments he couldn’t quite explain.

Then, quietly, he walked over and set a granola bar down on the armrest next to Rosemary.

“Didn’t eat earlier,” he said. “You’ll crash halfway through if you don’t fuel up.”

She didn’t look at him, just offered a faint smile.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Joel nodded and stepped away, but not before casting a glance toward the hallway — where whispers still lingered, like smoke from a snuffed-out match.

Dina elbowed Rosemary, and she elbowed her back.

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

Two weeks before the tour. This week was their last week of rehearsals, then everyone got a week off to rest before the real grind began. Rosemary’s EP was set to release this Friday night, with a fancy launch party being organised by the label.

Everything felt easier now, the band were able to communicate onstage with the addition of in-ears, and Rosemary was comfortable, happy. This is what she was here to do.

It was late afternoon, the crew were breaking before Rosemary’s set. Joel stood with Tess at the audio table, enjoying the warmth buzzing through the room.

“Daddy!” Sarah ran across the large space, leaving Tommy’s hand behind and leaping into Joel’s arms.

“Hey babygirl,” He lifted her to his hip, kissing her temple. She melted against him, arms around his neck and head flopping straight onto his shoulder. “You tired kiddo? How was soccer practise?”

“Coach made us run aaaaalll around the field.” She shuffled in his grip, turning her head to see the stage.

“Did she now… Well I know what might cheer you up.” Sarah perked up. “Rosemary’s about to play.”

“Where is she?” She tried to wriggle her way to the highest vantage point in Joel’s arms. “I wanna see her!”

“You will, babygirl. But she needs to do her job first. Stay with me and let her play, then we can go talk to her afterwards, okay?” He placed her down on a road case, tiny legs dangling off.

As the set started, Joel leant against the case, humming along, until he felt little fingers cover over his mouth. “Shhh daddy I want to hear Rosie.” Sarah frowned, very serious.

Rosie. That’s what Sarah had named her now. She’d only met the girl once, but still talked about her almost daily. “When can I see Rosie?” “When’s Rosie coming to rehearsal?” “What was Rosie wearing today?” Joel had meant to get her to rehearsal with him more often, but their schedules rarely aligned – he was very busy, and he knew from experience that having Sarah running around wasn’t helpful when things needed to get done.

Joel stopped humming to the tune, rolling his eyes and pulling her hands off his face.

On the last song, Sarah climbed down and walked across the open floor without hesitation, her little sneakers squeaking faintly on the polished surface. Joel watched her, brow creased, as she stopped a few feet from the stage.

Then — right there in front of everyone — Sarah began to sway. Just a little at first. Side to side. Then her arms lifted and she danced around.

Joel's heart tugged.

The stage crew noticed. People smiled. But the only one who didn’t shift or speak or react in any way was Rosemary — eyes closed, expression calm, lost in the music.

And for one, crowded hour you were the only one in the room,

And I sailed around all those bumps in the night to your beacon in the gloom,

Now I thought I ‘d found my golden september in the middle of that purple june,

But one crowded hour would lead to my wreck and ruin.

Joel stepped forward, walking toward his daughter.

Without saying a word, he took Sarah’s hand and joined her. He let her lead him — small circles and slow turns, just father and daughter under the hum of warm lights, while the music curled around them.

When the last note faded, the pair erupted in a round of applause, setting off everyone in the room to join in.

Sarah went right up to the edge of the stage, grinning up at Rosemary. “I like your songs, Rosie.”

Rosemary blinked, surprised. Then smiled. “Rosie, huh?”

“She likes nicknames,” Joel said, lifting Sarah into his arms with a chuckle. “But if you don’t like it—”

“No, I do.” Rosemary’s smile lingered, softer now. “You can call me whatever you’d like Sarah.”

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

Joel hovered by the breakroom door, arms crossed, watching the two girls giggle like co-conspirators. Sarah had already offered Rosemary half of her fruit snack and was now attempting to braid a section of her dark hair — not that she had much idea what she was doing. Rosemary was patient, smiling gently, tilting her head just enough to help the tiny hands find their way.

“You okay to—?” Joel started, his voice quiet, hesitant.

Rosemary turned her face slightly toward him. “We’re good, Joel. Go take your break. I think she’s giving me a full glam makeover.”

Joel let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You sure?”

“She’s better company than half of this crew Joel, now shoo.” Rosemary said, as Sarah showed her a tangled elastic band and declared she was going to make a bracelet next.

Joel stepped back, nodding. He gave them space.

A little while later, Rosemary sat quietly on the break room couch. Sarah had finally conked out beside her, curled into a tiny ball, cheek smushed against Rosemary’s thigh. Joel entered, slower now, eyes soft as he took in the scene.

