When the Music Stops

“Let the music take you.”

Words Elijah never forgot. He carried them with him long after the voice that said them was gone.

“And your winner—”

The world held its breath.

“Elijah.”

The crowd erupted as he walked toward the stage, careful not to trip. He could see Dua Lipa in the front row. Somewhere, millions watched.

He’d tripped over air before. No way he was doing that tonight.

Noah’s voice slipped in anyway.

Yo ass was always clumsy.

Elijah smiled before he could stop himself. He thought about his friend, about the sacrifices they made so he could stand here now, looking out at a room full of artists he’d beaten for Best R&B Song.

You’re our ticket out, E.

The knot formed fast. He swallowed it down along with the memory of a life he no longer lived, with people he no longer rocked with.

He was here now. With nowhere else to be.

A speech.

Sweat pooled underneath the three piece suit. He kept it short, not wanting his nerves to show. Not daring to expose the truth.

Time passed in a blur, the show stopped and the party began.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

Embrace it, Noah would say…

He sat back as the partition slid up, stopping just short of sealing him in. Enough space to see the driver’s eyes in the mirror. Enough to regret it later.

The city passed in streaks of light. Time slipped sideways, like it had been drinking too. Elijah wasn’t a drinker, but he needed one.

A shot for Noah, he thought. Just one.

That was at the after party. Five shots and two glasses of champagne ago.

No one stopped him.

He used to have someone who would. Someone who knew when to cut him off, when to pull him back. He didn’t have that guy in his corner anymore.

And no one else knew what that boy had been.

These people didn’t. Groupies. Hangers-on. Drawn to the melody, not the source. To the sound, not the hands that made it. Like standing too close to the nose of a plane as it went down, never thinking about who built the damn thing. Only Elijah was still climbing.

Lights flashed, selfies taken, congratulations passed around like a blunt, hand to hand, fingers lingering too long, mouths too close, the noise swelling until it thinned and left nothing behind.

Elijah sat alone.

Just him and the driver, who’d seen enough to make him regret the night, if he bothered caring.

The melody crept in through the speakers.

His breath caught.

“Yo,” Elijah said. “Turn that up.”

“Oh, you like this one too?” the driver said, smirking.

The volume rose.

Yes, we fought.

Time passed us by.

Elijah opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped. The song filled the car, pressing against his ribs.

His eyes burned.

The ache came sharp and sudden, like a hand closing around his throat.

“That’s my boy on lead,” he said quietly. His voice cracked. “That’s Noah.”

The driver didn’t miss a beat. “Xavier Noah O’Neal.”

Elijah went still.

“How do you know his real name?”

That smirk again wider. Teeth too white. Too even. “I’m a fan. Wiki. Interviews. The story’s out there.”

“Right…” Elijah laughed once, bitter. “We were supposed to do this together. Hell, it might’ve been him up there instead of me.”

The driver glanced at him in the mirror. The clock on the dash read 3:33.

“You had to give something up to get where you are,” the driver said. “Maybe you can give something else to get it back.”

The words slid under his skin.

Elijah leaned forward, the world tilting. Red light washed over the car as they passed an intersection. For a moment, the driver’s eyes glowed in the mirror.

Or maybe they hadn’t.

Sirens wailed somewhere behind them. An ambulance screamed past.

Elijah sank back into the seat, heart pounding. He let out a shaky laugh. “Man. I’m fucked up.”

“No,” the driver said calmly. “What happened to Noah was fucked up.”

The words hit him hard. Elijah opened his mouth to curse him out, but nothing came. His voice caught, warping in his throat like a mic peaking before it cuts out.

His eyes burned.

“It was fucked up,” he slurred. “I was there that night. I could’ve kept driving. I should have.”

Bile burned his throat. The memory tore through him like a fresh wound.

Parked car.

A red light. Noah in the passenger seat.

They were on his side.

Why were they on his side?

Elijah was the one who got into the fight.

Shots rang.

Searing pain. His ears ringing.

Then silence.

Hollow screams. His vision fogged, eyes burning as blood ran down his face.

Next to him, Noah lay slumped. Gasping. Fighting for breaths that weren’t coming. Blood pooled and oozed from the holes in his body.

A few breaths later—

He was dead.

Elijah’s voice broke. “I should’ve pulled off.”

The cry tore out of him, raw and unfiltered. “I’ll do anything to have him back.”

