"How’s the tour gone so far for you, then?”

Turning her lips up in a smile, Keely ran her hand through her hair. “Brilliant,” she answered, just the word making her want to hide as it felt as if someone was cutting the inside of her throat with a burning knife.

In reality she would have liked to let the smile drop and answer that it had been amazing at one point, but now it felt like torture every time she stepped onto the stage. All the kept her from crying every time she had to open her mouth and sing was the filled stadiums of her excited fans. If it wasn’t for them she had no idea what she’d be doing. Even with the pain and coughing that that occurred every show, she was still in love with the stage and didn’t want to give it up.

That was truly sick wasn’t it? Being in love with something that just hurt you time and time again, like clockwork.

But she didn’t say any of that, just answered in her hoarse voice that was barely there as if she was having the time of her life every show. And how had she ever thought that she was a bad actor?

“How long do you have left?” the reporter for the magazine asked, their interview being filmed to go up on the website.

Fixing the acoustic guitar held in her lap, she felt her eyes flicker over to the window of the viewing room. It was like she and the reporter were attractions in a zoo, people watching them closely from out of contact. Her eyes meeting Seth’s through the window, she quickly looked back to the journalist. “We just have the show tomorrow night then there’s a much needed two week break, we have our last show in Seattle and the tour is over.”

“Just in time for some summer festivals, right?” he returned, winking at her lightly.

The chuckle that escaped her lips quickly turned into a cough, making her hastily cover her mouth in the crook of her elbow. Her eyes unintentionally flickered over to Seth who was standing with his arms crossed, people on all sides and she couldn’t help but notice the concerned frown that furrowed his brow.

“We’ll see about that,” she returned mysteriously. Yet in her head, Keely couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever be able to do another tour again. Would anyone even want to hear her with the way she was performing lately?

She wasn’t doing a good enough job. Keely wasn’t an idiot, the crowd might still be ecstatic for having been to the concert, but they didn’t realize how truly awful of a performer she was lately. Every time she could see the looks on her bands faces that told her she wasn’t holding up, the concerned looks on Seth’s face, the confused look on Will’s face, the sympathetic looks from Marco, Colton and all the stage guys. It was everywhere she looked, people telling her she wasn’t good enough.

“So are you going to play us a song, then, Keely?” asked the journalist.

Nodding Keely looked down at her guitar, steeling herself against the pain that would invariably come. Even without a crowd, she was addicted to playing and no amount of agony was going to keep her away. But she was still scared.

“Since I already played Yesterday’s Gone, I thought I’d do a cover now,” she murmured, strumming the beginning chords.

Closing her eyes she felt her foot begin to type in time. And when she opened her mouth, her voice flowing out where it had once been natural, it came out in almost a croak. Two weeks ago when she’d been singing Your Song accompanied by Seth on the piano, she had managed to keep a somewhat smooth sweet sound. Now it was out of reach, coming out instead in a rasp that was almost completely alien.

“Little ditty about Jack and Diane, two American kids growin’ up in the heartland. Jacky’s gonna be a football star, Diane’s debutante backseat of Jacky’s car…”

Her voice broke in the middle of the John Mellencamp song, making her cough violently into her shoulder. With tears pricking the edge of her eyes, Keely picked up from the moment she left off, her foot tapping to where there was clapping in the song.

As much as she’d like to have disappeared into a hole in the ground, she straightened her shoulders, continuing to strum the song. “Gonna let it rock, let it roll. Let the bible belt come down, and save my soul. Hold onto sixteen as long as you can. Changes come around real soon, makes us women and men.”

Her voice cracked, an odd wheezing sensation appearing in her throat, but she just grimaced and continued on. Looking over the shoulder of the journalist who was staring at her with hungry eyes, she once again met Seth’s eyes without meaning to. Even if they barely had time to talk to each other anymore, between doing separate interviews, separate sets; he was still irresistible to her, no matter how much she wanted to push him away. She couldn’t be close to anyone, not when her voice was like this. Not when she was like this.