“She’s out cold,” Rosemary whispered, brushing a hand lightly across the top of Sarah’s curls.

Joel nodded, crouching to lift her. “She runs herself to the ground every time.”

As he scooped Sarah into his arms, Rosemary looked up at him.

“She’s kind,” she said.

Joel looked at her, really looked, and nodded. “Yeah. She gets that from her mom.”

Something unspoken passed between them. A pause, brief but heavy, where neither quite knew what to say. Rosemary had heard the story - a fatal car crash, unavoidable, nobody to blame. But she was sure he still felt guilt - you could hear it in his lyrics, see it in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, finally.

“For what?”

“For… showing up. For being good with her. For being real.” He adjusted Sarah slightly in his arms. “Not everyone on this tour is. But you are.”

Rosemary smiled, small and sincere. “Anytime.”

Joel left with Sarah in his arms, and Rosemary sat there for a beat longer, the echo of the music still warm in her bones.

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

The rehearsal space was empty, save for the quiet hum of amplifiers that hadn’t quite cooled and the soft creak of Rosemary’s stool beneath her. The overhead lights had been dimmed, only a few running strips left on, casting a hazy glow across the floor.

Rosemary sat on a worn stool center stage, barefoot, one leg tucked beneath her, her guitar resting comfortably against her thigh. She wore an old hoodie with the sleeves shoved up and a pair of wide, oversized jeans, her hair a little wild from the long day. Her thumb moved in slow, steady shapes over the strings — not performing, just… being. The song she played was unmistakable if you knew it. One of Joel’s. An old one. A deep cut.

She didn’t hear the door open.

Joel stepped inside, eyes narrowing as he caught the tail end of the chorus. His notebook was the only reason he was back — he’d left it backstage earlier in the rush. But that melody stopped him in his tracks.

She hadn’t noticed him.

He stayed still, listening. Watching the way she tilted her head slightly toward the sound, as if she were listening with her whole body. His breath caught at the way she played it — slower, gentler than he ever had. Like she was coaxing something out of it he’d never quite managed.

Then, without a word, Joel reached for the acoustic he’d left leaning against the amp.

He strummed a chord — quiet, matching her rhythm. Not interrupting. Just joining.

Rosemary didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn. She just kept playing — a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

Their guitars wove together softly, like old friends meeting after years apart. Her melody. His harmony. It wasn’t perfect — it stuttered sometimes. You could hear the guitars interact - the slight delay when one took the lead and changed the chord. But still, it breathed.

When the last chord faded, neither of them moved. The silence hung between them, warm and tentative.

Joel set his guitar down slowly, letting it rest back against the amp. “Didn’t know many people knew that one.”

Rosemary finally looked over at him, a crooked grin tugging at her lips. “Well, I’ve got excellent taste and too much time on my hands.”

He chuckled. “Dangerous combination.”

“I like the older stuff,” she said, adjusting her grip on the neck of the guitar. “Before you got all polished and stadium-slick. There’s something rough in the bones of it.”

Joel raised a brow. “You calling me soft, Rosie?”

She grinned. “I’m saying I liked you better when your songs sounded like they might fall apart at any second. That doesn’t necessarily represent you, although…”

He laughed — a real one, from deep in his chest. “Damn. Remind me not to ask you for a review.” He leaned back on his hands, still smiling. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?”

Her smile faltered just a hair. “You mean the part where I vomit from nerves, or the part where total strangers dissect my soul on twitter?”

Joel winced playfully. “Yeah. That part.”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m fine. It’s whatever. Let the haters hate. I already made peace with the whole thing, I think.”

Joel eyed her. “You think?”

“We’ll see.” She grinned again.

He shook his head, still laughing. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m a mystery,” she corrected, sitting up straighter with mock pride. “Get it right.”

Joel melted into a smile — quiet, warm, thoughtful. “You’re gonna be fine, Rosie. Better than fine.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just reached down to retune a string, her face a little softer now. “Thanks.”

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

The party was held in a moody bar in downtown Nashville with exposed brick walls, hanging Edison bulbs casting soft amber light, and towering windows that reflected the golden haze of early evening. Musicians, label executives, photographers, and Nashville’s music scene regulars moved through the room with cocktails in hand and curated carelessness in their smiles. There was a sense of something important in the air.

Rosemary stood just off to the side of the main floor, her hands loosely gripping a Moscow mule. She wore a long black satin slip dress, its simple silhouette clinging to her in all the right ways — understated but elegant, with a thin lace trim at the neckline and a matching sheer black shawl draped over her arms. Her mass of dark curls were fighting against the pins holding them in a half-up half-down style, a few strands falling gently around her face. Dina had picked the dress, insisting it was time for her to look as striking as her voice sounded.

Joel saw her before she saw him.