The driver tilted his head. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

Noah’s song surged.

“You already signed a deal,” the driver said softly. “The right one. Life changing.”

That voice. Those words. He knew them. Hadn’t he?

The driver laughed, low and rumbling, like bass rattling loose screws in a trunk.

The song continued.

I can’t live without you

Louder now.

Not from the speakers—from inside him. The lyrics twisted, reshaped themselves, slipping into places he’d sealed off years ago.

Come back.

Come back

“Don’t fight it, Elijah,” the driver said. “Let the music take you.”

“I’ve seen you before,” Elijah managed, before—

The car dissolved.

The music didn’t.

White light swallowed everything. He couldn’t keep his eyes open.

A horn blared.

“Drive!”

Elijah jerked forward, hands gripping the wheel. He was in the driver’s seat of the black SUV. His stomach twisted at the impossibility of it.

He looked over.

Noah sat beside him, alive, lighting a blunt, wearing the same jacket. Same night. Same everything.

Noah glanced at him, brow raised. “You aren’t hitting this. You hit enough things tonight. I can’t believe you did that.”

He shook his head. “Left him laid out.”

“I—”

“Watch out!”

Elijah slammed on the brakes. The SUV stopped inches from the crosswalk. Pedestrians cursed, flipped him off. He deserved it.

“Yo, keep your eyes on the road, man.”

“Sorry,” Elijah stammered.

He looked at the clock.

11:15.

The light was red.

A black sedan rolled up beside them. Slow. Familiar.

His chest tightened.

This was it.

His palms squeezed the steering wheel.

He breathed slow. Not wanting to seem frightened.

Noah leaned closer. “You good?”

His voice sounded wrong. Slower. Lower. Like a song played at the wrong speed.

The windows of the sedan began to slide down.

This wasn’t a dream.

His foot hovered over the pedal.

What if he didn’t?

He slammed the gas, blew through the red light. Noah snapped back into his seat, yelling, cursing, begging him to slow down.

Elijah would have—

White light burst from the driver’s side.

Elijah woke to the steady beep of a monitor.

White ceiling. Fluorescent hum. The smell of antiseptic burned his nose. His throat ached when he swallowed.

A man stood beside the bed, adjusting the IV.

Same posture. Same calm. The scrubs looked new. Too clean.

Elijah blinked hard and tried to sit up. Pain throbbed behind his eyes.

When he looked again, the man appeared ordinary.

“Where am I?” Elijah asked. His voice cracked as he shifted in the bed.

“Hospital,” the man said easily. “You were brought in after an accident.”

Elijah’s heart skipped. “The car—”

“Is gone,” the man said. “You’re safe.”

Something about the word didn’t sit right.

“You scared the shit out of us, man,” a familiar voice said.

Noah.

Elijah turned his head. His friend sat in the chair by the window. Alive. Whole.

“You’re okay?” Elijah asked. Relief hit him so fast it stole his breath.

“Me? Yeah…” Noah said. “For a second I thought you weren’t going to wake up.”

Silence. A phone vibrated.

Elijah smiled faintly. “I’m here.”

The man cleared his throat.

“Elijah.”

He looked back at him. The calm in the man’s eyes felt familiar now. Too familiar.

“I don’t understand,” Elijah said. “I changed it. I stopped it.”

The man smiled.

“You did,” he said. “You saved him.”

Elijah exhaled. A sob broke loose before he could stop it.

“But,” the man continued gently, “a sacrifice always has to be made.”

Elijah’s chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

The man leaned closer. Not threatening. Not rushed.

“Somebody has to stay behind.”

He pressed something into the IV.

Cold spread up Elijah’s arm.

The monitor didn’t flatline. It softened. The beeping slowed, stretched, like a song reaching its final note.

“Elijah?” Noah said, distracted. He stood, phone still in his hand. “Man, this track is everywhere now.”

The sound leaked from the speaker.

A melody Elijah knew better than his own heartbeat.

Noah shook his head, smiling in disbelief. “They’re calling it a classic already.”

Elijah tried to speak.

Nothing came.

Noah was already moving toward the door, phone to his ear. “Yeah, yeah—I’m on my way. I’ll be there.”

The man straightened, adjusting his sleeves.

“Don’t fight it,” he said softly, close to Elijah’s ear. “Let the music take you.”

The door closed.

The song played on.

And Elijah finally understood.