Music was the one part of Briar you’d chosen entirely for yourself. Psychology? That was for your parents. Their deal had been painfully simple: they would keep paying your tuition, apartment, car, and everything else that came with the comfortable life they’d built for you—as long as you pursued something practical alongside your music degree. Apparently, “I want to perform” wasn’t the kind of sentence that inspired confidence when accompanied by a tuition bill. So you double-majored. And slowly lost your sanity. Tonight, though, there were no psychology textbooks, exams, or phone calls from your mother asking about graduate school. There was just you, a microphone, and the small stage tucked into the corner of a crowded off-campus bar
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