She stood framed by the light, the kind that made it seem like the whole damn party had paused around her. Her expression was calm, but he could tell she was listening — really listening — to everything: the layers of chatter, the live jazz trio, the hum of anticipation before her record played through the speakers.

He didn’t approach right away. He just watched.

Joel had dressed formally for the event, knowing the paps would be waiting to snap a pic, and he didn’t want to look like a bum. He ditched his jeans and tees for a black button up, mostly undone, covered with a brown velvet suit jacket and matching pants. Low on his exposed tan chest sat a few silver charmed necklaces, matching the large signet ring on one of his fingers. He looked good.

Despite the many women in the room now ogling at him, he walked towards just the one.

But before they had the chance to talk, Tess clinked her glass and made her way to the mic, inviting everyone to gather around the stage. Rosemary, flanked by Dina, stepped up with measured ease, the crowd pressing in with that eager, expectant hush.

“Let’s raise a glass to the woman behind the mystery — the voice we’ve all fallen for — and the debut that proves she’s just getting started. To Rosemary!”

Applause thundered. Champagne flutes lifted.

Rosemary gave a small nod, touched the mic. “I’ll keep this short — which, if you’ve ever heard me in rehearsals, you know is a rare miracle.” Laughter. “Thank you. For trusting me. For listening.” She paused, fingers brushing the edge of the mic stand. “I don’t take any of it for granted.”

It was short. Simple. But it worked.

As the crowd dispersed again, Joel finally stepped forward.

“You clean up nice,” he said. You could have at least called her pretty, idiot. He thought. How many other beautiful words could you have said? And you said that? Fuckin hell.

She grinned. “Is that right? So I look pretty trash normally then huh.” Rosemary teased.

Joel chuckled. “Didn’t say that.” Too shy to say anything else. The girl wears a nice dress and suddenly you have nothing. Good one Joel.

They hovered there — close but not touching — and for a breath, it felt like the rest of the night might drift away.

Until someone called Joel’s name. A group of executives. Someone from Rolling Stone. A photo op. He gave her a look, apologetic, and she waved him off — “Go,” she mouthed, smiling.

But as he walked away, she didn’t move. She just listened. Eyes not following him, but locked on some invisible spot in the air.

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

Rosemary's night turned at the bar stools.

She had stepped up to grab a drink, the crush of people starting to press on her senses. Dina had left for the water station, and in the brief window she was alone, she overheard it.

Two girls, mid-twenties, glittering with label connections and entitlement, standing just a few feet away.

“She’s weird, right?” one of them said. “I mean, the whole ‘mysterious’ thing — it’s just a shtick.”

“I heard she refuses to do interviews,” the other laughed. “Probably doesn’t even write her own stuff.”

“I bet it’s all manufactured. Another moody girl with a tragic backstory they’re gonna milk dry.”

Rosemary didn’t flinch. Not outwardly. She stood still, like a statue carved from calm.

But inside, something caved.

It didn’t matter how many kind words she’d heard tonight. That small, sharp doubt had a way of cutting deeper than praise ever could.

Dina returned to find her quiet, holding her water tightly. “You okay?”

Rosemary nodded. “Just… taking it in.”

But soon, the buzz of the drinks wasn’t enough to subside her thoughts. So, she let herself have a moment outside.

The night air was cooler out here, soft and quiet. Rosemary leaned on the edge of the balcony, fingers brushing absently over the railing’s grooves. Below her, the lights of Nashville blinked and blurred — distant, golden. The party still pulsed behind her, muffled by the glass doors, but it felt far away now. She needed it to.

It was supposed to feel like a win. Her EP was out. Her name was on people’s lips. The night was technically a celebration of her. But somehow, it didn’t sit quite right.

It felt silly, but this was one of those times where she really needed her guitar. These were the emotions she could pull from the strings let drift off in the wind, releasing them from her mind and body.

Pathetic. Real adults can deal with emotions by themselves, and here she was, wishing she could have her guitar. The guitar that everyone probably thinks she can’t actually play. The guitar that bleeds with songs they all can’t believe she wrote herself.

Her drink was still in her hand, cold and sweating, but she couldn’t seem to swallow anymore. The words echoed sharp and familiar — not because they were true, but because they tapped into the tiny, awful part of her that feared they might be.

Then — footsteps.

She didn’t turn, but she knew.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Joel said, his voice low and warm in the hush of the evening.

She let out a quiet breath, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “Had to vanish. Got to keep up the brand, y’know?.”

He moved to stand beside her, not too close. Just enough that she could feel the presence of him — steady, grounding.

“Hell of a night,” he said after a beat. “You were great.”

She gave a small nod, still staring out at the skyline. “Thanks.”

