Page 12 of Hymns of the Broken
So I let him touch me. I let him tell me everything was fine now. I let him fall asleep wrapped around me as if nothing had happened.
But everything had changed.
I slip out of bed without waking him, grabbing my phone from the charger like it might ground me. A notification buzzes across the screen.
Darklight Media: Welcome to the Team.
My heart lurches.
I blink in disbelief, read it again, then drop onto the edge of the bed with a grin I can’t hold back. Amidst the chaos of last night, I’d sent those shots to Macee—and it paid off.
I’m officially hired.
This tour isn’t just a dream anymore. It’s real. It’s mine.
AndI won’t let Blake take this from me. Not this time.
I move carefully, grabbing a hoodie from the chair and slipping it over my tank top. Blake stirs but doesn’t wake.
Thank God.
The floor creaks in the hall, but I’m already out the door before I can second-guess myself. The early morning air is cool and clean. So sharp it almost clears the fog in my head.
I send a text to Macee on the way down the stairs.
Sawyer: “Meet me for coffee at our spot. I have news.”
Macee: “You didn’t kill him, did you?”
Sawyer: “Worse. I survived the night. ??”
***
The bell above the door to The Hollow Cup jingles as I walk in, and I spot her instantly. Slouched in a booth, sunglasses on, she raises her middle finger in greeting.
“Congratulations,” Macee says as I slide in across from her, taking a sip of the iced coffee she had waiting for me. “You’re not dead. Or arrested. That’s a win.”
I roll my eyes and hand her my phone, flipping it screen up to show her the email.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
I grin, despite everything. “Way.”
Macee nearly launches her drink across the table. “Darklight actually took you on? You’re officially hired for the end of the tour?”
I nod, and the smile won’t stop climbing my face.
“First gig starts this weekend in Omaha.”
She clutches her chest dramatically. “Oh my god. My best friend is going on tour with Her Last Confessional as their exclusive photographer for the rest of the tour. I’m so proud I could spit blood.”
Macee finally stops squealing long enough to take a sip of her drink, but she doesn’t drop the grin.
“I wish I were going with you,” she says, setting her cup down. “Like, actually on tour. You and me? On the road again? Cameras, chaos, caffeine-induced breakdowns at 2 a.m. like we used to? Dream life.”
“You’re still a part of it,” I remind her. “You got me in.”
“Yeah, yeah. I opened the door, but you strutted through in platform boots and didn’t look back.” She shrugs, but I can tell it’s not just teasing. “Besides, I’m stuck here for now. My boss wants me to cover this up-and-coming band, Bite the Vow, doing a residency in town. Some post-hardcore emo revival type deal. They’re loud, they’re angry, and their drummer keeps calling me ‘mommy’.” She makes a face, but I know she secretly enjoys it.
