The stage was empty. I tasted anticipation in the air. The band wasn't going on for another twenty minutes, and the crowd already buzzed with excitement.

"Who's playing?" I asked my brother. The launch performance for the city's Concert in the Park series always drew a big crowd, but the courtyard seemed busier than I expected.

"Don't know," Gael said. "Some local band."

"If you don't know, then why are we here?" I asked.

"We need to scope out the competition." Gael's bright blue eyes met mine as he grinned.

"Competition for what?" I asked. "We don't have a band yet. I'm not even sure I'm on board with the idea."

I had been, once. Singing in a band was all I ever wanted to do. My fiancé Harper and I'd had dreams of making it big.

But that was before.

A black pit in my stomach yawned open. An ever-present swirling mass threatened to swallow me whole.

I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath through my nose. Exhaled through my mouth. Did it again. And again.

The darkness was still there, but I was able to steel myself against it and shove it away. I refused to let despair consume me. Not anymore.

"Besides," I continued, my voice only slightly shaky. "Even if we wanted to start a band, there's only two of us. We'd still need a drummer and a guitarist."

"You play guitar," he said. "That's enough."

"I'm still not comfortable singing and playing at the same time," I said.

"Growing pains."

Someone jammed an elbow into my side with a muttered sorry. Another person stumbled into me from behind, this time without a sorry. The crowd was getting fuller by the minute. I'd never seen a Concert in the Park audience as packed as this one.

Gael glanced at me, eyeing the long hair that tumbled down my back in waves.

"That's a new shade of red," he said.

And with that comment, I knew the real reason we were here.

Gael was worried.

"Since when do guys notice when a girl gets a different hairstyle?" I asked.

Gael shrugged. "It's hard to miss when your lips are the same shade as your hair."

"So I bought new makeup to go with my new hair color. Why do you care?"

"It's different, that's all I'm saying."

That wasn't all he was saying. I heard his unspoken words.

Why did you dye your hair again?

Are you feeling okay?

Have you been thinking about him again?

It's okay to miss him, but you can't let grief control your life.

"I know," I snapped.

Gael's eyes widened in surprise.

"I mean, I know it's different," I said, trying to regain my composure. "That's the point."

Gael flicked his eyes away, focusing on the stage. "There was nothing wrong with the old Cerise," he said quietly.

I clenched my jaw. "I'm going to get a drink."

A wall of tented vendor booths surrounded the courtyard in a semicircle, penning in the concert audience. Some were handing out water bottles branded with sponsor logos. I snatched one up and, before anyone could notice, slid my way between the small gap between two booths.

There were no crowds on this side of the tent wall. The noise and furor was muted.

I took in a deep breath. Then another. And another. Slowly my heartbeat calmed.

For someone who drank like a fish and brought a new girl home every night, Gael could be oddly perceptive when it came to his little sister.

He was wrong though. There had been something wrong with the old Cerise.

The old Cerise had been too sheltered. Too naïve. The old Cerise didn't know how awful the world could be.

The old Cerise couldn't handle losing Harper. She'd fallen apart. She'd let herself break. She hadn't been able to deal with the way he'd…

My chest clenched. Pinpricks of tears threatened to sting my eyes. I blinked rapidly and took a swig from my water bottle to wet my dry throat.

"Hey there, Cherry Lips."

I choked, sputtering, as a voice spoke up and surprised me. Droplets of water splashed down my chin and onto my shirt. I wiped at my face with the back of my hand, turning to face the voice.

I was confronted by a man with wavy brown hair and stunning green eyes. He wore a black and white Our Lady Peace band t-shirt stretched tight around broad shoulders. I inhaled a sharp breath. This guy was beyond good looking. I felt like an idiot for having made a fool of myself in front of him. I folded my arms over my chest, as if somehow that would hide my embarrassment.

"What did you call me?" My words came out strangled, still coughing water out of my lungs. So much for not looking like an idiot.

The man shrugged easily. "Seemed appropriate. Your lips are cherry red." He scanned me up and down, from the top of my newly dyed hair, to the toes of my black boots, to the ends of my bright red nails. "I'm sensing a theme."

That was two guys commenting on my fashion choice in one day. Maybe I was taking it too far.

