Rain – 12:14 AM, Outside Club Voltage
The second we burst out of the club, I breathe in cold air like it's salvation. The bass fades behind us, replaced by distant sirens, a saxophone down the street, and Sky's unhinged laughter.
Then she bolts.
She actually bolts—off the curb, arms flapping like she's a pigeon with a death wish.
"I AM THE WIND!" she screams.
I catch her. Again.
She wiggles like she's trying to escape the jaws of death, hair flying into my mouth. "Put me down, Doberman. The night is young."
"No," I grit out.
"Ugh, you're so grumpy."
Day's behind us, phone out, filming like the devil's own documentarian. "Ladies and gentlemen: America's sweetheart off three tequila shots and zero common sense."
"I'm gonna destroy your drumsticks in your sleep," I growl.
Sky's eyes widen. "Violence. Hot."
Before I can respond, she gasps and twists out of my arms, racing across the sidewalk. "Wait! Is that—IS THAT A GUY WITH A GUITAR?!"
She runs straight up to a busker mid-performance. Poor dude's just trying to survive the night, strumming some sad indie song.
"CAN I SING WITH YOU?" she yells.
He blinks. "Uh. Sure?"
And then she does it.
She starts belting our song. The hardest one. The one she's never quite nailed live—where the bridge is four octaves too high and she always cracks on the last note.
But drunk Sky? Apparently? She's possessed by a demon or Beyoncé because she hits every single one.
The final note shatters the night. Passersby literally stop in their tracks. The busker stares at her like she's descended from the heavens. Even Night has to lift her head from her palm.
Day turns to me with wide eyes. "Was that... did she just…"
"Hit the high F?" I mutter. "Yeah."
Sky bows. "THANK YOU, NEW YORK!" (We are not in New York.)
She then throws a twenty at the stunned busker, kisses him on the cheek, and spins around straight into my chest. Again.
"Did you hear me?" she whispers, eyes shining.
"Everyone did."
"I nailed it," she grins. "I'm a genius."
"You're drunk."
"I can be both."
Then she pats my cheek like I'm a small child, giggles, and climbs into my arms without permission—again.
Night's already halfway in the car, shaking her head. "Next time she asks to go out, say no. Please. For humanity."
I shove Sky gently into the back seat. She grabs my hoodie, tugs me in after her, then curls up in my lap like it's the most natural thing in the world. She smells like club lights and bad decisions.
"I kissed a guy, didn't I?" she murmurs.
"Yeah."
"Did you want to punch him?"
Pause.
"Maybe."
She smiles, eyes closed. "Jealousy looks good on you."
And I hate how good that feels.