“…Oh yeah, life goes on. Long after the thrill of livin’ is gone,” she sang, a shadow of her old voice coming out as she stared at him. It felt as if the first to look away would be the one to fall. “A little ditty about Jack and Diane. Two American kids doing the best they can.”

Finishing up the guitar in a smooth fashion, so opposed to her voice, Keely finally tore her gaze away, looking the reporter flat in the eye.

“That’s an interesting choice of song,” he prodded.

Sighing Keely bent over tiredly, resting her cheek on the smooth wooden body of her guitar. “I think it’s universal. It’s not about a football star, his girlfriend, being American or anything. It fits us kids better than most songs I’ve heard.” Once again her eyes wavered over to Seth’s as her voice came down to a hoarse whisper, “Just two kids doing the best they can.”

“Well, we’re out of time,” he said regretfully, reaching out to shake her hand. “It was really nice having you here.”

“Nice being here,” she answered, standing up to snap her guitar into its case. Without a pause, she yawned, snatching up her guitar and heading out the door. She didn’t even pause when the people in the little viewing room turned to look at her.

Instead she just sent them a vague slight turn of the lips, pushing through to the door that opened to the heated summer air from the south. She was dressed to fit the weather, a baggy white Yuck tank top with a black pattern, ripped up jean shorts and high tops. But even then it still felt burning hot.

“Rebel, I need to talk to you.”

Sighing Keely rubbed her forehead, but kept walking down the road. “Better catch up then,” she called over her shoulder painfully.

“Would you stop for a minute?” asked Seth impatiently, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop. “I need to talk to you about the concert tomorrow night.”

Letting herself be dragged around so she was looking at him, Keely found she wished she had sunglasses on as his eyes searched her face. She’d been sleeping less than even him these past weeks, waiting desperately on a phone call and it was beginning to show in her sunken eyes and paling skin.

Lifting his hand so he could cup her cheek, his thumb brushed the tendril of hair out of her face gently. All she wanted to do was lean into the pressure, wrap her arms around his stomach and just cry into his chest for a while. She wanted to talk to him as painful as it was. But it didn’t matter that she’d done it before, she couldn’t do it now. She would talk to him the moment she knew what was going on. But for now, she wasn’t going to burden him with her worries; he had enough for a legion.

So instead of letting herself lean against him as every fiber of her body was telling her, she pulled away slightly, leaving space between them.

His hand dropped away from her, but he didn’t step away, his eyes darkening on her face. “I need to talk to you about the concert tomorrow night,” he repeated, “I don’t want you to sing with us.”

I don’t want you to sing with us.

The words echoed in her head. For a moment she was just numb, staring up at him blankly. He didn’t want her to sing with them? He’d always wanted her to before; he was the one who would coerce her into doing so. Was she really that awful now that he didn’t even dare let her infringe on their performance for the last two shows of the tour?

“What? But I always sing with you guys now,” she whispered, her voice a desperate croak. “What are you saying?”

She found she was no longer numb. It felt as if she’d gotten kicked in the stomach by a horse repeatedly for the last half hour, but this was ten times worse.

“Do you think I don’t see it?” he asked, his voice coming out strained. “You coughed up blood on my shirt one night; I didn’t even notice it until we had to do laundry. You can barely get through a song anymore. And afterwards you can’t even talk. You look like you’re dying sometimes when you have to talk. You don’t sleep. You’re not eating the same. You don’t come out with us anymore. You barely even talk to Will. I see it, rebel.”

Her breath catching in her throat, Keely covered her mouth with her hand, her heart pounding against her chest. Closing her eyes, she tried to keep the panic inside of her; this was exactly what she hadn’t wanted. She hadn’t wanted it to anyone’s problem but hers.

“It’s just one song,” she rasped, dropping her hand and staring up at him with beseeching eyes that she could feel the tears welling up inside. “Please, Seth, it’s one song. It’s me and you, we need to do it. It’ll be fine after this, we’re all going back to New York for those two weeks and it’s going to be fine.”