"I like it," he continued. A hint of amusement glinted in those green eyes. "It's cute."

My heart did something I hadn't felt it do in a long time.

It fluttered.

My grip tightened on the water bottle, crushing it. I pretended to wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Don't call me cute."

"Wait, let me guess." He tapped his finger to his mouth as if he were in deep thought. His own nails were tipped with black nail varnish. "Dyed red hair, combat boots, thick black eyeliner… You're aiming for cool, powerful, and fierce, right?"

I scowled to cover up the flush on my cheeks.

His shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"And what would you know about cool?" I shot back.

The smile on his lips didn't fade. "I know that trying to look cool on purpose doesn't work."

I cast my eyes down, avoiding his gaze.

I couldn't deny it. By dressing like this, I was trying to be someone I wasn't. I'd never been that strong, take-no-shit kind of person. That had never been me.

"Listen," he said. "I get it."

I looked back up, meeting the man's gaze.

"The whole, I'm-a-bad-ass, don't-mess-with-me, thing?" His green eyes burned into me. "I get where you're coming from. But this?" He waved his hand, gesturing to my hair and boots. "This isn't the way to do it."

"Then how do I?" I hated how plaintive I sounded, how weak and uncertain.

He pinned me down with a stare. "When do you feel the most powerful?"

I paused, taken aback. "I… don't know."

"Think about it," he urged. "What makes you feel like you can do anything? Like you can take on the world?"

"I suppose…" I hesitated, but powered on. "When I sing."

His eyes lit up. "Yeah? You sing?"

I nodded.

"That's the key, then," he said. "Always be singing."

I let out a derisive laugh. "I can't go around singing all the time. Life isn't a musical."

"Not out loud." He tapped one finger against my chest. "In here."

My heart went into overdrive, beating madly against my ribcage. My ears turned hot. My lungs squeezed.

I hadn't felt anything like this since the last time Harper had…

"Think you can do that, Cherry Lips?" he asked with a grin.

I nodded dumbly, silently. He winked and sauntered off, ducking between the tents. I stared at the space where he disappeared. I fought to calm my rapid breathing.

My cell phone buzzed — a text from Gael, written in all caps, asking where I was and telling me the concert was starting.

I followed the mysterious green-eyed stranger's path through the tents, but I didn't see him on the other side. Disappointed but not surprised, I wandered back to my brother, elbowing my way through the crowd. The audience was reaching a fever pitch. Whoever this band was, they must have had a lot of local fans.

I poked Gael in the shoulder when I finally pushed my way to him. He nodded at me and jerked his chin to the side.

"The band's name is Forever Night," he shouted over the crowd.

My mind was elsewhere, still thinking about what that guy had said.

Always be singing.

Moments later, the screech of guitars hit my ears and the thumping of drums and bass thrummed in my chest. The first few bars of the song were catchy, but not enough to take my attention away from my thoughts.

A man began to sing.

I recognized the voice.

I turned my face toward the stage.

The stranger from before held a microphone in one hand, a guitar slung around his shoulders.

His voice was smooth and crooning at first, then turned deep and growling, switching off between soft and aggressive in turns.

It wasn't just a song. It was a litany, tirade, a prayer.

It was joy and anger and longing and pain and desire and regret and—

A million emotions flashed through me in the space of a five-minute song, the singer's voice wringing out every feeling I'd suppressed since Harper had been killed.

It was as if the man had taken every emotion in the world, as if he'd taken all the love and hate he'd ever felt, and turned it back onto the audience.

That's when I knew.

This was what I wanted to do.

He was what I wanted to be.

I didn't want to be the old Cerise, innocent and insecure and naïve.

I wanted to be someone who could take everything the world threw at her and spit it back out.

I wanted to be powerful. I wanted to be fierce.

I wanted to sing.

"I'm in," I yelled in Gael's ear.

"What?" he shouted back.

"The band thing. I'm in."

Shock crossed his face before he let out a whoop and fist pumped. "Hell yeah! Now we just need a name for the band."

"I've already got one."

He tilted his head, curious. "Yeah?"

I nodded.

"We're going to call ourselves Cherry Lips."