"Figured I'd get a head start, make sure everything's set for tonight." My words carry more nerves than I let on—this isn't just another gig, it's a chance at something I'm only beginning to understand.

He waves me toward the small stage tucked in the corner, already moving with his characteristic efficiency. I set the guitar case down, the familiar motions of unpacking grounding me as my fingers instinctively check the strings.

"Hey," Nick says after a moment, his tone shifting to something softer, more deliberate. "I got you a little something. To say thanks for helping with this place and⁠⁠—"

"Nick," I cut him off, shaking my head as I straighten up. "I can't keep taking from you. You've saved my ass more times than I can count. Me helping out this summer? That was because I wanted to."

"And I wanted to do this," he counters, amusement sparking in his eyes like flint striking steel. "So don't fight me on it, just say thank you and make sure you use it religiously."

Before I can form another protest, he disappears to the far corner of the stage, returning with a sleek black guitar case. The kind that makes my heart skip a beat just looking at it.

"Nick, I⁠⁠—"

"Nate," he cuts me off, mock sternness failing to hide the warmth in his voice. "Just open it."

I flip the latches with hands that suddenly feel clumsy, my heart drumming an irregular beat against my ribs. Inside, cradled in deep velvet like a sleeping dream, lies a guitar worth more than I’d like to think about.

"Nick, this is…" My voice catches as I trace the ornate detailing with my eyes. "A Martin D-45? Are you fucking kidding me?"

His grin spreads wider, pride radiating from him like heat. "Actually, it's an authentic aged 1936 Martin D-45. Only a handful exist, and now one of them is yours."

My fingers hover over the polished wood, almost afraid to touch it, like it might dissolve under my fingers like morning mist. The question burns in my throat: Why would he give me something like this? After everything this poor guy has had to do for me this summer, after every mess he's helped clean up…

"Why?" I finally manage, my throat tight as a fist. "Why all of it? This. The job. Bailing me out of jail…”

The blind faith in me when I'd given him every reason not to believe.

Nick's hand finds my shoulder, his gaze steady as a lighthouse beam. "Because maybe you don't see it in yourself yet, but I do. I see a guy with a good heart and a hell of a lot of raw talent. And I want to make sure you never forget that there will always be someone in your corner, rooting for you to win."

The lump in my throat threatens to choke me, and all I can manage is a quiet, "Thank you. For everything."