Sadly Seth just grabbed her free hand, holding it in his. “No,” he told her simply, shaking his head.

Instantly she ripped her hand from his, spinning around.

“Just–”

This time it was her cell phone ringing that cut him off. Fighting back tears, she dug her phone out of her pocket, her lips trembling. “Stay away from me,” she snarled, answering the call and putting it to her ear as she hastened away, “What?”

“Keely, it’s Doctor Yorke,” the familiar voice came through the line. She stopped in her tracks. “You’re in Montgomery, are you not?”

Gripping the phone tightly, she breathed, “Yes.”

“Perfect, I have an associate there. If you’re free in an hour, he’s got a little free time. I’ve sent him all the information I have.”

She agreed.

There was no hesitation in her answer. She almost sprinted into the street to get a cab, rattling off the address to the driver as Dr Yorke was doing in her ear before hanging up on him.

Dropping her head in her hands, she breathed in sharply, trying to calm her galloping heart. This was it.

As ever, she was in conflict. One part of her just wanted to know what was wrong so she could figure out how to counter it.

But the other part was terrified. Hadn’t Yorke said there was a possibility of cancer? Her mother had had cancer. Could cancer be heredity? She had no idea. Wasn’t that something she shouldn’t looked into? After all these years, why had she never thought of it before? What if it turned out she had cancer? Wouldn’t they have to do surgery on it? Then her voice would be ruined indefinitely, would it not?

When they got in front of a practice that looked eerily similar to Dr Yorke’s office, Keely flung herself out of the cab, tossing the money at him and probably giving him an enormous tip. She barely even managed to grab her guitar before she was shooting out across the street.

A few cars honked as she darted through the street, but she didn’t pay them mind, finally slowing down when the hit the heavily air conditioned foyer.

“I was sent here–” she gasped, but didn’t get the words out before the friendly clerk smiled at her.

“Keely Staub, I presume?” he questioned, without waiting for an answer he stood up, gesturing her around. “I was told to bring you into the Doc’s office the moment you arrive. But first, I’m a big fan; do you think you could sign something?”

Although she was impatient, Keely forced a smile, signing the clipboard.

Showing her to an office up a few floors, she shoved through the door impatiently. With windows letting the sun shine in brightly behind his shoulders, the good looking older man with greying hair stood up with a charming smile, straightening the lab coat that he was wearing over a pair of green scrubs.

“Hello Keely, I’m–”

Unable to keep her mouth shut, Keely dumped her things at the door and darted into the room. “I know, lovely to meet you, but please save the fucking pleasantries and just tell me the truth.”

He blinked blankly at her, but quickly recovered, gesturing to the seat as he took his own.

Instead of sitting, she crossed her arms in front of her, almost as if she was readying herself to block the blow.

“Well, all the test Dr Yorke ran came back negative,” he began, tapping the open folder in front of him.

Her heart stuttered to an abrupt stop, but then jittered off into an adrenalin induced sprint inside her chest as she frowned down at him. “Then there’s nothing wrong with me?” she questioned throatily. “But there’s obviously something wrong with me. Do you just not know what it is?”

“Just sit down,” he said, pointing to the seat.

For once obedient, Keely lowered herself into it slowly.

“All that’s wrong with you is over use,” he told her carefully. “Your voice is a muscle. And obviously yours wasn’t trained for the amount of strain you’ve been putting on to it. How long have you been singing professionally before this?”

Rubbing her collar bone absently, Keely stared out the window, the words not taking effect yet. “I never had. I sang maybe a couple songs a night, but nothing until earlier this year.”

“And how much do you sing now?”

“At least two hours a day for days without concerts just for practice, then if it’s a concert day I probably sing about four or five hours with sound check, practice and then the show,” she murmured, her voice creaking with rust.

The doctor sent her a sad smile. “That’d do it.”

Frowning, Keely looked at him closely, “Even the coughing up blood?”