Joel watched her in profile, the way her jaw tensed, the way she kept her chin lifted like she wasn’t feeling the weight of the world pressing on her collarbones.

“You don’t look like someone enjoying her own launch party,” he said carefully.

“Never said I loved parties,” she joked, but it landed flat. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Joel leaned on the rail beside her, matching her stance. “You know what I think?”

She glanced at him, brow raised.

“I think you scare the hell out of people.”

She couldn’t bring herself to properly smile right now. Not even for Joel.

“Yeah. You’ve got that thing,” he said. “The kind of voice that makes people feel stuff they didn’t plan on feeling. Also, you are gorgeous inside and out, and you look particularly stunning tonight. Some people don’t know how to handle that.”

She let the compliment hang in the air a moment, trying to believe it.

Then she said, softly, “I just wanted tonight to feel different.”

Joel’s hand moved without hesitation, covering hers on the railing. His touch was warm, grounding. His thumb traced a slow line across her knuckles — slow enough that if you were looking, you’d barely notice the movement. But Rosemary did.

“It does,” Joel said. “You’re standing here. Your record’s out. People are listening.”

“People are talking,” she corrected. “Not always in a good way.”

Joel shrugged. “Let ’em talk. Doesn’t change the music. Don’t let it change you.”

His hand was still on hers. The warmth travelling straight through to her heart. A heart not fixed — not healed — but steadied.

He supported her. And she wasn’t sure why, but it being him meant the world.

“Thanks,” she said.

He offered a small, crooked smile. “Anytime, Rosie.”

Her heart kicked a little at the nickname, but before either of them could say more, the balcony door slid open.

“There you are!” Tess’s voice broke the quiet. “Pictures, let’s go!” She reached out her hand for Rosemary to take, ready to drag her through the crowd.

Rosemary straightened, the moment already slipping away. She shot Joel a rueful glance. “Duty calls.”

Joel gave her a soft nod, eyes lingering as she walked back inside, head high.

And this time, it was a little easier to hold it that way.

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

The apartment was quiet, dimly lit except for the soft glow of a bedside lamp. Rosemary sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, still in her black satin dress, though her shawl was draped over the nightstand and her curls had mostly given up fighting gravity. Her heels were off, feet tucked beneath her. The night had finally slowed.

Dina emerged from the bathroom with a bag of makeup wipes and two bottles of water, one of which she handed off wordlessly before plopping down on the bed beside her.

“Alright,” Dina said, cracking the cap on her own bottle. “Talk to me.”

Rosemary took a sip. “About?”

Dina gave her a pointed look. “Don’t play coy. You vanished to the balcony like a Victorian ghost bride, then showed up ten minutes later with suspiciously watery eyes and one very intense rockstar trailing behind you like a kicked puppy.”

Rosemary huffed a laugh. “That’s dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic by trade,” Dina said. “Now spill.”

Rosemary was quiet for a moment, picking at the label on her water bottle. Then, softly: “It was a good night. Mostly.”

Dina’s expression softened. “But?”

“Some people said things.” She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t have to. “And it got in my head. Even when everything else was… good. It still found a way in.”

Dina leaned her head back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah. That’s how it works. Ten compliments, one shitty comment, and guess which one sticks.”

Rosemary let out a breath, nodded. “I didn’t expect it to feel so personal. I mean, I should’ve. But still.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Dina said, “You know they’re wrong, right?”

Rosemary gave her a small, tired smile. “I know. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.”

Dina bumped her shoulder gently. “Well. For what it’s worth? You were luminous tonight. Powerful. Elegant. The voice of a generation. And your eyeliner didn’t smudge once, so that’s basically a Grammy on its own.”

That coaxed a laugh out of Rosemary — genuine and bright. “Thanks, D.”

“Anytime, superstar.”

Rosemary went quiet again for a beat, then said, almost too casually, “Joel said kind of the same thing.”

Dina looked over at her, one eyebrow raised. “Joel who looked at you like he wanted to rewrite every love song he’s ever sung?”

Rosemary blushed, and that was answer enough.

“Mmhmm.” Dina took another sip of water. “I swear, if you two don’t kiss by the end of this tour, I’m staging an intervention. Possibly involving fog machines and a string quartet.”

Rosemary groaned, burying her face in a pillow. “Please don’t.”

“I loved his outfit too, there were like maybe three buttons of his dress shirt done up. Everyone and their dog was getting a clear view of–” She was cut off by a pillow being shoved on her face.

The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a while after that. Outside the window, the city was still humming — Nashville refusing to sleep, even after the parties had died down.

Eventually, Rosemary murmured, “I think I’m okay now.”

Dina glanced over, saw the way her sister’s shoulders had finally dropped, how her face had softened with the kind of peace that only came after being seen and heard.

“I know you are.”

And she was.

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