Page 31 of Catastrophically Yours
"Wasn't just me." Drew glanced toward Piper, who was checking items off a printed list with military efficiency. "Your daughter deserves the credit."
Janet followed her gaze, something knowing flickering across her face. "Piper's good at taking care of everyone else. Always has been. Sometimes she forgets she deserves care too."
The words lodged in Drew's chest. She was still processing them when she caught a familiar silhouette near the entrance.
Chris stood by the door, scanning the room with the calculated assessment she remembered from venue scouting days. He looked polished but not overdressed—dark jeans and a fitted henley that suggested he'd put thought into blending with the Blue Moon's casual atmosphere. When his eyes found hers across the room, he offered a small wave rather than his usual commanding smile.
Drew's stomach tightened. She'd been half-expecting him to show up, but seeing him here felt like two worlds colliding in a space that had become sacred to her.
"Excuse me," she murmured to Janet, making her way through the growing crowd.
Chris met her halfway, his approach careful rather than confident. "Hey. Hope it's okay that I came. I know you said you needed time to think, but..." He gestured around the café. "Figured this might help me understand what you're choosing between."
"It's a benefit concert, Chris. Not an audition for my life choices." Drew kept her voice low, aware of the conversations flowing around them.
"I know." His tone was gentler than she'd expected. "That's kind of the point. I wanted to see you in your element, doing something that matters to you." He paused, studying her face. "You look nervous."
Despite herself, Drew felt some of her defensiveness ease. This was the Chris she'd fallen for originally—observant, present, genuinely interested in understanding her perspective rather than reshaping it.
"Always am before performing. Especially when it's for something important."
"The medical bills thing." Chris nodded toward the donation table where Brian was arranging informational materials. "That's Piper's family?"
"Her mom." Drew watched his expression carefully, but saw only curiosity rather than judgment. "Janet's a retired teacher. Thirty years of service, and one ER visit nearly bankrupts them."
"Sounds familiar." Something flickered across Chris's face—recognition, maybe, or old pain. "My dad went through something similar after his stroke. Insurance fought everything."
The admission surprised her. Chris rarely talked about his family, especially the parts that didn't fit his carefully curated narrative of upward mobility and artistic ambition.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"Yeah, well." He shrugged, but the gesture lacked his usual dismissiveness. "Not exactly the story you tell at industry mixers, you know? But watching you organize all this..." He gestured around the busy café. "It makes sense. You always did see people first, music second."
Before Drew could respond, Marcus was tapping the microphone and the crowd began settling into their seats. Chris touched her arm lightly.
"Break a leg up there. I'll just... watch from the back, okay? This is your show."
Drew took her position on the small stage, Luna warm and familiar in her hands. The crowd was larger than expected—maybe forty people packed into the intimate space. Janet sat in the front row between Robert and Piper, face bright with gratitude. Chris had found a spot near the bar, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed but his attention fully focused on her.
"Good evening, everyone." Drew's voice came out steadier than she felt. "Thank you for being here. We're raising money for medical expenses, which shouldn't be necessary but unfortunately is. Janet Novak is a retired teacher who spent thirty years shaping young minds, and she deserves better than choosing between health and financial security."
Applause rippled through the room. Drew caught Piper's eye and saw something vulnerable there, a crack in the careful composure she wore like armor.
"Music has always been about community for me," Drew continued. "About people taking care of each other. So let's do that tonight."
She launched into her opening song, a gentle ballad that always warmed up both voice and crowd. The familiar routine began to settle her nerves—the interplay between melody andlyrics, the way strangers became temporary family through shared rhythm.
Three songs in, as Drew paused to retune, she noticed Chris had moved closer, though he remained respectfully at the edge of the seating area. When she looked in his direction, he offered an encouraging nod but didn't try to catch her attention or draw focus to himself.
Drew found herself relaxing further, letting the music carry her instead of worrying about external pressures or competing loyalties. This was why she performed—for moments like these, when a room full of people became something larger than the sum of its parts.
Halfway through her set, she caught sight of Piper watching from her seat, and suddenly the song she'd been planning to play next felt wrong. Instead, her fingers found the progression that had been floating in her head for weeks—the melody born from quiet mornings and shared coffee and the gradual realization that home wasn't a place but a person.
"This next song," Drew said into the microphone, "is about finding something you didn't know you were looking for."
Her eyes found Piper's and stayed there as she began to play:
"I've been chasing spotlights, running toward the noise