He frowned at her words. “Yes, that too. But that’s very worrisome. The fact that the irritation has become so severe and you’re still singing, it’s a wonder how you can do it. You’ve got to be in intense pain every time you sing.”

Biting her lips, she simply nodded, not trusting her voice or herself for a moment. “What do I do?”

“Stop singing,” he told her seriously. “You need to stop right now or else you’re just making it worse, this past while where you’ve been singing constantly even with knowing there’s something seriously wrong have been doing horrible damage already. There’s not much we can do besides that, you need to take a break. Drink tea with honey, throat lozenges and along those lines. But the best thing you can do is to stop using your voice the best you can, or else you’re going to lose it completely.”

“I can do that,” she murmured gratingly. “After tomorrow night’s show, I’ve got two weeks off.”

Sending her an incredulous look, the doctor quickly shook his head. “No, no more shows until after you rest.”

Determinedly, Keely shook her head in response. “It’s one show and then I’ll rest.”

“No, you can’t. I can’t press on you how much you should not do this concert. You’ve been running on luck for the fact you haven’t blown your voice out already. You’re just tempting fate this way.”

Ignoring him she pushed up, walking to the door and grabbing her things. “Thanks doctor.”

It was worse than ever before.

She could barely even hit the correct notes anymore as she stood on stage, her guitar in hand as she stood in front of her microphone. John was sending her worried looks every time she glanced around. Her voice was breaking through the songs. Between songs she was coughing, but every time she turned away from the crowd hiding it.

Then there was the pain. She couldn’t even describe it. It was almost as if someone was running a serrated edged knife that was red hot across her throat while yanking the muscles taught. Tears were trickling down her cheeks as she sang, but thankfully they were hidden by the sweat draining from her pores.

Straightening the strap over her shoulder, she stepped forward to the microphone. Last song of the night, she thought with relief. After this she was free. She would go back to New York with the boys for two weeks and rest her voice, everything would be fine.

“So I think you guys might know this song,” she shouted into the microphone to be heard of the screaming of the crowd. “You guys seem to like it from what I’ve been hearing lately. Yesterday’s Gone.”

The reaction was immediate, the noise level shooting up several notches as they began to jump up and down. Banging her head along to the drum piece, she stepped up into the microphone as she played the guitar, watching as the crowd began to jump and down in front of her.

But she only got into the first chorus when her voice broke.

Coughing brutally, she dropped her hands from the guitar, throwing them over her mouth.

That was the first time she’d began coughing in the middle of a song on stage before. But the shame for doing that to her fans hadn’t even set in before the fit got more vicious, causing her shoulders to shake.

Hastily spinning to the side, she was in hope to hide it from the crowd. Suddenly the screaming had died out, replaced with hushed whispers running through the entire stadium. Even her band had stopped playing, but she didn’t notice anything around her, the microphone catching the sound of her spasm and echoing it around the building.

She didn’t notice that her entire band had abandoned their instruments, hurrying over to her as she felt her knees weaken dangerously, letting her waver to a point it was a wonder she managed to stay on her feet, bending over with the convulsions ripping through her body. She didn’t notice that security had turned away from the crowd to look up at her. She didn’t notice that Seth was at the edge of the stage, Marco holding onto his shoulder with their stage crew and the rest of the acts watching, focused solely on her.

But she did notice when the blood sputtered out of her mouth, giving a full view for everyone around her as it spattered her acoustic guitar. The garish red flecks speckling the oak body of the guitar.

Running her hands over her clammy forehead, she dragged her hair away from her face as her breathing rushed brokenly from her mouth so she could have a clear view. A pin might have dropped in the middle of the stadium. The faces were staring at her in similar shocked expression.

Dropping her hands away from her face, she quickly looked around, feeling suddenly very small and worthless in the eyes of everyone focused on her.

Not knowing what else to do, she pulled her guitar off her shoulder, dropping it barely onto its stand before stumbling off the stage. She didn’t let anyone catch her as she shoved through the crowd who was still in disbelief and she took off through the halls, not listening as people called her name, rushing out onto the street.