was jostled as people lifted me on all sides, as I was slid to another bed, and the woman was still there, watching, looking down at me. Now, it was easy to see the haze to her and my eyes focused on her features.
“Vega, can you hear me? Vega?” someone else said but I was only looking at the woman as she moved back, a smile on her face.
“Good girl,” the old-fashioned nurse said. “It won’t be easy, but you’re a fighter. Live for all of us.” And then she walked through the door, but everything was kind so hazy, I didn’t think anything of it. After all, I was dying, the hospital trying their best to save me, and I was going to help them as best as I could.
“Vega? Can you hear me, Vega?”
I worked my mouth, tried to answer through the pain, the man in scrubs coming into focus as he asked me the same question over and over again. Can you hear me? Can you hear me? I need you to acknowledge you can hear me.
Live for all of us. I will. I will. I will.
“Vega, can you hear me?”
I met his eyes and focused, and with every ounce of strength I barely possessed, I opened my mouth to answer him.
“. . .yes. . .”
Chapter One
One Year Later
I stared up at the Paragon for too long, glad I’d given myself plenty of time for this very reason. I was early for the day, needing an extra fifteen minutes to stare up at the historical music hall in front of me. The Paragon was all art deco on the outside, a large marquee sign flashing above modern LED screens, a bit of history with a bit of the twenty-first century. The LED screen flashed the names of tonight’s headliners, announcing them for the rest of the week, too. It was a beautiful display of technology as short clips of bands interspaced the lineup, drawing the eyes. I didn’t recognize all the names of the bands, but some of them I did. Then again, this was a Wednesday. The bigger acts were probably saved for the weekends, the ones that would draw crowds from around the country rather than just the local fans.
I smiled up at the Paragon, basking in its shadow in the early afternoon sunshine. Tennessee was beautiful this time of year, hot but no where near the heat of Georgia I was used to. The air was crisp, and every so often, I got a whiff of exhaust fumes or a vanilla cigar, but it didn’t bother me. It’d taken entirely too many years to reach this point, too many years before I was brave enough to take the plunge.
Dying tends to change someone’s concept of life, after all.
Julie, my best friend, had let me stay with her for far longer than she should have, allowing me to get back on my feet, nursed me back to health. It had taken months of rehab to be able to move without pain. It had taken another three to come to terms with what I went through mentally with the help of a therapist who assured me the strange things I’d been seeing or feeling were only remnants of PTSD. I believed her. Someone didn’t go through abuse, didn’t die, without having some form of trauma responses. So, when the strange haze of a man leaning outside the Paragon flashed and disappeared, I ignored him. He wasn’t real, just as none of them were, so there was no use wasting energy on him.
When I’d applied for the Assistant Manager position at the Paragon, I hadn’t expected to land a call back. I certainly hadn’t expected the immediate move to the interview level. I’d nearly fallen over when I’d been offered the job. The Paragon was a historical music hall, had been around since the twenties and some of the greats had played on its stage. I’d be standing in the same places as some of the greatest headliners in history, the perfect first step into the music industry for someone who wanted to be a songwriter. If I wanted to rub elbows with the greats still alive, if I ever wanted to get up the bravery to show my songs to agents, this was the first step. This was the first true step after surviving Derek. Now that I was free, physically and mostly mentally, I planned to pursue all the passions I’d had to put on