shine Bright

Under pressure

Mia Nelson stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her hands trembling as she retaped the Ace bandage across her chest. The loft’s tiny bathroom was her only sanctuary, its flickering fluorescent light casting harsh shadows on her face. She adjusted her oversized flannel, Michael’s flannel, and pulled the baseball cap low over her eyes. Day two of being a rock star, and she already felt like a tightrope walker in a windstorm. The bandage itched, her glasses fogged with nervous sweat, and the weight of Matt Sullivan’s warning about Michael’s accident sat heavy in her gut. Not an accident. Someone had targeted her brother. But who?

She splashed cold water on her face, forcing herself to breathe. “You can do this,” she whispered, channeling Michael’s confidence. “For him.” The mirror showed a boyish figure shaggy brown hair, sharp jaw, hazel eyes but up close, she saw the cracks in her disguise: the softness of her cheeks, the way her lips trembled. She slouched, mimicking Michael’s lazy posture, and stepped back into the chaos of Starlight’s loft.

The living room was a hurricane of activity. Jamie Parker was sprawled on the couch, tossing a tennis ball for his golden retriever, Sunny, who bounded after it with a joyful bark. Sean Carter sat cross-legged on the floor, tuning his guitar, his flannel sleeves rolled up to reveal a tattoo of a music note on his forearm. Tyler Hayes stood by the window, scrolling through his phone with a scowl that could curdle milk. Matt Sullivan paced near the kitchen, barking into his phone. “No, we’re not pushing the single back! You want Starlight to bomb? Fix the damn schedule!”

Mia hovered near the couch, clutching Michael’s guitar like a shield. Jamie glanced up, his curly blond hair flopping into his eyes. “Yo, Michael, you look like you saw a ghost. You good?”

“Just… didn’t sleep great,” Mia said, deepening her voice. It came out steadier than yesterday, but her heart raced. She’d barely survived the photoshoot; today was worse, a meeting with Starlight’s label, Horizon Records, to discuss the new single. Matt had warned her to “act like Michael, not a deer in headlights.”

Sean set his guitar aside, his warm brown eyes meeting hers. “Rough night, huh? Loft’s not exactly the Ritz. You’ll get used to it.” His tone was gentle, but that curious look from yesterday lingered, like he was piecing together a puzzle she didn’t want solved.

“Thanks,” Mia mumbled, sitting on the arm of the couch. She sipped the coffee Sean had handed her yesterday, now cold and bitter. Her stomach churned, not just from nerves but from Matt’s bombshell about Michael’s accident. Skid marks that didn’t match. A car running him off the road. She wanted to call the hospital, hear Michael’s voice, but Matt had forbidden it. “No distractions,” he’d said. “Focus on the band.”

Matt hung up, his face redder than his Hawaiian shirt. “Alright, listen up! Horizon’s sending their hotshot exec, Vanessa Cruz, to the loft in an hour. She’s got the power to greenlight the tour or tank us. Michael, you say as little as possible. Tyler, don’t pick a fight. Sean, Jamie, just be your charming selves.”

Tyler snorted, not looking up from his phone. “Charming. Right. Maybe if they stop micromanaging my songs.”

“Save it for the studio,” Matt snapped. “And Michael, Clara’s got new clothes for you. Don’t show up looking like a thrift store reject.”

Mia nodded, her throat tight. Clara appeared from the hallway, her sharp bob swinging as she handed Mia a black denim jacket and ripped jeans. “Wear these,” she said. “And lose the glasses. Michael’s got that ‘too cool for school’ vibe.”

“Lose the glasses?” Mia’s voice cracked, and she coughed to cover it. “I, uh, need them to see.”

Clara raised an eyebrow. “Then clean them. You’re a rock star, not a librarian.” She paused, her eyes softening. “You okay, kid? You’re sweating like you’re hiding something.”

Mia forced a grin, her pulse hammering. “Just nervous. Big day.”

Clara studied her, then shrugged. “You’ll survive. Just don’t trip over a mic stand.”

The meeting was in the loft’s makeshift conference room, a glass table surrounded by mismatched chairs, with L.A.’s skyline as a backdrop. Mia sat between Sean and Jamie, her new jacket stiff against her shoulders. Tyler lounged at the head of the table, his leather jacket creaking, while Matt paced like a caged animal. Vanessa Cruz arrived with a click of heels, a sleek woman in her thirties with a power suit and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Trailing her was a familiar face Hailey Evans, the actress Mia had seen on billboards, her blonde hair cascading over a designer dress. Starlight’s PR girlfriend, Matt had called her. Mia’s stomach sank. Hailey’s presence felt like a storm cloud.

