Page 10 of Life After You

Sam stands stoic but solid, offering silent support. Chace shakes his head, still coming down from it all.

"Fuck me, Logan," Chace breathes. "That was incredible."

Trey, always Trey, grins through the emotion, wiping at his eyes. "Let’s hear it for our support acts! They warmed you up better than any foreplay could. Maybe even edged you just a smidge?"

The crowd roars with laughter, and just like that, the tension cracks.

Inflatables—because of course there are inflatables—get tossed toward the stage. Security swats them down, but one fish makes it through.

Trey snatches it up, thrusting obscenely with it.

"Trey, put the fish down," I groan, fighting a grin.

Chace chuckles, eyeing it. "Look at its face, man. That fish has seen some real shit."

Trey lifts it to eye level, staring solemnly as Sam says, "It’s like looking in a mirror."

"Maybe for you, Baldilocks." Trey deadpans.

We crack up, the crowd joining in. The moment is heavy, yet somehow light all at once.

Chace steps forward, voice ringing through the mic. "We’ve been Burnt Ashes. Thank you, goodnight!"

As the lights cut out, I rise from my stool, unslinging my guitar.

I let the weight settle.

Tonight, we honored Braden. And we fucking owned it.

I’m still catching my breath as I step off the stage, the energy of the crowd still buzzing in my veins. The weight of the guitar lingers in my hands, the strings still humming beneath my fingertips, even though the music’s stopped. Sweat sticks to my skin, and the air around me feels thick, charged with something I don’t know how to shake.

“Logan.” Phil’s voice cuts through the backstage noise, sharp and eager. He moves toward me with purpose, his suit crisp, glasses catching the dim light. His smile is wide, electric. “That was... phenomenal, man.”

I barely nod, still caught in the rawness of it. The ache. The empty space Braden should be filling. I drag a hand through my damp hair, exhaling, but it doesn’t make the weight in my chest any lighter.

“You know,” Phil continues, eyes gleaming, “we need you in the studio right away. That track, Logan, it’s a hit. I want it on the album.”

I glance down at my guitar, my fingers flexing around the neck like I don’t quite recognize it anymore. The crowd’s roar still lingers, but all I hear is the silence after the last note.

“I don’t know, Phil.” My voice comes out rough, quieter than I want it to be. “That song... it was for Braden. A tribute. Not something I planned to put on the record.”

Phil’s smile tightens, just for a second, before he smooths it over. He steps closer, voice dropping like he’s trying to level with me. “I get it. But that kind of emotion? That connection? That’s what people need, Logan. It’s real. It’s raw. That’s what makes a song unforgettable.”

I shake my head, the weight in my chest pressing heavier. “It wasn’t for them. It was for him.” I swallow hard, gripping the guitar like it might ground me. “I’m not sure I can turn that into something for the album. Not like this.”

Phil exhales through his nose, considering me. “You’re an artist, Logan. And tonight, you gave people something real. Think about it.”

I don’t answer. He studies me for a second longer, then nods like he’s already decided I will. “Talk to the guys. Let me know.” Then he turns and walks away, disappearing into the maze of backstage corridors.

I watch him go, jaw tight, my pulse still unsteady. I don’t move until the sound of footsteps pulls my focus.

Chace. Trey. Sam. They’re waiting, watching me. Expecting something.

I shift my grip on the guitar, exhaling. “Mac should be here.”

Because if anyone would understand how tangled up this song is inside me, it’s her.

“She needs as much time as she needs.” Sam says opening his hands.

---