“Gentlemen,” Vanessa began, her voice crisp. “Horizon’s invested a lot in Starlight. Your single, ‘Break the Sky,’ needs to chart, or the tour’s in jeopardy. We’re here to ensure you’re on track.”

Tyler leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “We’re on track. The song’s solid. What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Vanessa said, “is consistency. Michael’s… absence raised red flags. We need to know you’re all in.” Her gaze landed on Mia, sharp as a scalpel. “Michael, you’re awfully quiet. Feeling better?”

Mia’s mouth went dry. She slouched, channeling Michael’s nonchalance. “Yeah, I’m good. Just, uh, ready to play.” Her voice wobbled, and she coughed again, praying it passed as a cold.

Hailey tilted her head, her blue eyes glinting. “You do seem different, Michael. Less… talkative. Everything okay?” Her tone was sweet, but it dripped with something else, suspicion, maybe, or challenge.

“He’s fine,” Sean cut in, his voice calm but firm. “Just getting back in the groove.”

Vanessa nodded, but Hailey’s smile tightened. Mia gripped her jeans under the table, her nails digging into her palms. Did Hailey know something? Or was she just fishing?

The meeting dragged on, with Vanessa grilling them about the tour schedule, Coachella, Austin City Limits, a Grammy showcase if the single hit big. Mia nodded along, her head spinning with terms like “streaming metrics” and “social media engagement.” Jamie chimed in with his usual energy, promising t****k videos to hype the single, while Tyler argued over creative control, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. Sean stayed quiet, his eyes flicking to Mia now and then, like he was checking on her.

As the meeting wrapped, Hailey lingered, sidling up to Tyler with a practiced smile. “Babe, we’re still on for that charity gala, right?” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. She glanced at Mia, her eyes narrowing. “Unless Michael’s got other plans for you.”

Tyler shrugged her off, his scowl deepening. “We’ll talk later.”

Mia’s cheeks burned, but she kept her head down, pretending to study her phone. Hailey’s attention felt like a spotlight, and she wasn’t ready for it.

Rehearsal followed in the studio, a grueling four hours of Tyler’s perfectionism. “Michael, your strumming’s sloppy,” he barked, stopping mid-song. “You’re throwing off the tempo.”

Mia gritted her teeth, her fingers sore on the guitar strings. “I’m trying,” she said, her voice low. She hit the chords again, harder, her frustration bubbling. She wasn’t Michael, but she wasn’t useless, either. Her backing vocals slipped out, stronger than yesterday, blending with Tyler’s lead in a way that made Jamie whoop.

“Dude, that harmony!” Jamie said, spinning a drumstick. “You’re killing it, Michael!”

Tyler didn’t comment, but his frown softened, just for a second. Mia’s chest warmed, a flicker of pride cutting through her nerves. Maybe she could do this.

Sean caught her eye as they packed up, offering a small smile. “Nice work today. You’re finding your footing.”

“Thanks,” Mia said, her voice barely above a whisper. She wanted to say more, but Hailey’s voice cut through the room.

“Tyler, you promised me dinner,” Hailey called, leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes flicked to Mia, a smirk playing on her lips. “Unless you’re all too busy bonding.”

Mia’s stomach twisted. Hailey’s tone was playful, but it felt like a warning. She grabbed her guitar and slipped out, needing air.

On the balcony, the L.A. night was alive with neon and noise. Mia leaned against the railing, her Bible tucked inside her jacket. She hadn’t opened it since yesterday, but its weight grounded her. The city stretched out below, a glittering maze of dreams and dangers. She thought of Michael, lying in a hospital bed, his career in her hands. And now, not an accident. The words echoed, chilling her more than the night air.

Matt appeared, his phone finally silent. “You held it together today,” he said, his voice gruff but approving. “But watch out for Hailey. She’s got a nose for drama, and we don’t need her sniffing around.”

Mia nodded, her throat tight. “What’s the deal with Michael’s accident? You said the cops...”

“Not now,” Matt cut her off, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll dig into it. You focus on being Michael. One slip-up, and we’re done.”

She swallowed, nodding again. The weight of her disguise, the band, the accident, it was too much. She closed her eyes, humming a fragment of “Amazing Grace,” the melody a lifeline to the girl she’d been two days ago. But that girl was gone, at least for now. She was Michael Nelson, Starlight’s guitarist, and she had to play the part.

As she turned to go inside, she caught Sean watching her from the doorway, his expression unreadable. “You coming, Michael?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Mia said, forcing a smile. “Right behind you.”

But as she followed him into the loft, the city’s lights burning at her back, Mia couldn’t shake the feeling that her secret was a ticking clock, and time was running out.